When I was a freshman in college, I had my life planned out: I would graduate from Notre Dame with a degree in theology and English, a teaching contract, and an engagement ring. My fiance and I would be married by the time I was 23, and I would have three to five babies by the time I was 30. In my mind at the time, early marriage and motherhood was the only way I would be truly happy; in fact, I saw teaching as a placeholder until I became a full-time stay-at-home-mom.

Fast forward to today: I’m 34 (not 23) and my eight month old firstborn son is napping as I write this. My husband Kristian and I were married only a year and a half ago, in December 2016, and I spent nine years of my adult life teaching high school theology (and loving it). It turns out that the Lord’s plan for my life was blessedly different from 18-year-old Christina’s plan.

And even though I’m thankful for my single years, which spanned over a decade of my adult life, I wish I had embraced one particular truth way sooner than I did: the Christian vocation to love doesn’t begin when you get married. It begins now.

I wish I had embraced one particular truth way sooner than I did: the Christian vocation to love doesn’t begin when you get married. It begins now.

As a twenty-something, I had an unspoken belief that I couldn’t really begin my life or live my vocation until I got married. I call this the “waiting room” or ‘limbo” mentality regarding single life: because I wasn’t in my official Vocation yet, I was in a perpetual holding pattern. Not only is this false, it did damage to me as a person (body, mind, and soul) and impeded my preparation for marriage. Practically, this meant that I postponed or even avoided doing the following for some portion of my single years:

Putting down roots in my community.

Cleaning my room.

Investing/saving money.

Learning how to cook.

Cleaning my bathroom.

Taking care of my car.

Learn about my fertility.

Traveling to certain places I had arbitrarily decided would only be enjoyable with a husband (like the Holy Land).

But here’s the thing: I wish I had started doing all of these things in my early twenties. Instead, it took me until I was 30--only two years before I met my now husband-- to figure out that the Lord was calling me to live an integrated, abundant life now. I’m a bit embarrassed when I look back at how poorly I took care of myself, and my inner feminist cringes to think that I was waiting for a man to do some of those things for me (although I still have zero qualms about letting my husband handle *all* car-related issues).

Why was I waiting for marriage to live my call to love fully? Because I had made Vocation into something it is not: an idol, a “missing puzzle piece” that would fill up all of the empty spaces of my life and satisfy me completely. But here’s what I learned the hard way: Vocation isn’t a piece to your life puzzle, and it certainly won’t make you perfectly happy all the time; your Vocation is a path to holiness, a path to heaven, which means that it will entail not only the joys of the Resurrection, but the suffering of the Cross.

I had made Vocation into something it is not: an idol, a “missing puzzle piece” that would fill up all of the empty spaces of my life and satisfy me completely.

Regardless of how close you are to engagement or entering the novitiate, your vocation to love began at baptism and continues into eternity. Single women have a unique opportunity to love in ways that women who have entered into the married or consecrated state simply do not. What does that look like in your life? I can’t give you specifics because I don’t know you, but if you’re anything like me, it means that you can incorporate some (or all) of the following in your life:

A solid block of time for conversation with the Lord each day (30 min-1 hour is definitely within the realm of possibility for most single people).

Weekly adoration (if you’re a night owl, consider taking one of those graveyard shift hours).

Daily Mass.

A yearly retreat.

Daily spiritual reading.

Volunteering time to your parish, a social ministry in your city, a community garden, etc.

Bringing a meal to a postpartum mama that you know or to a family going through a tough time.

Sending snail mail to friends, just because.

Go to therapy regularly.

Opening your home to others for dinner, games, or just to chat.

As a new mom who at eight months postpartum is still finding her prayer rhythm, I am thankful to my single self for spending all of those hours in adoration and daily Mass. When we became pregnant with our son, I was thankful that I began taking my health seriously and going to a NaPro physician before I started dating my husband. When I’m exhausted from a night of frequent nursing and feeling bereft that I don’t have the time or energy to volunteer at my parish during this season of life, I’m thankful that I gave so freely of my time and talent as a catechist when I was single. When my husband and I have tough conversations that at one point in my life would have triggered an anxiety attack, I’m incredibly grateful for the years I spent doing my personal work in therapy before we met. And when a girlfriend offers to visit me at home because taking my squirmy son to a restaurant or coffee shop right now is not enjoyable, I’m thankful for all of the times I was able to help my mom friends before I got married.

Single, married, or consecrated, we all share the vocation to love. What that looks like on a practical level changes based on your state in life, but no Christian is called to more or less than the gift of herself. How will you live that call today?