One Foot in Hope, the Other in Despair

Understanding the Ambiguous Loss of Singleness

This post is part of our February series: Loneliness, Fear, and Comparison

My dad shared an article with me from Pepperdine Magazine, the alumni publication from Pepperdine University.

In the article, Kelly Haer — a licensed marriage and family therapist and director of the Relationship IQ program at the Pepperdine Boone Center for the Family — describes one of the unique emotional challenges many singles face: what she calls ambiguous loss.

Ambiguous loss is the grief that comes from longing for a spouse you don’t have — while still hoping one day you will.

It is grief without a funeral.
Loss without a moment of closure.
Heartache without a clear ending.

A grief few people recognize

When a married person loses a spouse through death or divorce, their grief is visible and widely understood.

But the grief of singleness is quieter.

It is the grief of not having found the relationship you hoped for.
The grief of watching time pass.
The grief of wondering if the life you dreamed of will ever arrive.

For singles who do not desire marriage, this isn’t an issue. There is no loss.

But for those who long for partnership and family, the ongoing absence creates a cycle of hope and grief — over and over again.

Hope when you meet someone.
Grief when it doesn’t work out.
Hope again.
Loss again.

It is exhausting.

When faith doesn’t feel comforting

The article suggests that for Christians, relying on God’s faithfulness can ease the pain. While that may be true for some, I’ll be honest — I have never found much comfort in the idea that God is “keeping me single for a greater purpose.”

For me, that explanation has always felt hollow.

Well-meaning friends who encourage me to “just believe it’s going to happen” have often left me feeling discouraged instead of hopeful. How do you believe something will happen when every year that passes makes it feel less likely?

For a long time, I believed my sadness was evidence of weak faith or a bad attitude. I worried I was disappointing God. That added a layer of spiritual anxiety to an already painful experience.

To cope, I stayed very busy. I told myself I wasn’t sad — I was just tired. Tired was easier to explain.

The loss of relationships that almost were

Another form of ambiguous loss I know well is the grief that follows failed relationships.

I have never experienced divorce, but I have experienced the end of many relationships that I hoped would become something more.

Each one carried hope.
Each one carried possibility.
And each one required letting go.

Those losses accumulate quietly over time.

The loneliness of getting older

When you’re in your twenties and thirties, hope comes more easily. There is still plenty of time. The dating pool feels wide.

After forty, the pool becomes smaller. And if you’re seeking a healthy, emotionally mature, commitment-oriented partner, it becomes smaller still.

It is difficult to stay hopeful when the numbers are no longer on your side.

It is difficult not to compare yourself to younger women.
It is difficult not to wonder what went wrong.
It is difficult not to feel invisible sometimes.

The question of “why”

One of the hardest parts of singleness is not knowing:

Why am I still single?
How long will I be single?
What do other people think about me?

I can intellectually understand many of the reasons I am single. I have made decisions that didn’t serve me well. But I also know people with far messier lives who have found loving relationships.

So why not me?

Living in a small town, I know people sometimes assume there must be something “wrong” with me because I’m not married. But I’ve learned that I cannot control what others think — and that what matters most is how I see myself.

Learning to accept the ambiguity

In the article, Haer suggests several ways to cope with ambiguous loss, including:

• identifying personal patterns

• learning to accept uncertainty

• pursuing meaning and hope

• building supportive relationships

Of all of these, the one that helped me the most was learning to accept the ambiguity.

I may not get the answers.
I may not get the timeline.
I may not get the certainty.

But I can still live a meaningful, beautiful life.

And on the days when the ache returns — because it does — I can be gentler with myself.

I can say:

“This is hard. And I’m allowed to grieve what I wanted.”

A final word

If you’ve ever felt like you’re standing with one foot in hope and the other in despair, please know:

There is nothing wrong with you.
You are not failing.
And you are not alone.

Your grief is real.
Your longing is valid.
And your life is still full of purpose.

Longing and hope can feel tangled. This free teaching, The ABCs of Healing, helps you understand the grief underneath — and the path forward.
🔗 https://marydittman.mykajabi.com/abcsofhealing

It’s there to walk with you gently toward peace.

Reflection

Have you ever experienced the quiet grief of ambiguous loss?