I’m in my early 30s and rent my own apartment in Los Angeles.

That is a sentence I never thought I’d write, mainly because while I’ve never had a concrete, Pinterest-boarded vision for my life, I also never pictured being single at this age.

I cock my head at myself sometimes, wondering how I got here. It wasn’t like I never tried dating. God knows I did, and things just didn’t work out for the long term. Most recently? All I can say is, dear reader — if you applied for a rental unit with a then-unemployed romantic partner, moved in with said partner but who then dumped you four months later and didn’t move himself out immediately, so you chose to be the one to move out instead? You are allowed to be mad. Be. Mad! And then confront yourself, and realize the universe did you a favor, because you probably were in the wrong place anyway and should’ve called it off yourself.

But I swear, I’ve done my therapy and leaning on family and friends and uh, notching five-figure credit card bills. (When in Paris, y’all…) I’m doing great, all things considered, accounting for the general state of the world. Once in a while, a blip of a sliver of a memory does flash through my mind while I’m doing something mundane like washing dishes, which is annoying but also understandable when I consider that I often did dishes with my ex-partner.

OK! Enough about the ex! That was the policy I set for myself a few months back when I’d gotten through the worst of the post-breakup sads and lows. Just as exposure therapy works with gradual, well, exposure, so does quitting, blocking, deleting, erasing, etc.

Truly, I pat myself on the back for moving past devastation and getting back up again. (Granted, it may have been because I have been through worse.) But I am also extremely thankful for the support of loved ones. I can’t tell you how many friends provided a listening ear when I asked, treated me to meals or snacks, or just did something to help build me up again.

She’s not the plushest, but dang is she pretty.

And now I am back in a city I feel crazy for liking and enjoying sometimes. There have been so many good moments and so many growth moments that have healed and humbled me. I bought and assembled a new pink sofa, perfectly serviceable even if not the plushest, while also thrifting for other furnishings and kitchen items off Facebook Marketplace. I’ve learned how to make simple, healthy(ish?) food for myself, often using my lunch breaks to both eat my lunch and prep for future meals — a one-person assembly line. I go to any events I’m interested in, as long as they work with my schedule and budget. I’ve reconnected with good friends and made new friends, something that used to feel “impossible” at this age. And just a small flex here that Angelenos will understand: I once found free street parking in downtown LA on a Friday night! I know! Now, Koreatown is another discussion entirely…

But the biggest joy has been training myself to self-soothe and cultivate inner peace, even when conditions are not ideal. In that sense I would also call it the “toughest joy.” It’s been a combo of day-in, day-out:

  • Checking in with myself and taking stock: I’ve got agendas, journals, sticky notes, you name it — it’s bad when too much stuff lingers in my brain.
  • Intentionally designing my life: The thing I’m still working on grasping is that effective design often means taking something away, rather than adding.
  • Seeking and acting upon good advice: For one thing, it turns out that getting some natural light and movement first thing in the morning really is a game-changer…circadian rhythms and all that!

So to whomever is out there in the deepest and rawest stages of pain after a relationship rupture, be it romantic or platonic… I want you to know that it will not be that way forever. Really, the memes are true: you just get over it on a random Tuesday. But if you first have to get through the phase of screenshotting a crap ton of blog posts and strangers’ comments in breakup subreddits, as well as going down a YouTube rabbit hole — I don’t blame you. But watch the volume; it should go down over time. And balance it out with other therapeutic outlets. Here’s evidence of my phase that I’m also deleting soon because a) I’m over the bullshit I went through and can laugh about it instead; and b) more importantly, I’m stubborn and do not want to pay for more iCloud storage:

Yeah, I was struggling. Check that tab count at the very top…!

Sometimes, I admit there’s a flip side to my freedom. Yes, there is the usual groaning about going to singles happy hours or speed dating events, and the occasional sourness that shoots through me when I see engagement or wedding content. But what I didn’t anticipate was how hard I would hit a mental wall some days. I didn’t have a name for it until I was scrolling Reddit and reminded of decision fatigue, specifically a comment on that page by an “mdengineer4.”

(I won’t digress here into how this neurological phenomenon can be exploited by bad actors, sneaky marketing, our own tendencies towards procrastination and letting inertia take over. Just know that it happens.)

Living on my own means I am responsible for everything. Cooking, cleaning, organizing, decorating, scheduling appointments, getting to said appointments, self-soothing as mentioned above, and so on. I sometimes wish I had a team member. Moving back in with my mom doesn’t sound too bad. But then I remember that it is a privilege to be on my solo journey right now. I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t feel that I needed it.

And what if that does turn out to be forever? I haven’t worked out all my thoughts on this possibility, but it does intimidate me. I won’t lie to you and say something like “I wouldn’t mind, bring it on!” But I will say that with each day, I feel more confident in my ability to handle that possibility. That’s pretty neat.

Don’t get me wrong: I’m not some paragon of efficiency. I’ve lost literal hours to doom-scrolling and online window or actual shopping when I told myself I’d use the time to start working on a novel again. I’ve fixated on why someone gifted me flowers when I’d moved in to a condo rental with my ex-partner, but nothing when I secured my own place this year. (Honestly, it’s not that deep, but try telling that to me on a bad day.) This is why conscious check-ins with myself are so critical.

When I pause to do these, part of my process involves — you guessed it — a gratitude practice.

So since I almost crashed out this week, let me do one…now:

I have a lot more on my wish list, from things to do and places to see to projects I want to realize. Right now, I have the privilege of getting to call the shots for all of my time outside of work. I am so grateful for that. I need to remember that I am now the youngest I’ve ever been, that I can do so many things, that incredibly, impossibly, I have a room of my own.

Oh yeah, you know I have just been chomping at the bit to work in that Virginia Woolf reference. And yes, everyone should read her essay. It’s what I think back to when I need to re-find what I call the “JOBOMO” — joy of being on my own.

No matter what’s next, I have gotten to know and learn from this feeling. What a gift.