Ambiguous Grief

I've mentioned before Lori Gottlieb, the psychotherapist and author. Yesterday someone forwarded this to me, an answer to a question from a single person who can't bear hearing her friends rant about their significant others, when she is sad about being unattached. 

Gottlieb gives this sadness legitimacy. She calls it "ambiguous grief," because the recognized instances of loss tend to be around actual loss, as opposed to mourning something that one never had. 

I've noticed that in my experience, most people did not realize that a person who is single can be sad not only for a person they have not yet met, but also for children that don't exist. 

Singles can be hurting, but others tend to pile on the hurt, proclaiming that they must be doing something wrong, it's so simple to find a life partner. And have children. And raise those children. And keep your marriage healthy. 

I denied my ambiguous grief when I was dating because—well, I didn't think that it was valid either. No one acknowledged it. How many would say, "It must be hard"? And frankly, if someone did say that to me, I'd be annoyed because I don't like to be pitied. 

I just wanted to be . . . not mistreated. Not badgered. Not blamed. That was the painful thing—being accused as the reason why I was unattached. 

Luckily, whatever friends I had vanished once they married (I didn't mind all that much) so I didn't have to hear about them complain about their spouse, or at least they were tactful enough to rant about the weather instead. 

I have a friend who married before I did. I have Ben; she does not yet have a baby. It is not by choice. Whenever we text, or speak, I do not kvetch, "I was up all night with the baby, again." I do not vent, "Can you believe the little stinker emptied out all the spices?" Or "You are so lucky you don't have to deal with nasty diapers! It was everywhere!" 

That would be rather cruel. Right? She would happily do all those things because the positives, in the end, outweigh the negatives. 

Additionally, I wouldn't complain about those typical baby tasks in the first place, because getting into the mommy game later than most, I am grateful. It's hard, but it's the happy kind of hard, not the sad kind of hard dating fruitlessly was.