At the seder table this year, my mind wandered. Not sure if it was just hunger or distraction, but upon hearing the word “freedom,” I didn’t think about ancient Egypt. Instead, my mind turned to my divorce, the aftermath, and how I continue to work on freeing myself from old patterns and internalized expectations about what life was supposed to look like.
I will never forget the morning my world irreversibly shifted.
I was focused in my cubicle, foot in a boot from recent surgery, easing back into work after a month-long recovery. The phone rang, and I received a telling call. The voice was agitated and yelling. That familiar knot of dread began to form in my throat. I replied in one-word, quiet answers, aware that co-workers could hear. The heat was rising, the tears were welling up, and my head was shaking from escalating nerves. I needed to get out of that spinning room and breathe in some fresh air. Once outside, I steadied myself, closed my eyes and instinctively knew that my marriage was over.
I was 41 years old. My spouse of 19 years and I had two beautiful children, lived in a lovely neighborhood, and were immersed in our Jewish community. We ticked all the right boxes. But behind closed doors, things weren’t working. Despite the life we’d built together, there was a growing sense of disconnect — of something deeply off between us that no amount of effort seemed to fix. Despite my internal ‘knowing,’ I begged him to work together to turn things around for the sake of our family. Over the next three years, we saw three different counselors, which ultimately achieved nothing.
For me, it was three years of communicating without being heard. Three years of crying. Three years of distress.
In the end, I found the strength to make the life-changing decision.
I could write a novel on my divorce experience. But my focus in this piece is the “after.” After the waves of anger, shame, grief, and acceptance — when we begin to rebuild and forge a new way forward. Not everyone wants to be freed from a difficult circumstance. Some are blindsided. Some resist every step. But eventually, we all get to that place — like it or not — of being solo.
My personal journey took eight years to grapple with singlehood, as I met someone special just five months after I reluctantly dipped my toe into the dating pool. We began a seven-year on-again, off-again relationship. You read that right. Seven years.
Throughout our time together, I struggled with the tension between wanting independence and fearing loneliness. There was love. There was connection. But there were also deep differences. We both tried to hold on, afraid of what solitude might bring. Until we couldn’t anymore. In November 2023, I found myself uncoupled again.
I thought this would finally be MY time — to truly embrace solo life. But things didn’t play out exactly as I’d imagined. Most of my friends were married or in relationships, leaving me with weekends to fill on my own. If I had a date, I’d be busy, but otherwise, I’d spend Saturday nights alone, ordering in or watching TV. I’d imagined this phase would involve enriching cultural outings, travel, and dining solo, but instead, work often took over, giving me the illusion of being too busy to do anything else. The truth was, I avoided going out alone, afraid of feeling uncomfortable or judged.
Aging brings sacred gifts — chief among them, wisdom. And the wisdom I kept trying to avoid was this: I had to get comfortable with solitude. Because if I didn’t, my search for love would always be rooted in what someone else could fill in me. And that’s not the foundation for true, lasting connection. I believe we have to come to the table whole. Knowing that if it doesn’t work out, we’ll still be okay.
It was from this thinking that my newest venture, Single and Striking Out, was born. If I took steps to do things out in the world on my own, as research, and write about them, it would “feel” differently. Not sad and lonely, but curious and investigative. I was able to combine my passion for writing with a deep need to embrace the solitude. Striking out doesn’t just mean physically stepping into the world; it also means finding the courage to step into myself. And that’s the part I’m still learning.
At close to 54 years old, like the Israelites leaving Egypt, I am traversing a new frontier. What will be on the other side is unknown. Either I will find the love I am seeking, or I will love myself enough to know that my life will be rich regardless. What I do know for sure is that the freedom found along the journey is worth every step.
If you are on a similar journey, I hope you will join me and share your experiences at singleandstrikingout.com
Meredith Siegel Cohen is a writer and former senior director in the nonprofit sector. Nearly eight years after her divorce and the end of a long-term relationship, she’s finally embracing the single life—and writing about it. On her blog, Single and Striking Out, Meredith explores the complexities of midlife, celebrating independence while staying open to her next great love. With a background in law and leadership, she brings insight, warmth, and a touch of humor to her reflections on change, growth, and navigating life on her own terms. When she’s not writing, she enjoys time with family and friends, planning her next solo adventure, or savoring an early morning cup of coffee.
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