I was terrified of being the last single woman left among my friends. Then I made peace with it | Édaein O’ Connell

Wellbetween the ages of 18 and 21 I spent a lot of time crying in the local nightclub in the small town of Listowel in Ireland. My reason for crying was that everything was mine friends they pulled and I didn’t. If I could go back in time, I’d give myself a stern talking to, give myself an injection and say, “Sure, no one’s trying—you’re a Celine Dion sobbing in the corner.”

Then I was afraid of becoming the last single friend in the girl gang. I was petrified of being abandoned, abandoned for a man who wore jeans with short boots and brown shoes. Every time a friend announced, “I have a date,” my body cringed. Then I found myself in a relationship. While my friends were out on the town living the free and single life, I stayed inside, curled up under the covers with my partner, eating takeout and feeling smug because I didn’t need to be on a dating app.

Despite my home life, the fear of being the only single friend stayed in my gut. I knew deep down that the relationship wasn’t right and I just clung to the comfort of it. I didn’t want to be left alone, but like death or a botched house paint job, it felt inevitable.

Fast forward a few years, I’m single and almost 30. Some of my friends are married, some are engaged, a few are pregnant, and I’m the last single person in the friend group. I finally became the entity I feared the most at 28 after my relationship fell apart. A week after the breakup, I sent a drunken voice note to my boyfriend crying about how terrifying it was to be alone. She asked me if I had recently sung Celine Dion. “You will never be alone,” she told me. “Not when you have us.”

But I felt alone. Once the tide of grief began to dissipate, I was ready to take on the world. I wanted to wear mini skirts, drink wine and be silly in smoking areas. I was like a zoo animal released into the wild. But few friends wanted to embark on this journey of self-discovery with me. They had done all this while I was in the throes of comfortable love; now it was hibernation time. They talked about weddings and houses while I rattled off one-night stands. Realizing that I was on a completely different path than most of my friends felt devastating and cruel.

Being the last single friend in the group sounds lonely, so I believed it. Family and friends will do everything in their power to pair you up. I went on dates when I wasn’t ready, convinced that it would somehow benefit me, simply because people told me it would. A loved one said they were worried that I was closing down from “finding the one” and that I needed to “open up more.” So, I tried, driven by fear of being alone. But every game made me feel worse. Although I told my friends and family it was too soon to date, to some it was like a prized cow at a county fair. Wherever there were men—at weddings, parties, or even funerals—I was introduced. Being the last single friend has become my personality.

Then the realization came. I knew deep down that I was never afraid of being single or alone—I just didn’t know how to be at peace with myself. This 18-year-old woman sought comfort in others, unable to face the silence of who she was, and at 28, not much had changed. So I retrained my brain.

In the past year, I indulged in solo lunches and dinners, drank wine in loud bars, visited galleries, went for long walks, and got to know myself better. I found true joy in being single. I am no longer ashamed or afraid that I am the only single person in my friend group and the thought that I once was gives me goosebumps. I realized that I have stories worth sharing and news to celebrate, even though the markers of my life may differ from those of my peers. I make sure they listen. I have freedom and fun. It’s a liberation I’ve never known.

So if I could, I would go back in time to a nightclub in my hometown in a heartbeat. I would tell my 18-year-old self to stop being sad, but I would also wipe her tears. I would tell her not to worry. She wasn’t alone. It never was because there was me. I’ve always been there.