The PRIVILEGE of partnership
“I don’t think I was put on this Earth for romantic love,” Law Roach, elite fashion stylist expressed in a resurfaced video on the app formerly known as Twitter.
His words transported me back to a time in my life when I questioned everything about romantic love, and if it was for me.
The year was 2018; I had recently separated from my marriage, a long-term relationship I never anticipated ending for any reason other than death. I felt hurt, upset, and mostly confused. At that time, I felt like relationships wasn’t giving what they said it was supposed to gave. I understood that my story didn’t involve a bad guy. There was no infidelity, there were no broken promises; we simply fell out of alignment. I tried everything to repair the damage, but it became very clear to me that if we didn’t part ways, there’d be no relationship left to salvage.
I wanted to understand how two people with the best of intentions for each other could reach a place of misunderstanding, abandonment, and pain. It wasn’t just my relationship I questioned, but others as well—my parents, my friends, even celebrities.
Was anyone truly happy? Is this type of love sustainable, for real, for real?
As I processed my grief with several 10-piece combos from Wingstop, I went down a rabbit hole. My positive outlook on love started to diminish. I didn’t want to open myself up to anyone, ever. What was the point? Falling in love is easy; we present the best parts of ourselves in the beginning until we’re unable to mask. By the time the mask comes off, we might be in a commitment, sharing a living space, have already entered a contract of some sort, whether it’s starting a business or being in the business of marriage.
This rabbit hole led me to some literature about aromanticism, I immediately identified with it. Up until that point, I had not explored life as a single, Black gay man. I officially came out at 25 and was in a long-term relationship by 26. Here I was, 35 years old, reborn and ready to define love for myself.
Discovering anatonormativity, a term coined by Elizabeth Brake, radicalized me in a way I never expected. I was in a space of prioritizing my platonic and familial connections, but entering my late 30s, I started to think, what will my future be? This world is designed to accommodate and prioritize romantic couples. You see it everywhere, from taxes to obtaining health benefits. Single people are not protected and are often left as an afterthought. Like we’re being punished for not finding “the one.” I learned how so many created chosen family—siblings choosing to buy a house to raise their kids together, best friends being each other’s emergency contacts, and so on and so forth.
It took me close to 5 years to process my grief, during which I started to crave romantic attention again. I created non-negotiables for myself. I came to understand that I was not aromantic, just bitter. I love, love, but that type of love has to happen organically. It’s not a requirement; it’s a choice, and often, it’s a privilege. I’m not interested in fitting squares into circles for the sake of public adoration. I’ve been there before; it’s suffocating, it’s isolating, and to be quite frank, it’s inauthentic. Would I ever get married again? I’m not opposed to it, but if it never happens, I will be A-OK.
I’m happy that people like Law Roach and Whoopi Goldberg are being transparent about their non-traditional views on romance. We need more of it—especially in the Black, Queer community. I often see my peers publicly yearn for a romantic relationship, and I sense it’s out of fear of growing old and being alone. This fear shouldn’t exist and wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for anatonormativity. My hope is that these conversations will continue to happen on a larger scale so that we all can define connections for ourselves and possibly push protections and benefits to those who aren’t coupled up.