All Of My Friends Have Boyfriends

I have been putting off writing about this topic for a while now. I’m afraid of coming off as a bitter woman, or a man-hater, or a crazed, jealous friend. But I know I’m not alone when I say all my friends have boyfriends, and I don’t. So if you’re the “chronically single” friend with the hilarious Hinge date stories and the nonexistent love life, this one is for you. 

This past Valentine’s Day, I spent my night bartending and serving other couples glasses of champagne. And I was only slightly miserable. I love love. I’m a huge romantic at heart, so when I see people in love it truly makes me happy. It reaffirms my faith in humanity and feeds the little kernel of hope in my soul that one day I’ll be the one sipping the champagne, not serving it. But even with this love of love, it’s bittersweet to be a single, hopeless romantic on Valentine’s Day, or any day really. I let myself wallow for a moment as I reflected on my singleness. And as I wallowed, I hated how alone I felt, so I reached for my phone to find someone to commiserate with me in this feeling. I went through my list, and one by one it hit me: all of my friends have boyfriends. 

To my horror, I realized that I was the only girl in our friend group who wasn’t spending the holiday with a significant other. At first I was annoyed, then I was mad, but finally I landed on sad. The insecurities rushed in: “Why am I the only single one? What the hell is wrong with me? Maybe I should lose weight. Or try dying my hair differently? I can be really obnoxious sometimes, maybe that’s it.” And so the spiral went. I tried to snap out of it, I hate going down that rabbit hole, but sometimes it’s unavoidable. And it’s also really hard to see every single one of your friends in happy, healthy relationships and not wonder if maybe you are, in fact, the problem. Clearly, good men exist, so where’s mine? 

That’s the other side to this; all of their boyfriends are true gentlemen. They’re kind souls, excellent chauffeurs, beyond funny, and now they’ve become my friends as well. And most importantly, they love my friends in such a beautiful, and sometimes sickening, way. But I’ve been on enough Hinge dates to know that these boys are the exceptions, not the rule (See ‘He’s Just Not That Into You’ for more). I’ve dated my fair share of assholes, been treated like the gum stuck to their shoes, and ghosted more times than should be legally possible. So my knee-jerk response when reflecting on my singleness is to blame it on the poor quality of men today. Sadly, it’s rare to find a man these days who sees you as his equal, appreciates your mind as much as your body, and is also looking for a serious relationship. But I see first-hand, every day, that it’s possible. So my little kernel of hope lingers inside, and grows a bit more every time I see the complete adoration on the faces of the men who love my best friends. But god, if it isn’t a kick to the clit to see it, want it, and not have it. 

Hope is truly a bitch. 

Before I go on and sound more depressing than I already do, I’m genuinely happy about being single. I’ve seen what’s out there. I’ve tried every app and been on countless awkward first dates. All it’s done is made me value myself, my time, and my freedom even more. The freedom to flirt with any man I want, and the excitement of endless possibilities cannot be overstated. It’s fun being a single 22-year-old in a college town. But that doesn’t stop me from feeling lonely. Or wondering why I can’t be like my friends, all happy and in (reciprocated) love. Instead, I find myself questioning things like my body, my face, my personality, my humor, etc. I know in my bones that I am worthy of love; I’m just a little resentful that no one else seems to know that. And I also know that I would rather die alone than settle for some mediocre man just because I’m lonely. I’ve been in those relationships before, even when I was a teenager, where some part of me knew the whole time that this guy wasn’t even close to my level. Supreme Leader Brittany Broski spoke a bit about this on her podcast, The Broski Report, and I’ve never resonated with something so much.  

 I used to accept such shitty love, because that’s what I thought I deserved. I dated men who weren’t worthy of my mind, my humor, my heart, my anything really. And I can’t go back to that, I refuse to get scraps of someone’s love and then be thankful for it. My mom likes to tell me that men at this age still aren’t all that mature, so I just have to wait for them to catch up a bit. On one hand, I agree, there does seem to be an emotional disconnect between men and women at this age. But I also know emotional maturity isn’t achieved just by getting older, it’s a learned skill, one that women have drilled into them by society from a young age. Is it so outlandish to want a man who has put in the effort to evolve past the emotional maturity level they achieved in high school? I’ve been waiting for them to catch up since I was 12- the age where I dumped my first boyfriend because, and this is a direct quote from 12-year-old me, ‘I wanted my freedom.’ Clearly, he was holding me back from all my 6th-grade potential. 

I have been waiting at the finish line for what feels like forever, and I hate that it seems like I only have three choices: lower my standards, wait for men to catch up, or hope that the boyfriend distribution system blesses me. Or, I could choose door number four and date older men! (Pedro Pascal, if you see this, I’m single, and I would follow you anywhere.) 

To be abundantly clear, what I want is not simply a man. I want love. I want to be in love, to be loved, and to finally have someone to give all of my love to. I have a lot of it, and you can only give so much to your friends before they start to think you’re hitting on them. 

So I’ll stay the course. I’ll flirt with men in bars, read my romance novels, and hold on to that bit of hope that what’s meant for me will find me. 

• #love
• #relationship
• #selflove
• #single