“You’ll find the right person when you least expect it.” Every time I hear that, I feel like punching a wall. It’s genuinely triggering. I wish married people realized that this kind of advice doesn’t help—it actually makes things worse. It reminds me of the kind of comfort Job’s friends tried to offer: well-intentioned, maybe, but ultimately dismissive of real pain. Of course, my suffering isn’t on the scale of Job’s, but the truth is, being single is the deepest ache in my life right now.
This discontent has been building for a long time, but it’s intensified as more of my friends have gotten married and started families. I can’t help but compare myself to them. Slowly, jealousy and bitterness—toward them and toward God—have crept into my heart. I want what they have. I want to be home, raising a child, building a life with someone. That’s the life that feels meaningful to me.
Instead, I’m exhausted—drained by the demands of corporate life. I go to work, I stare at screens, I sit in meetings, I chase deadlines. And for what? Who am I doing this for? What am I working toward? Yes, I get a paycheck, but that’s it. There’s no lasting satisfaction in it. I have no passion for climbing a corporate ladder, no interest in helping grow someone else’s empire. No matter where I work, I feel unfulfilled. The truth is, the life that seems most meaningful to me is one where I’m a wife and a mother. But I don’t have anyone. No partner, no prospects. And that’s what breaks me. I feel stuck in a place I don’t want to be.
I know how dangerous loneliness can be. It doesn’t just make you sad—it makes you desperate. It lowers your standards. It clouds your judgment. You start grasping for anyone who’s nearby—someone to fill the silence, to soothe the ache. Whether or not they’re right for you, whether or not they even care. I’ve been there. And it was one of the darkest seasons of my life. I learned some hard lessons, but they came at the cost of a broken heart. I can laugh about it now, but it was brutal.
Even knowing how loneliness can lead to more pain, now that I’m in my 30s, I sometimes hear that voice in my head whispering, “Maybe you should just settle. Maybe someone is better than no one.” And in my weaker moments, that voice almost makes sense. But yet, another part of me knows that’s not love. That’s not wisdom. I’ve seen people make that choice. I’ve heard their stories. And not all of them end in happiness.
I do trust God. I believe He’s a provider. I’ve seen Him provide before—faithfully, in ways I never expected. But this—this waiting? It’s hard. Some days, it feels unbearable. How much longer will this season last? Another year? Three? Ten? The thought of still being here in this same place next year makes me want to scream or disappear. I know it sounds dramatic, but I’m being honest. That’s how it feels.
Yet even in the midst of this frustration, I know something deeper: I’m not fully ready. I know that sounds contradictory. I long for marriage. I ache for family. But I don’t just want to have a husband and children—I want to serve them well. I want to be a Godly wife and mother. I want to be a woman of prayer, a spiritual covering for my family, someone who fights on her knees in the quiet hours of the morning. I don’t just want to fill a role—I want to walk in purpose.
How can I expect my children to know faith if I’m not living it out myself? How can I ask for a home filled with God’s presence if I’m not inviting Him into my life daily—through His Word, through prayer, through surrender? Children watch everything. They mimic what we model. They’ll follow my lead, whether I realize it or not. And I want to lead them toward Jesus.
So even though this season hurts—deeply—I know it isn’t meaningless. I believe it has purpose. God is using this time to shape me, to strengthen me, to prepare me. He’s more concerned with who I’m becoming than how fast I get to the next chapter. My job now is to press in and seek Him first. My relationship with God must come before any relationship I hope to have with a man. And every day, I have to make the intentional choice to be content in this season—not because it’s easy, but because I trust that He is good. And His timing, even when it feels impossibly slow, is never wrong.
jinsil • truth 