The Second Sex: On the Loneliest Truth Many Women Learn Too Late

The saddest thing for many women isn’t heartbreak or failure—it’s spending a lifetime never quite grasping this: you’re your child’s mother, your partner’s teammate, and in this world, from first to last, you are ultimately responsible for your own life.

There’s a viral scene in a short skit: the wife is alone in the kitchen, juggling pans and timers, while her husband and in-laws lounge in the living room eating and chatting. She brings out a fresh dish, only to hear her mother-in-law say, “We’re still missing X—could you run out and grab it?”
When she returns, what’s left for her is a table of cold scraps. Eventually, she wakes up.

In real life, women like this are everywhere—quiet, diligent, invisible. They care for everyone in the house and somehow vanish from their own story.

I’ve visited hospitals enough to notice a pattern: when older women are admitted, it’s often their adult children who sit by the bed; when older men are admitted, it’s most often their wives. A survey once found that 78% of women realize after forty-five: “I don’t seem to have a life of my own.”

That’s the tragedy: never quite understanding that you’re not just a mother, not just a partner—you’re a person, singular and whole. Simone de Beauvoir said it sharply: “Men learn early that happiness must be built. Women are taught to wait for it to be bestowed.”

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01 Why do you so often end up alone?

Haruki Murakami put it bluntly: “We are, each of us, alone. That’s the truth of the world.”
Another line I once saw online stuck with me: “Your first responsibility is to live your own life well—not to live it for others.”

Life, at its core, contains loneliness. Miss that, and you’ll keep reaching outward for what can’t be given.

De Beauvoir—writing at the roots of modern feminism—saw two things clearly about marriage:
first, it can function as a system where a woman “legally sells” her labor and body to a man;
second, the husband is both partner and chair of the board, while the wife becomes the shareholder with unlimited liability.

I watched a female creator describe women’s finances after marriage: one woman said she often had only fifty bucks to her name—couldn’t do anything, really. Others had it worse: they couldn’t even buy sanitary pads without asking, because the husband controlled the money and they had no income of their own. It’s hard to picture that kind of corner until you’re in it.

Look at divorce statistics people often cite: around 70% of divorces are initiated by women, yet about 75% of those women see their standard of living drop afterward. Why? Because they’d already “sold themselves” to marriage—pouring a lifetime of unpaid labor into a partnership that, structurally, was always just that: a partnership, not a guarantee.

When I was younger and watched nature documentaries, I used to think: how lucky humans are—animal mothers usually leave after weaning, but human mothers stay. As I got older, I began to see the trap. We could learn something from the wild: “mother” is a social role, not a biological destiny. No one should be expected—let alone required—to sacrifice an entire life to it.

A woman is a person first. Only after that comes wife, mother, daughter—whatever roles follow.

Existentially speaking, each of us is an alone being. Many men accept early that solitude is the baseline. Many women are taught that dependence is bliss—first on parents, then on a husband, and in older age on children. But to be human is to face aloneness.

As Martin Heidegger reminds us: we are destined to face death alone—and because of that, we must also learn how to face life on our own.

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02The Wake-Up: From Accessory to Protagonist

A slogan from the American women’s movement says it well: “My name isn’t ‘So-and-so’s mom’ or ‘So-and-so’s wife.’ My name is my own.”

Anaïs Nin once wrote: “You must become the protagonist of your own life, not a supporting character in someone else’s.” If a woman doesn’t want to live as someone’s appendage—if she wants a life with her name on it—the first step is financial independence.

Even a modest paycheck matters. Earning your own money keeps your skills alive and your options open. Cash on hand gives you the courage to walk away from people and places that don’t fit. Without it, you can end up like the woman a creator described online—she fled the house with barely a hundred in her pocket and couldn’t even afford a safe hotel for the night.

Set up a “freedom fund”—enough for about three months of basic expenses. That cushion buys time to land, breathe, and find work. Think of that viral story about the 56-year-old who took a solo road trip to reclaim her life—and the internet cheered because the gas money was hers.

Next, reclaim sovereignty over your body.

There are plenty of cases that make the point: being engaged or married does not equal blanket consent. If you don’t want sex, a partner cannot force it. Say no. It’s your body.

If relatives are fixated on you producing a son—or any child on their timetable—you can refuse. You don’t owe anyone a pregnancy, let alone repeated abortions to satisfy someone else’s preferences.

Data backs up autonomy: women who can decide freely about reproduction show a 54% lower rate of depression.

Then comes emotional weaning.

De Beauvoir, when she was young, refused the idea of a dowry: “I won’t be any man’s inheritance.” Wanting support is human, but you can train yourself off dependence. That’s the path to freedom.

Practical drills help: do one thing each day that might ruffle someone’s feathers but makes you genuinely happy. Swap “I’m sorry” for “This is my decision.” The person you most need to treat well is yourself.

Finally, practice solitude.

A friend once admitted she dreaded nights alone in her apartment—it felt like the bottom dropped out. But life is unpredictable, and no one can accompany us forever. Learn to stand with yourself.

Try scheduling a “day of deliberate solitude” once a month: no messaging, no calls, just you and your own plans. Write out a prompt—“If it were only me, how would I live?”—and draft the answers. People who prepare for solitude see a 70% lower risk of depression after losing a spouse.

As Simone de Beauvoir wrote: true liberation begins the moment a woman understands she can be a subject—like a man—rather than an object.

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03A Rite of Rebirth: Throw Yourself a Coming-of-Age

Marriage is social. Solitude is personal.

Whatever you’ve been through—whether you’ve had a self of your own or not—you can start now with a ritual of renewal.

Begin by tearing off the labels. On a sheet of paper or in your notes app, list the roles pinned to you—wife, mother, daughter, caregiver—and then cross them out or rip them up. Drop the shackles and come back to yourself: you are you, not a job title assigned by society.

Give yourself a new name if you want—one that points to the woman you’re becoming. Think of those TV dramas where the heroine hates her given name and chooses another because it symbolizes a different life. You can do that in real life: choose a name with meaning and step into it.

Seal it with a written vow: “I swear that from today on, the subject of my life changes from ‘we’ to ‘I.’”

I remember an episode of a long-form interview show: the camera turned to the guest’s wife, once a standout at a top research university. She’d stepped back from her field for love and family. Asked what she’d choose if she could live again, she said, “I’d definitely walk my own path… I just need one job.”

One day you’ll realize what Oscar Wilde meant: “To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance.”

There are no saviors and no sidekicks. You have always been—and will always be—one person, a one-woman army.

The sadness isn’t solitude itself. It’s never discovering the “self,” and spending a lifetime acting out roles that other people find convenient. Awakening begins with this: “I am myself first,” and only then everything else. That kind of solitude isn’t despair—it’s the beginning of freedom.