Your 30s hit differently. It’s like waking up to slower mornings after years of rushing through sunrise alarms. Suddenly, being single isn’t a punchline or something in need of an urgent fix, it’s an entire season of solo wonder.

A space where quiet and fear coexist, craving the peaceful delight of your own company. The way your favourite mug feels warm between your hands on an autumn morning. Or when the sun reflects through your window and creates a little rainbow on your wall. The way a well-loved book smells when you turn the pages.

It’s immense. But sometimes underneath that feeling of satisfaction comes a tightness in your chest. The devil on your shoulder reminding you that you could potentially be alone FOREVER. That dreaded fear of what the future might hold if you stay this way a little too long. Blergh. It haunts me more often than not.

Being single in your 30s isn’t about loneliness as much as it is about self-discovery. You say a fond farewell to your 20s (a time you loved being young, wild and free) to enjoy a more slow, soft way of living. In my world anyway! Some of you still like a party and that’s more than okay.

For me it’s choosing what feels good rather than guessing, learning that the quiet evenings, slow meals, and the moments spent just breathing in your own space, are not empty but full. Full of possibility, peace, and an element of love you didn’t know you needed before.

in love with mr big

For a long time, I’ve been tangled in the same story, a half-lit romance with my own Mr Big.

He’s hot and cold, mostly cold. I held on, waiting for the chase, the fireworks, the grand romantic gesture that would sweep me off my feet and maybe even onto a plane to Paris like with Carrie.

But spoiler alert. That moment never came.

Letting go of that fantasy after so much investment comes with grief and no clear roadmap. Dating feels less like finding connection and more like a tedious script of small talk and a checklist of awkward “what’s your favourite TV show?” questions from men who wouldn’t know sincerity if it tapped them on the shoulder.

Navigating my anxious-avoidant attachment style doesn’t make it any easier. I find myself running from the nice guys, the ones who want to move slow, who don’t set off fireworks but offer steady warmth. They compliment me and I want to throw up. My friends hate me for it, livid that I don’t give these guys a chance or that I need to change my “type”.

But realistically, changing from brunettes to blondes isn’t going to make much of a difference.

If they’re an arsehole, they’re an arsehole. At least I’ll actually find them attractive.

I think I just know that I don’t want someone who settles just because they want a relationship. I want someone who truly wants me. If I want a random boyfriend, believe me, give me a deadline of this evening at 8pm and I’ll make it.

Maybe that’s why I keep getting pulled toward the bad boys, the ones who don’t say much at first but prove their love over time in ways that feel real and earned. It’s exhausting but it doesn’t make me want to run a thousand miles in the opposite direction. Though it probably should. Woops.

reclaiming my feed, my closet, and my life

Social media used to be my weird little lifeline. Everyone that knows me reading this will laugh knowing I probably have an addiction to it. I can’t help it, okay! It’s a part of my work life too! I love how you can express yourself on each platform, I love creating travel videos or fashion journals. It’s a place I turned to for hope, distraction, and yes, sometimes a whole lot of male validation on a lonely Friday night.

Scrolling through carefully curated lives, I’d chase the fleeting signs that a guy noticed me. But it was tiresome. Every notification was a tiny hit of dopamine, but also a reminder that I was still searching for something outside myself. Liking my Instagram post isn’t taking action. It’s just reminding me that these boys are still lingering with minimal effort attached.

I’m clearing space now. I used to fear letting go of possibility to the point where I’d turn situationships into long-term friendships. But deleting the “maybes,” the “what ifs,” the men who hovered on my feed like digital ghosts feels euphoric, especially when I’ve been holding on to the bare minimum. My block list is growing, and with every removal, there’s a little less noise, and a lot more breathing room.

In that space, I’m filling my life with things that actually feed my soul. I’m cooking meals that smell like comfort and taste like care, organising my closet like I’m starring in a 90s rom-com makeover scene, and enjoying TV shows and music that I like, not just because I wanna impress some guy who likes something different (something CRAP!). These aren’t chores or distractions; they’re rituals that remind me I’m worth investing in.

the women who need love to survive

There’s this kind of woman I see often, the ones who seem to need love, like air or water, who wear their relationships like a lifeline. They say sayonara to their besties the second a guy shows up. They often end up in relationships first, mostly because they’re willing to bend, forgive, and compromise so much just to keep the connection alive. It’s as if their worth feels tangled up in being needed, wanted, or held.

But needing love to survive can sometimes lead us down a terrible road of zero self-discovery. It can mean losing pieces of ourselves in the process, swallowing doubts, ignoring red flags, or settling for someone who doesn’t really see us. That’s not the only way to survive your 30s. You don’t always need someone or something to show you’re doing it right.

