#FromSingleToCommitted

[inklingwonders]

Single to Committed: Without Losing Myself

It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a relationship. And somewhere in that stretch of solitude, I found something precious—peace. I fell deeply in love with my own space, my own rhythm, and the unmatched comfort that comes with not having to explain myself to anyone. There’s something incredibly liberating about living life on your own terms. No check-ins. No emotional labor for the sake of someone else's insecurity. Just me, my thoughts, my time.

And I’ve grown to cherish that.

Being single isn't a sad chapter. It’s actually been one of the most empowering phases of my life. I’ve learned what it means to be whole on my own. I’ve learned to romanticize solo coffee dates, long walks with music, late-night overthinking sessions, and dancing in my room like no one's watching (because really, no one is).

But despite how content I feel on my own, I also understand the beauty of companionship. I'm not against love. I just refuse to water myself down for it.

The transition from singlehood to a committed relationship isn't as simple as swiping right or texting every day. It’s a conscious shift. A mental and emotional pivot. When you're used to being alone and thriving in it, welcoming someone into your life takes real courage. Because now, your space isn’t just yours. Your time isn’t just yours. Your silence will often be filled with conversation, your plans will some times involve compromise, and your decisions might require collaboration.

And that’s fine—if it’s with the right person.

But here's where I draw the line: I won’t be in a relationship where constant updates are expected as proof of loyalty. I won’t entertain someone who confuses control for care. If your idea of love is policing my movements, questioning my choices, or needing validation through constant check-ins, I’m not the one for you.

Yes, I know the difference between being controlling and being concerned. I know what genuine curiosity looks like. And trust me, if I’m with someone I truly care about, I’ll overshare without being asked. I’ll tell you what I had for lunch, who I ran into, what weird dream I had last night. But that only happens when I feel safe—emotionally, mentally, energetically.

What pushes me away isn’t the commitment itself. It’s the imbalance. The gendered expectations. The assumption that because you’re the “man,” I owe you answers or obedience. That’s not partnership. That’s hierarchy—and I want no part of it.

I’ve had moments where I almost got into something just because it was “the right time” or because “I’ve been single too long.” But then I remembered: I’d rather be single with peace than be in a relationship full of doubts and discomfort.

At this point in my life, I’m not interested in a boyfriend for the sake of a relationship status. I don’t need validation through someone else’s presence. I’m not here for temporary sparks. If anything, I’m open to slowly exploring something real—something grounded. Let’s take time. Let’s see if we’re compatible on values, not just vibes. If it works, beautiful. If it doesn’t, let’s respectfully part ways with no bitterness.

What I want is simple: someone I can be fully myself with. Someone who doesn’t get insecure when I say I need space. Someone who isn’t threatened by my independence but is inspired by it. Someone who knows love isn’t about ownership—it’s about honoring each other’s existence, together and apart.

Because being single taught me to protect my peace, and I won’t trade that peace for anything less than a love that feels like freedom.