I had lunch with a male friend a couple of weeks ago. We were catching up about life in general and, in answering his question about my love life, I described myself — with the wry smile, with the self-effacing sing song to my words, with the slight shrug — as “still single”. He listened and paused for a second. “You’re not single, Kate,” he said, eventually. “You’re multiple. Multiple choice.” I could have kissed him.

What a way to look at it. What a way to be. Because the thing is, I realise, I am consciously single. Or multiple choice. I’m not unclaimed. I’m not rejected. I’m not unmatched. I simply don’t want a relationship. And that gives me choices.

But today, probably just as it’s ever been, that’s hard to say. Even harder to write and invite people to read, as it turns out. Because I know how it goes; I know that if I were reading these words, written by another woman, I’d be thinking, “Oh, that’s just a defence mechanism because you’re not shacked up yet.” I’d be thinking, “Of course you want a relationship. Everyone wants someone. It’s only natural.” I’d be thinking, “Poor love, you really have given up, haven’t you?”

Well.

I can tell you this. I have stress-tested this conclusion I’ve reached about my choice a lot. I’ve poked and prodded my feelings (even the tender and bruised bits) to see whether I’m simply in defence mode, or kidding myself. I’ve asked, is it that I’ve been single so long, I’ve become inured to it? I’ve wondered, is it that I’ve had so many shit relationships I’m scarred for life? I’ve double-checked, is it that I’m actually scared? The answers, for the record, are: no, it’s only been 4 years so get a grip; no, I am basically Pollyanna; and actually no. Bears scare me. Post from HMRC scares me. Gene Wilder, for some reason, scares me. Relationships do not.

But the problem is, we’re not supposed to want to be single, are we? We’re supposed to want a relationship. Everyone’s a winner that way. It’s more socially comfortable, not to mention cost-effective. And, as a woman, you’re far less bothersome or threatening in a couple.

Well fuck that. (In a non marriage-threating way.)

Relationships, I have learned through actually having them, are a lot to do with compromise. That’s cool. I can compromise with the best of them. It’s a worthy life skill. But the thing is, after a 14-year relationship/marriage and 12 years of parenthood (4 of them single parenthood), I’ve done a lot of compromising. And now, I’m quite enjoying a little rest. It’s not to say I am now ‘uncompromising’ as an alternative; it’s just that I am making choices that don’t involve huge compromise. There is a difference.

I’m not anti-marriage. For me it offered structure and purpose and security and a clear role to fulfill. For a long time I needed those things and I compromised willingly, without even feeling I was. Then came a point that I felt compromised by marriage and that became a tipping point. So I know about compromise, I really do. I also know that one day, someone will make the idea of compromise feel utterly natural and inevitable and welcome. But I’m not actively seeking it.

Let it happen.

I don’t know quite when the shift happened, but it has. Maybe it was the conversation with a date about “what I was looking for” that I simply couldn’t answer (because, as it turns out, I wasn’t looking). Perhaps it was the time my dad wistfully said “all you need now is someone to wake up with, isn’t it?” and it gave me the horrors (sharing my sleeping space is the ultimate compromise). It could have been the hours mindlessly swiping left on Tinder because no-one, NO-ONE made me feel any positive emotion of any description and it made me wonder if I was dead inside.

(I’m not dead inside.)

There are people I fancy the pants off. There are people I worship from afar. There are people I’ve loved forever and don’t even know it. There are people I’d commit petty crime for. There are people who make me smile like a lunatic and send my heart and loins into spasm. It doesn’t mean I need to do anything about it just yet. It just means that whatever we do get up to (and yes, I do mean sex and friendship and laughs) isn’t about casting off my singleness and joining the ranks of coupledom and certain happiness as an objective. It’s about being comfortable with now, with me, with my boundaries, with my choices — the things I accept and the things I reject.

My multiple choices.

‘Single’ gets a bad rap. ‘Single’ is, by default, a holding position until you meet someone and everyone can breathe a sigh of relief. ‘Single’ is undesirable. ‘Single’ is the negative to the attached positive. ‘Single’ is waiting. ‘Single’ is Bridget Jones getting smashed on vodka, alone.

Well, not in my book.

It’s been a long and uncomfortable journey to figuring out — my words — “what’s wrong with me”, when it comes to romantic relationships. Never in a million years and quite a lot of therapy sessions did I imagine it would come down to this: deep down, I just don’t want one. (I had been totally hoping that it was because mankind was conclusively flawed and didn’t know a good thing when it had it etc, etc because that would have been way easier to deal with).

Right now, though, I’m opting out. If that makes me single, well bite me. I thought for a long time I did want a relationship, coupledom, more than anything else. It turned out that it was just ingrained attitudes talking. It was society telling me what I wanted. It was, frankly, emotional laziness and cowardice on my part for believing it. But there’s only so much sensation-free Tinder left-swiping a girl can do before she has to question what’s going on. I’m glad I did question it, and that I was brave enough to swim against the tide in favour of my own very legitimate feelings, wants and choices.

Here’s to choices.

Oh, and a final thing: I chose to go on a date this week. And by date I mean opportunity for fun and laughs and having a drink with someone who might be excellent, as opposed to an opportunity to knock singledom on the head for once and for all so calm down already I got this OK?