“Self-love is the best love.” “Single, not sorry.” “Solo and unbothered.”  In 2025, singleness is no longer the tragedy it once was. In fact, for many, it’s a badge of honor – an indication that one is self-sufficient, whole, at peace, and living life on one’s terms.  

As marriage rates have declined over the years and more of us opt to be unpartnered over miserably married, the status of being “single by choice” has allowed many women to create dynamic lives for themselves.  They could be married, but they desire alignment and mental wellness over marrying just anyone. They’ve developed satisfying careers, traveled the globe, and supported their communities. They are the “rich, single aunties” of the world. 

However, there’s another side to singleness that many experience, yet few talk about – until recently. Last week, while joining Michelle Obama and Craig Robinson on their platform, the IMO Podcast, Tracee Ellis Ross shared the grief that can occur when one is single, yet desires marriage and family. It was vulnerable, honest, and representative of what many (though certainly not all) unmarried women experience. 

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For me, it was also timely.  Just as the podcast episode dropped last Wednesday, I happened to be meeting a new therapist. It was my first time returning to therapy in nearly two years.  Our sessions would have one central focus: ambiguous grief.

Here’s my story. 

Setting the Stage

The ending of my last therapeutic relationship was a bit abrupt, yet appropriate. We had worked together off and on for nearly ten years. I grew exponentially through our work. My first therapist taught me how to trust myself, how to be more compassionate with myself, and how not to fear my anxiety, or even worse, my own thoughts. 

As I became clearer on my inner voice and less in need of validation, I found that my need for therapy diminished. I was less anxious and had become more of the woman I had always wanted to be. I was independent, free of toxic relationships, and confidently building a life that felt right for me.  And so, I released that relationship. 

And I was fine–until I wasn’t.

Life in all it’s irony seemed to be humbling me. Just as I had mastered one emotional hurdle, a new aspect of humanity surfaced for me to tackle. One that many single women can relate to. 

It started shortly after transitioning into my new three-bedroom home. I remember the conversation with my best friend shortly after moving.

“I feel like I’m stepping into my queen era,” I told her.

As a student of Jungian psychology, I geek out on feminine and masculine archetypes. There are seven main feminine archetypes: the lover, the sage, the huntress, the maiden, the mother, the mystic, and finally, the queen. The queen archetype represents sovereignty, power, and loyalty.  She’s a woman who is the center of gravity for her family and community, loyal and devoted to her kingdom and her king. Think Beyonce, Cookie Lyon, Savannah James, and Michelle Obama.  The queen is strong, confident, and in control. It’s her pleasure that her kingdom prospers. Here’s a link if you want to learn more about the queen archetype!

I hadn’t been conscious of it then, but purchasing a home represented queen-dom for me. I’d stopped traveling as a digital nomad and was creating an opportunity to build and plant roots. In my home, there would be space for more people, more love, and more life. It would be my very own little kingdom.

Then, reality set in. 

The grief experience

As time drew on, I noticed a certain sadness would wash over me occasionally, and I  wasn’t quite sure why. There was nothing wrong, per se. I was finally a homeowner.  Life was moving along, my family was well, and my close relationships were intact. What could be the origin of this sadness? 

The nighttime was particularly uncomfortable. I’ve always been a night owl, but this was different. I would find myself fighting the urge to go to bed—sometimes going down internet rabbit holes of research and other times sitting up with the company of my favorite foursome, Samantha, Carrie, Charlotte, and Miranda. Strangely enough, on many nights, I would drift off to sleep just minutes into turning on the show.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was battling grief. The sadness that appeared like waves rising and falling was a response to disappointment. At thirty-nine years old, I was supposed to be building my kingdom — instead, I was paying for a house in which I only occupied maybe fifty percent. It was as if a larger home made it clearer that it really was just . . . me. 

The restless nights and random internet searches were my signal that something was missing. Indeed, I was searching.  But what I needed couldn’t be found through Google. I was in search of companionship. As strange as it may seem, turning on Sex and the City just before falling asleep gave me a sense of comfort and maybe even company.

Ambiguous, complex, disenfranchised

No one had died (thankfully), but that didn’t stop me from feeling profound loss. I was experiencing ambiguous grief, also known as complex or disenfranchised grief. 

Unlike typical grief, which is a response to a literal loss of life, ambiguous grief is more complicated to pinpoint. It’s a response to what was expected, hoped for, or desired, but never realized. Humans grieve ideas, desires, relationships, phases of life, and even versions of ourselves that will never be again. 

In my case, I was grieving my lifelong desire for marriage and companionship. My grief was made complex by the fact that I was still dating. After years and years, I was hoping to end my dating journey and enter into my marriage journey. Unlike a physical death, acceptance of this loss would mean that I might be giving up on my dream prematurely. And ironically, refusing to accept it would leave me in a perpetual state of hope and disappointment. And so I was stuck—unable to let go and also unable to move forward. Complex indeed.

But how can one grieve what she’s never had? And what if a partnership eventually comes? Then all of that grief would have been unnecessary.

Not exactly. While I’m very aware that people are marrying well past forty and going on to live happily ever after, I still feel a loss for all the time that has passed without my person. There will be fewer birthdays and holidays to celebrate together. My parents will have less time to spend with their son-in-law and grandchildren – if there is time for grandchildren at all. And let’s not talk about the good sex-having years that are just passing by— never to be reclaimed. There’s a reason the Bible says, “Enjoy the wife of your youth!” 

