For The Women Who Thought They’d Be Married By Now

Tonight reminded me of something I’ve been quietly learning over the past few years: joy doesn’t always wait on partnership. Sometimes, peace shows up in the life you build yourself, when you stop chasing timelines and start trusting God’s.

It was one of those quietly perfect nights. A glass of Tempranillo I genuinely enjoyed, a slice of pizza I felt zero guilt about, and a heart full of pride after attending a photography exhibit where one of my high school youth group students was honored with an award.

And I was completely alone.

As I sat there soaking it in, I wondered, could a partner have made this moment better? Or just different? Am I getting too used to being alone? Will I look back someday and regret easing off the gas with dating? Has this happiness I’ve built made it harder to let someone else in? Or… is this when I’m finally ready?

A Different Kind of Peace

What stood out most tonight wasn’t just the peace, it was how quickly I teared up at simple moments. When the student’s mom introduced herself. When I chatted with the waitress. It reminded me of my trip to Telluride.

I was sitting at a crowded dinner table of strangers, and someone asked what brought me there. I felt such a deep peace, like something had come full circle, that I teared up as I answered, “This was a bucket list trip for me.” What I didn’t say was: I’d waited until 39 to go because I’d been saving it to experience with a partner. I even begged my last boyfriend to take me. When that didn’t happen, I finally realized: I couldn’t wait anymore. So I went. Just me and my dog, Sierra—my best friend and constant.

And the truth is, some of the happiest, most peaceful moments in my life I’ve experienced alone.

That realization is both beautiful and bittersweet. Because while I do wish I had someone to come home to and share this with, someone who would really get it, I also know that no one I’ve been with so far would have. So maybe these moments were never meant to be shared. Maybe they were handcrafted by God, just for me—to feel fully alive in the life I’ve carefully curated. One I built. One I deserve. One where joy didn’t have to wait on anyone else. 

The Quiet Grief We Don’t Name

I often read essays from people frustrated with dating who desperately want marriage. Or from those who never wanted kids and are now wrestling with whether they made the right choice. But we don’t hear enough from the women who longed for love and family and it simply didn’t happen the way they envisioned. Women learning how to grieve the life they hoped for, and find meaning in the one they’re still building.

It’s a quiet grief. One that doesn’t always get a name. But still asks to be witnessed.

I used to scroll through dating advice posts, everything from “don’t settle” to “just focus on yourself.” None of it brought peace. What did? Getting quiet with God.

What Surrender Really Looked Like

For years, I heard, “Just hand it over to God,” and I never quite knew how. How do you surrender without giving up? How do you stay hopeful while releasing control?

For me, it looked like this: stepping back from the chase. Letting myself breathe. Pouring into people and passions already in front of me. I gave it everything I had for over twenty years, to find love, to build a family. And now, I’m giving my life a new shape. One filled with presence. With becoming. With peace.

If God wants to redirect me, I trust he will. Maybe he already has. Because the anxiety that once sat in my chest like a weight has faded. What’s taken its place is peace. Not because I stopped caring, but because I started trusting. 

Releasing the Numbers Game

People used to tell me, “It’s just a numbers game.” But honestly, that always felt daunting. I’d already spent over twenty years dating—how much more of my life was I supposed to give to something that was making me tired, bitter, and burnt out?

At some point, I felt God telling me: your life is meant for more.

More than recovering from breakups. More than constantly “putting yourself out there” for someone new to break your heart. At 41, I thought I’d be giving my love and attention to children, to a husband, to a family. When that didn’t happen, I had to ask: where will I pour this love now?

For me, it became youth ministry. It became showing up consistently for high school girls who trusted me enough to invite me to their art shows, award ceremonies, and big life moments. And I realized, as I watched one of my students receive her award, I felt that same pride and adoration I used to imagine feeling for a child of my own.

It didn’t look like the dream I had, but it still looked like love.

Choosing Peace, Even When It Hurts

If the dating world has you weary, it’s okay to take a break. It’s okay to tell God you’re tired. It’s okay to trust that if He wanted that door open right now, it would be.

Maybe the most faithful thing you can do is stop chasing and start listening.

Start looking for love in the ways it’s already being offered. Start building it, piece by piece, in the community you have. God never promised us marriage. He promised us peace. And I’ve found so much relief in finally letting go of the idea that I missed out on something I was owed.

Because I wasn’t owed a partner. None of us are.

But we were offered love in the small, blessed ways we get to create it every day.

“Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart.”
— Psalm 37:4

Maybe that doesn’t always look the way we expected, but maybe it will feel like enough.

A Season of Becoming

Until recently, I thought I was failing. Failing to find “my person.” Failing to live the life I pictured. But maybe I’m not in this season because I failed. Maybe I’m here because God has me here.

Maybe, just maybe, He kept me single so I’d finally become the woman He created me to be.

Not in bitterness, but in richness. Not in waiting, but in becoming.

Learning to Wait Well

That strength comes at a cost. It makes it harder to relate to people, even the well-meaning ones. I’m often misunderstood. Even friends try to give advice that doesn’t quite land. They’re not asking the same questions I’ve asked.

Some still don’t know what truly makes them happy.

Does it make it harder to find a partner? Yes.

But I’ve stopped looking for someone to catch up. I’ve stopped hoping to be rescued from loneliness.

I’ve built a life I genuinely love, full of purpose, surrounded by people I cherish, and grounded in the peace that comes from living in alignment with God.

I don’t crave physical intimacy like I used to. Not because I’m closed off, but because I no longer want to be touched by someone who doesn’t want all of me. I want someone who sees building a family as a calling, not a convenience. Someone who cherishes who I am in spirit, in purpose, and in heart.

Until I meet that man, if I ever do, I’m okay. More than okay. I feel safe in my body. Safe in my mind. Safe in my home.

I don’t need to be chosen by a man to feel worthy, because God already chose me. He gave me the gift of clarity and reflection. And I’m finally walking in it.

And that, even with a little ache, feels like a gift.

Because no one really knows what I’ve walked through. No one saw the quiet nights of crying, the slow, sacred work of untangling shame from truth. No one but God.

And maybe that’s the point.

Maybe this message is for someone else walking that quiet road too, discovering that even without the life you pictured, you can still find deep peace. A life that may look different than you expected, but still holds meaning, beauty, and steady contentment.