It’s Saturday, and I’m single.
Being single on Saturday means that I wake up to the sun shining brightly through open blinds instead of having the curtains drawn to block the light and delay the morning. It means I can decide how early or late I sleep, without being resentful that the person who shares my bed doesn’t have the same schedule. It means that I can turn on the light and read my Bible in bed without worrying that I’ll disturb him, and without fear of being mocked or teased.
Being single on Saturday means accepting that I alone am responsible for my mess. I can’t blame the hair on the master bathroom floor on anyone but me. The grime on the sink and on the mirror is mine. It was I who left the dishes in the sink overnight. The clutter on the counter was collected by yours truly. And even though a lot of the mess downstairs is the result of three small children, I am their mother. If they aren’t picking up after themselves, it’s only because I haven’t given them the incentive or example to learn this important life skill.
Being single on Saturday means going at my own pace and setting my own boundaries. I get to set the clock and write for 30 minutes. I decide what tasks are important, and I don’t have to wait for someone else to join me in accomplishing them. It means making a to-do list for me, and making sure that “fun with kids” is somewhere on that list.
Being single on Saturday means being grateful for my autonomy.