There’s a terrible achy feeling that comes with being the last single friend. You love seeing your favourite people happy, but somewhere between their engagements, joint mortgages, and Sunday roasts for two, you start to feel like you missed the train, even though you’re not sure if you were ever even meant to be on it.

There’s a very specific kind of conversation that happens once your friends and family members are all in relationships.

It usually starts with:

“So, have you been on any dates lately?”

and ends with,

“You’re just too picky.”

Yep. The phrase every single woman has heard at least once, delivered lovingly, often with good intentions, but usually by someone who hasn’t opened a dating app since 2012.

the new world order of dating

Let me start by saying I adore my loved-up friends and family. They’re some of the most amazing people I could ever know, and my ultimate joy for their happiness remains true. What a wonderful thing it is to know they’ve found their people, and they truly deserve it.

But sometimes, it feels like they might’ve collectively forgotten what it’s like out here.

Dating used to mean meeting someone through a friend, or locking eyes in a bar and making conversation over vodka lemonades. Now it’s a scrolling marathon of snap-filtered faces (omg ew), half-arsed bios, and endless “hey” messages that fall into the void.

You match, talk for a bit, and then poof, they vanish quicker than a Zara sale ends.

And yet, they look at me with tilted heads and gentle smiles, asking why I can’t just “go with the flow.”

Because the flow, my babes, is complete and utter chaos.

A manic episode on endless loop, if you will.

Endless voice notes from strangers, blurry selfies with big smelly fish, and men whose entire personality is “6’2, if that matters.” You’re expected to form real connections through small talk about Spotify Wrapped and star signs, and it’s just painfully boring at 29 years old.

accidental advice

When you’re the single friend, advice comes easily.

“You’ll find someone when you least expect it.”

“Maybe don’t overthink it.”

“Have you tried giving people more of a chance?”

And you smile, nod, and try not to say the truth out loud, that they met their partners before dating apps turned human connection into a game of horrid probability. That they have no idea what it feels like to get ghosted after a week of emotionally intelligent conversation or to sit across from someone who talks about bitcoin or Snuz (yep, this did happen to me) for 40 minutes straight.

They forget how exhausting it can be, how you can go on three dates in a month and come home each time feeling lonelier than before.

I get it, though. When you’ve been in love for a while, it’s completely understandable to forget what it felt like to start over, to wonder if you’ll ever have that spark again. You can’t really blame them at all.

They’re only trying to help, after all.

It’s not bitterness either. It’s just the reality of modern dating, and it’s okay to admit it’s hard.

the “you should change your type” conversation

Oh boy. My favourite line.

“Maybe you need to change your type.”

Translation...

“Lower your standards and date men who make you mildly uncomfortable.”

This is usually followed by looking through my Hinge, pointing at someone saying, “What about him? He looks nice!”

Sure. He does look nice. He also looks 10 years older than me, divorced with two kids, and wrote “banter is key” in his bio.

What happened to our loved ones wanting the best for us?

There’s something slightly soul-crushing about realising the same people who once said “You deserve someone amazing” are now suggesting you give Alan, 42, who loves “grinding and grafting,” a chance.

It’s not that I think I’m too good for anyone, I just know what I want and need to be happy in life.

I’ve dated the “nice guys” before.

Those who tell you they’re “different,” yet often think a woman with opinions is intimidating, and then over-compliment you in a way that makes your stomach twist. They’re not all bad, but I’ve learned to spot the warning signs, like the subtle insecurities, performative kindness, and that god awful quiet resentment that shows up later when the mask slips.

I’m actually not being picky at all, I’ve just happened to have done a lot of research.

Like, yes, my type is 6 '4 brunette men, but that doesn’t mean every brown haired giant in the world is automatically a dick. Roald Dahl called him the BFG for a reason.

the unspoken guilt of being single

I know their words come from a place of protection, and they want to see you happy. But the subtext can sting, like maybe you’re doing something wrong. Maybe your standards are too high, or you’re closing yourself off.

But wanting a healthy, emotionally available, kind partner is a new level of self-respect in the dating world of today.

We grew up watching romcoms that told us love would arrive in grand gestures. Real life, as it turns out, is full of men who say they “don’t do labels” and situationships that make you sick to your stomach for allowing a stranger to know you like that.

when they forget the nerves

It’s funny. Everyone tells me stories about their first dates with their now-partners, how nervous they were, how they overthought every text. But somewhere along the way, they’ve rewritten that memory.

Now, they look at dating through the lens of hindsight, forgetting what it felt like to sit across from someone new, heart pounding, that cringe moment of trying to seem interesting but not too keen.

Like anything in life, dating is a skill you lose when you don’t use it. It’s emotional cardio. And once you’re out of practice, it’s easy to forget how much energy it takes.

what I’ve learned being the single one

Being the single friend can feel lonely sometimes, but it also comes with some perspective.

I’ve learned to enjoy my own company and stop waiting for life to start once I meet someone. To build a life so full that love is simply a bonus.

I don’t need fixing or convincing. And I don’t need to lower my standards to make dating easier.

What I do need is understanding. To remember what it feels like to be vulnerable, putting yourself out there again and again in a digital world that can feel so eerily detached.

I hate to say it but dating isn’t focused on finding love anymore, but finding an ounce of courage to keep believing in it, even when it feels like everyone else out there has forgotten how.

I did stop believing love was this perfect concept, but realism isn’t so bad when you’re in the trenches.

To my friends, I love you very much. Thank you for still listening to my wild dating stories and always finding the positive when I’m down bad.