I know my journey doesn’t have to mirror theirs. I know myself in a way that a lot of my friends and family won’t (despite them being amazing and so supportive, of course), because I’ve experienced the wild, weird, sometimes downright exhausting world of dating apps. I’ve swiped through more profiles than I care to admit, felt the sting of ghosting, the awkward first messages, the endless unwarranted sex-infused chats that lead nowhere.

Your friends might have been in relationships for years, maybe even married, but if they haven’t faced this modern dating circus, they don’t really know it all.

So when they say things like “Just be patient” or “You’ll find someone soon,” or even offer advice about love, remember, you get to decide what’s best for you. You know your dealbreakers better than anyone else.

Trust yourself to make the best decision for you. I’m lucky to have friends that give the best support, and I know they’ll stand by me regardless of what I get up to. Trust me, there’s been plenty of disappointment when I’ve gone back to a dusty, crusty situationship that didn’t need revisiting!

can I learn to be alone — truly?

It’s not difficult for me to enjoy my own space. I’ve lived alone for six years and could easily spend five nights out of the week on my own without wincing. I honestly do enjoy it.

As you can tell, Carrie Bradshaw often drifts through my thoughts, the way she looked utterly content in her tiny New York apartment. She wasn’t lonely. She portrayed a new world of cosyness. She had her friends, her work, and most importantly, herself. That image is a quiet beacon for me, a glimpse of freedom I’m still learning how to hold.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying she wasn’t messy and boy crazy. She was, but she also knew how to enjoy her own company without bouncing off the walls like a padded cell like some women would.

Learning to be enough for myself feels freeing in a way. The quiet isn’t always peaceful, sometimes it’s heavy, a pressing reminder of what’s missing. On some nights, I feel the cold weight of solitude sinking in, and I wonder if I’m just circling the same story and losing vital time.

No Mr Big with whispered promises, no one to hold my hand through the dark. No one to take my fucking grocery bags from the car to my flat for me.

And yet… I continue to do it all myself anyway.

I think this chapter isn’t about waiting for a man to complete the story. I want to write one where I’m the whole, the hero and the happily-ever-after. I’ve become someone who I love spending time with. I find comfort in the silence. I feel like I’m embracing the stillness and treating it like self-love.

a soft reset

I’m beginning to understand why people say your 30s are a gift wrapped in softness. It’s the gentle unravelling of the chaos, noise, and wild urgency of your 20s. The decade when you learn to crave peace and avoid drama.

Today’s version of me wants clarity. I want clothes that fit like a second skin, colours that make me glow, conversations that leave me feeling lighter, not drained. I want slow mornings with steamy mugs and windows cracked open to let in the crisp, early-autumn air. I crave healthy food and the reward of nourishing my body.

This age urges you to lean into self-care, not as an indulgence, but as a necessity. To invest in yourself with grace. Maybe it’s the relief of finally accepting you don’t need to prove your worth to anyone. Or just the simple joys of waking up and genuinely liking who’s looking back in the mirror, scars, uneven tan lines, and all.

The best love story I’ll ever write isn’t with someone else. I’ll write about the woman I become. With or without that kind of love.

simple ways to embrace being alone

Being alone can be the most comforting space where you get to truly be yourself. Here’s some gentle, fun ways to lean into that quietness and find joy in your own company:

• Light your favourite candle and set the mood. Let the gentle glow and soothing scent create a little sanctuary just for you, a place where you can breathe deeply and relax.

• Make a playlist of songs that lift your spirit. Whether it’s jazz like Carrie, pop, or even guilty pleasures, dance around your room or just sway while cooking. Movement can be the easiest way to feel alive.

• Get cosy with a soft blanket and a good book or journal. Write down your thoughts, doodle, or list the things you love about yourself, celebrate your own story.

• Plan a solo date night. Order your favourite meal, pour a glass of something you love, and watch that movie or show that always makes you feel good, no compromises, just pure you-time.

• Dress in something that makes you smile. Maybe it’s a nice warm jumper, a silk scarf, or your comfiest pyjamas. Wearing what feels good is like giving yourself a little hug.

• Practice gentle self-talk. When loneliness creeps in, remind yourself that being alone is a chance to recharge, to heal, and to become your own best friend.

• Create mini rituals that honour your mood. Maybe that’s lighting incense, brewing tea with intention, or opening your window to let fresh air in, tiny acts that say, “I’m here for myself.”

The goal is to fill the silence with kindness, to learn that your own company can be soft, fun, and deeply nourishing. A reminder that the best person you can be with is you.