The Fear of Being Single: A Unique Perspective
Did you know that a Fear of Being Single (FOBS) Scale exists? Yes, it was developed by psychologists in 2013 to delve into how an intense fear of being alone can impact romantic decisions. Research revealed that individuals who score highly on the FOBS Scale are significantly more inclined to remain in unhealthy relationships, often lowering their standards in the pursuit of companionship. In essence, some people would rather endure a toxic relationship than face the prospect of being single. This concept is utterly perplexing to me, akin to conversing with a flat Earther. As someone who has embraced the single life for nearly a decade, I find myself so far removed from the FOBS Scale that it barely registers on my radar. In fact, my own fear is the opposite: an intense and crippling dread of not being single.
The longer I remain unattached, the more I struggle to envision a desire for partnership again. I worry that, after years of solitude, I may have developed a form of relationship intolerance. Every friend or family member I’ve supported through a breakup has expressed some variation of, “I’ve been in a relationship for so long, I don’t know how to be single!” Yet, my experience is quite the opposite. I’ve been single for such an extended period that I genuinely feel out of touch with what it means to be in a relationship.
You might be thinking, “Stay single then, Kate.” However, I fear that I am now so entrenched in my solo lifestyle that I wouldn’t recognize a genuine romantic opportunity if it knocked on my door. Just as some individuals cling to unhealthy relationships out of fear of being single, I might be holding onto my single status out of fear of what being in a relationship entails. To be completely honest, I doubt I would even know how to interact with a boyfriend, even if he were delivered to my doorstep holding flowers and offering to fix my plumbing. Sure, I could manage for the initial hours, but once he tackled my home repairs, I know I would start to feel anxious about sharing my space with another adult for the long haul.
Let me clarify: I am single, not celibate. I can manage casual encounters, and before my knees began to protest, I greatly enjoyed the occasional one-night stand. However, the thought of entering into a serious, committed relationship fills me with dread akin to that of undergoing root canal surgery or facing public embarrassment. My life as a single person is gloriously simple, and I have no desire to complicate it. I do not wish to share my bed, clean up after someone else, or take on the role of caretaker for another person ever again.
It’s not just about the physical space—there are emotional and mental considerations too. I feel more like myself than ever before, and I am reluctant to dilute that sense of self. Even if I had a partner living in a different house or another country, I still wouldn’t want to filter the minutiae of my daily life through someone else’s approval, which is an inevitable part of being in a relationship.
Perhaps my perspective is shaped by being in my 40s and becoming set in my ways, or maybe it’s because my past relationships have only brought chaos and heartache. Whatever the reason, I find myself firmly closing the door on romance. You might label me as “anxious avoidant” or a “commitment-phobe,” but I prefer to embrace my independence. It has taken a long time for me to recognize my single status as a positive aspect of my life.
Growing up in the 90s, shows like Friends and Sex and the City reinforced the notion that the ultimate goal was to find a partner. Movies like Bridget Jones’s Diary only served to emphasize the stigma of being single. This stigma still exists today, but here’s the little-known truth: it’s all a facade. Being single is absolutely fantastic.
As a single individual, I have the freedom to go anywhere and do anything, at any time, in any way that I choose. My decisions are entirely my own; I don’t have to consider a partner’s jealousy, their bad moods, their family dynamics, or their friends whom I may not particularly enjoy. It’s just me. If my home is a mess, it’s my mess. If I tidy it up, it stays tidy. I do not have to compromise on anything, and the only person who holds me accountable for staying out late is myself. I am the captain of my own ship, and I refuse to let anyone else onboard.
Moreover, I am far from alone in this sentiment. Across the globe, marriage rates are on the decline, and the number of individuals living alone has reached an all-time high. Research indicates that women tend to adapt better to single life than men. A study from 2024 found that single women report greater satisfaction with their relationship status, life satisfaction, sexual satisfaction, and a lower desire for a partner compared to men. Interestingly, single individuals (regardless of gender) tend to have more diverse social lives, forming closer ties with friends and family than their coupled counterparts.
Moreover, research from 2022 highlights that single people over 40 are the happiest of all. The reasons for this vary, but it’s likely because those who have navigated the single life for this long are the true champions—the elites! Everyone else may have opted for dating apps like Tinder, but I have no intention of joining that fray anytime soon.
Occasionally, I do wonder if my steadfast commitment to remaining single is a response to the parade of unsatisfactory partners I’ve encountered in the past. While I recognize that I might be closed off to the mere thought of a relationship—and that this may not be entirely healthy—I am genuinely content in my current state, and I do not foresee this changing. If I were to stumble upon a potential partner now, I honestly wouldn’t know how to engage. My very first boyfriend was when I was just five years old. Our relationship consisted of little more than sharing sandwiches at lunch and telling everyone we were dating, without ever spending time together outside of school. I think I could manage something like that again.
