The Witch in the Forest (Or Why I'm Finally Letting Go of the Fairy Tale)

I grew up reading Sweet Dreams and Sweet Valley High, watched Molly Ringwald get a makeover and nab the cool kid at the prom. For decades, I was fed the narrative that love would come when I wasn't looking, that my soulmate was waiting for me, and that everyone eventually finds their match.

Meanwhile, I've spent most of my life being fiercely independent – flying solo and maintaining control even when with a partner. I've now been divorced for 13 years, nearly longer than I was married. In that time, I've fallen in love, had a fling or two, and maintained my independence. But until recently, deep in the back of my mind, that teenage girl was still watching Pretty in Pink, still believing I would have that sweeping love affair.

I am a walking contradiction. I can spend days with my head in the clouds dreaming of movie deals, holidays in Tuscany, and a hot man at my side (preferably with a villa and a large Swiss bank account). But I also spend a large part of my time grounded in reality, aware of the pragmatic limitations of my beliefs. To be cold and blatantly honest – I actually think the odds of nabbing a movie deal for "Watching Moor" or "Whole of the Moon" are far more likely than me falling in love again.

And no, I'm not being cynical – I'm being pragmatic. I'm not getting younger. I don't use dating apps because my last foray resulted in dates with a British version of MAGA and a polyamorous Canadian. Most men my age are dating younger women, and if I dip into the older pool, I'm looking at men in their sixties. From my experience, men are hard work, and the older they get, the more set in their ways they become. Let's be real – humans are hard work, period.

I've spent the past two decades raising my son, building my business, and caring for my elderly parents. To be brutally honest, I don't want to spend the next thirty years caring for someone else. And let's talk about the dating pool – it's less of a pool and more of a puddle with some questionable floating objects.

So here I sit, redefining what my world will look like for the next few decades. When I say I'm not looking for or believing I can find love at this age, that doesn't mean I'm planning to stay home and breed cats (though cats are significantly less maintenance than most humans I know). I want friends – men and women. My life can be just as fulfilling without a romantic partner.

It was a massive realization when it finally hit me – this fairy tale I'd been holding onto, the one that society, culture, friends, and family had all pushed on me, might not be my story. Yet when I think back, my great-aunt Mary was single, as were two of my aunts and a cousin. Being single isn't unusual, and it shouldn't be frowned upon.

I now understand why in olden days, the elderly woman would go stay alone in the forest, and people would call her a witch. She wasn't practicing dark magic – she had simply had enough of looking after other people! Perhaps she just wanted to read her books in peace without someone asking what's for dinner or where their clean socks were.

Society has always had a problem with women who choose independence. A woman without a man? She must be bitter, lonely, or there must be something wrong with her! Heaven forbid she might actually prefer her own company or find fulfillment outside of partnership.

The truth is, there's freedom in letting go of that romantic dream. The pressure lifts. The disappointment fades. Instead of waiting for someone to complete your story, you get to write every chapter yourself. You get to spread out in the bed. You get to watch whatever you want on TV. You get to eat ice cream for dinner without judgment (except maybe from your doctor).

So call me a witch if you must. I'll be in my metaphorical forest, living life on my terms, pursuing my passions, and enjoying the company of those who add to my life rather than drain it. And if Prince Charming happens to wander into my forest with good conversation, his own emotional baggage well-sorted, and the ability to cook something besides toast – well, I might invite him in for tea.

But I'm no longer waiting for him. I've got movies to make, places to see, and a life to live that's perfectly whole on its own.