So, yes, my person may come in time. But that doesn’t mean there won’t be a cost for that time. 

The frustrating thing about this type of grief is that much of the world doesn’t recognize it. Even worse, some may minimize it. Here’s where the term “disenfranchised grief” becomes relevant.  Because there’s no physical person involved, this expression of grief isn’t taken as seriously, nor is it socially validated. 

Yet, the situation remains. While it may not hurt quite like losing a loved one to death, the loss of needs, hopes, dreams, and aspirations is very real. 

Grief masked as depression

In my therapy practice, I’ve worked with many clients who are experiencing ambiguous grief masked as depression. Their parents are still living, but the grief of never having a mother who was loving and supportive or a father who was present and affirming eats at them. Much of our work is to acknowledge, process, and hold space for the reality that they never got the parent they needed or hoped for. There was no physical loss, but it makes sense that sadness and grief are present. I hold space for these clients. And now, someone will have to hold space for me.

Grief therapy 

I fought the need for therapy for a while. After all, talking about it would not change this circumstance. And it’s not as if I wasn’t living and enjoying my life. I had friends, family, hobbies, projects, and my faith. Honestly, why spend the money? But eventually, after another disappointing dating experience, I gave in. 

My first ambiguous grief therapy session was last week – and I believe it was God-orchestrated. For the first time in my therapy journey, I had a Black female therapist— a woman who looked like me and had experienced some of my journey. She provided the motherly energy I needed for this work.  As I shared with her my reasons for starting therapy, my voice began to crack, and the tears welled up. 

Darnit! I hadn’t intended to cry.  I was annoyed by my tears, even though I had full permission to have them. 

My therapist reminded me that tears are cleansing. She held space for me as I explained how I had wanted marriage from the time I was a teenager in church, being taught to reserve sex only for the institution. I explained the years of failed relationships, therapy, and coaching. I cried again as I shared about a recent dating experience that had left me feeling disappointed and discarded — I hadn’t even realized those tears were in there.

As I shared, I remembered why I enjoyed therapy so much in those early years. Talking allowed me to put words to and make sense of everything that had been moving about in my mind. It allowed pain points to crystallize. The presence of a compassionate other further validated my experience. 

Sometimes, this is the work of therapy.  

Grief is …

In writing this very vulnerable piece, I hope that other single women feel seen and motivated to work through their own grief. Your loss is valid. It is not an indication that you are ungrateful. You see, duality is real. We can be incredibly grateful for our lives and simultaneously lament our deeply valued losses.

Your grief is also not an indication that you aren’t living and loving life.

Listen, I’ve done all the things. I’ve started clubs and non-profit organizations. I’ve built businesses and church ministries. I’ve traveled the world and competed on world stages. I KNOW living! And I’m not alone. I know scores of brilliant, well-traveled, Chanel-toting, degree-collecting Black women who are unpartnered and feel the pangs of grief from time to time. They are not to be pitied. They have full lives – in all the ways except for one.

Your grief is not an indication that you aren’t spiritual enough.

 “Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life”. I’ve always found this scripture to be profoundly validating.  Proverbs, the eternal book of wisdom, affirms that it is normal and permissible to grieve unmet desires. God was so compassionate in leading Solomon to write this word.  

But you know what your grief is? 

Your grief is an indication of your humanity. You hurt because you still have the pleasure of being a living, breathing human with wants, needs, hopes, and dreams. Sometimes, along with that reality comes pain and disappointment. No one is exempt. 

Hannah’s story

Last week, I happened to revisit the Biblical story of Hannah, mother of Samuel. Her story speaks to ambiguous grief. For years, not only was Hannah barren, but she was also the first wife to her husband, Elkanah. His second wife, Peninnah, had many children and would taunt Hannah incessantly about her inability to conceive. In those days, a woman’s main value proposition was her ability to bear her husband’s children and provide him with a legacy. To be barren was shameful. 

Part of the beauty in this story is that Hannah owned her tears and her grief about being childless.

“I am a woman who is deeply troubled. I have not been drinking wine or beer; I was pouring out my soul to the Lord. 16 Do not take your servant for a wicked woman; I have been praying here out of my great anguish and grief.” I Samuel 1:15, 16

Hannah called her grief what it was. 

In response to her grief, the Lord displayed His mercy. He didn’t minimize her loss with platitudes or shame her with accusations of being ungrateful for her many other blessings. He allowed her to have her human emotions— I think because He designed her to have them. And perhaps most beautiful of all, after Hannah made a vow to give her child back to God, the Lord remembered her and not only granted her a son, but a son with a mighty purpose. 

Elkanah made love to his wife Hannah, and the Lord remembered her. So in the course of time Hannah became pregnant and gave birth to a son. She named him Samuel, saying, “Because I asked the Lord for him.” I Samuel 1:19, 20

Beauty for Ashes

If, like me, you’re struggling with ambiguous grief, unfortunately, I can’t promise that your heart’s desire will be fulfilled – but I can hold space for that desire.  I can also remind you that God promises beauty for ashes. So cry, lament, and express your sorrow. 

And then, after you’re all cried out, sit back and watch what God will do.  It will be beautiful!

Does this post resonate with you? If so, feel free to use the comment section to share about your ambiguous grief. And if you’re not grieving, but you understand, reply to a comment with love and compassion. Let’s hold space for one another!