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

From the ages of 18 to 21, I spent quite a lot of time crying in my local nightclub in the small town of Listowel in Ireland. My reason for weeping was that all my friends were pulling and I wasn’t. If I could go back in time, I’d give myself a stern talking to, hand myself a shot and say: “Of course no one’s trying it on – you’re wailing Céline Dion in the corner.”

Back then I was terrified of becoming the last single friend in the girl gang. I was petrified of being left behind, abandoned for a man who wore bootcut jeans with brown dress shoes. Every time a friend announced, “I have a date,” my body would seize up. Then I found myself in a relationship. While my friends were out on the town, living the free and single life, I was staying in, curled up under a duvet with my partner, eating takeaway and feeling smug because I didn’t need to be on a dating app.

Despite my domesticity, the fear of being the only single friend stayed lodged in my gut. Deep down, I knew the relationship wasn’t right and I was just holding on to its comfort. I didn’t want to be left alone, but, like death or a botched home-dye job, it felt unavoidable.

Fast forward a few years, I’m single and nearly 30. Some of my friends are married, others are engaged, a few are pregnant, and I am the last single person in the friendship group. I finally became the entity I most feared at 28, after my relationship broke down. A week after the breakup, I sent a tipsy voice note to my friend, crying about how terrifying it felt to be alone. She asked if I had been singing Céline Dion recently. “You won’t ever be alone,” she told me. “Not when you have us.”

But I did feel alone. Once the surge of grief started to dissipate, I was ready to take on the world. I wanted to wear miniskirts and drink wine and be foolish in smoking areas. I was like a zoo animal being freed into the wild. But few friends wanted to embark on this journey of self-discovery alongside me. They had done all that while I was in the throes of comfortable love; now it was their time to hibernate. They talked about weddings and houses, while I yapped about one-night stands. Realising I was on a completely different path to most of my friends felt devastating and cruel.

Being the last single friend in the group sounds lonely, and so I came to believe it. Family and friends will do everything in their power to pair you off. I went on dates when I wasn’t ready, convinced it would somehow benefit me simply because people told me it would. A loved one said they were worried I was closing myself off from “finding the one” and that I should “open up more”. So, I tried, driven by a fear of being alone. But each dalliance made me feel worse. Even though I told my friends and family it was too soon for me to be dating, for some, it was like I was a prized cow at a county fair. Wherever there were men – at weddings, parties or even funerals – I was being presented. Being the last single friend became my personality.

Then came the realisation. Deep down, I knew I had never been truly afraid of being single or alone – I just didn’t know how to be at peace with myself. That 18-year-old woman sought solace in others, she couldn’t face the quiet of who she was, and at 28, not much had changed. So I retrained my brain.

Over the past year, I’ve indulged in solo lunches and dinners, drunk wine in rowdy bars, visited galleries, gone on long walks and got to know myself better. I’ve come to find true joy in singledom. I’m no longer ashamed or scared of being the only single person in my friendship group, and the thought that I ever was makes me cringe. I have realised I have stories worth sharing and news to celebrate, even though my life’s markers may differ from those of my peers. I make sure that they listen. I have freedom and fun. It’s a liberation I have never known.

So, if I could, I’d go back in time to my home-town nightclub in a heartbeat. I’d tell 18-year-old me to stop moping, but I’d wipe her tears too. I’d tell her that she needn’t worry. She wasn’t alone. She never was because she had me. I was always there.