‘I'm the only single one in my friend group and I feel overlooked and taken for granted'
Having been largely single has meant a lot of time on my own as friends got married and had families. Over the last decade, it has been a real struggle to have my needs attended to in friendships as I am always trumped by family commitments. Even getting texts back could take days, much less getting to do an activity with them that hasn't involved child minding. Some couples are now beginning to separate and expect me to just be available. In one case, I got a heartfelt message about meeting up more, only for them to reveal months later that they had decided to separate from their partner at that time, which made it feel far less genuine thereafter. Also included in this are difficulties where they have presented a very different public front from what they now say was going on at home – it's not that it's not believable, but it is surprising, as they played the other role well and it's taking me time to adjust to that rather than what was previously presented. They aren't happy that wasn't fully accepted right away
. What is the best way to navigate this?
What you've been going through is common and painful. Being the single, unmarried, and/or childfree person in a friend group where that's unusual can be deeply isolating.
Priorities shift, availability dwindles, and emotional energy becomes scarce. As you've experienced, there's often an unspoken assumption that your time and energy are limitless, that you can be cancelled on or called upon at will. Many people have stood where you are now, feeling sidelined, deprioritised, and taken for granted. That pain and disappointment are entirely valid. When you've shown up consistently for years, only to have messages ignored, to feel reduced to a babysitter, or left out of significant life updates, it hurts. Friendships that once felt balanced and dependable may now feel one-sided and unrewarding. It's no wonder you've felt disoriented.
READ MORE
However, here's the hard truth: you may be deepening your hurt by clinging to the idea that things should stay the same. Time passes. People grow and change. Relationships evolve. Nothing stays static, and your unwillingness to accept this and adapt is leading to resentment toward people who likely still care for you, just differently. You can either embrace the transformation in your friendships or risk losing them entirely.
Your friends' shifting roles, messy transitions, and new priorities may frustrate or upset you, but the truth is that their lives have undergone large, seismic shifts. You're so invested in how you are being affected by these changes that you're forgetting that your friends, like you, are just people living life for the first time, trying to figure it out, and stumbling along the way. What you're perceiving as neglect is likely just your friends simply being overwhelmed, flawed, or consumed by their own changing needs.
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You express a sense of betrayal that some of your friends kept serious life events from you while presenting a curated version of their lives, but again, here you're overly invested in how this affects you to recognise their humanity.
Maybe their less consistent communication and requests for childcare were the signs they were struggling. Maybe their silence about their relationship issues is the sign that it was too serious and potentially life-upending to speak about casually. Maybe they were just trying to survive and figure it all out in their own way, and don't need judgment about how they went about it.
I want you to consider what you're showing them about the kind of friend you are. They're now offering you honesty, vulnerability, and asking for support – and instead of responding with emotional support and embracing this chance to connect with them authentically, you're offering them anger and resentment that they didn't tell you sooner.
No single relationship will meet all your emotional needs, nor should it. Friendship, especially in adulthood, is often a web, not a lifeline. If you're feeling isolated, the answer is to expand the web, not tear it apart strand by strand
I understand you're catching up emotionally, and that sometimes emotionally adjusting to the big shifts in the lives of those we love takes time. But don't let your discomfort with change become a wall against the humanity of others. Let go of the idea that your friends owe you the people they used to be. They don't. Just as you've changed, so have they. They owe you honesty now, not continuity with the past. Let them be who they are now.
That doesn't mean you have to agree with all their choices, or absorb their emotional upheaval, or be their lifeline through crises they didn't invite you into earlier. You can witness without taking on, and you can care without being consumed. But don't let your unrealistic expectation that old friendships will never change close you off to the friendships being offered to you now. Maybe with less time, with more talk about toddlers' developmental milestones, some without the presence of a now ex-partner, but still friendship.
This is a good time to take stock of what you need in your life and friendships, and start acting in accordance with those needs. You need to take responsibility for tending to your own needs, instead of neglecting yourself and getting angry at others when you start crumbling.
Start by re-centring your energy. If you're giving far more than you receive in a relationship, it's time to take a step back. A connection that no longer nourishes you may not be broken – just different. You can speak your needs, or adjust your expectations, or even let the relationship fade. Sometimes, telling someone you feel a bit neglected and need some quality time with them is all that's needed, and they'll embrace the chance to readjust. Sometimes they won't be able to meet you, and you can let the relationship drift. But ending things entirely is rarely the only – or wisest – option.
Our culture often confuses setting boundaries with cutting people off. But the solution to feeling lonely or under-supported is not to enforce more isolation by cutting people off. It's to accept the reality of what someone can give you now and then, crucially, to make space for more people in your life rather than fewer. No single relationship will meet all your emotional needs, nor should it. Friendship, especially in adulthood, is often a web, not a lifeline. If you're feeling isolated, the answer is to expand the web, not tear it apart strand by strand because each thread isn't strong enough to carry the whole weight of your heart.
[
I have met someone who should be the ideal man for me - but I don't want anything serious
Opens in new window
]
Get out there. Build friendships with people whose lives look more like yours – other single or childfree folk who can offer the spontaneity, attention, and shared experience you're missing. That will help ease your longing and make it easier to see your older friends for who they are now, not who they were.
And use this time to build a better relationship with yourself. Accept that people evolve. Speak your needs before they curdle into bitterness. Learn to say no, to guard your peace, and to focus on your own life. Ask what you need now, instead of ruminating on what someone should've given you last year. It's not wrong to want more. But wanting more starts by giving more to yourself, not by waiting for others to finally notice what you've been quietly starving for.
Let this be the beginning of something new. Not just for your friendships, but for yourself.
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Irish Times
a day ago
- Irish Times
‘I'm the only single one in my friend group and I feel overlooked and taken for granted'
Dear Roe, Having been largely single has meant a lot of time on my own as friends got married and had families. Over the last decade, it has been a real struggle to have my needs attended to in friendships as I am always trumped by family commitments. Even getting texts back could take days, much less getting to do an activity with them that hasn't involved child minding. Some couples are now beginning to separate and expect me to just be available. In one case, I got a heartfelt message about meeting up more, only for them to reveal months later that they had decided to separate from their partner at that time, which made it feel far less genuine thereafter. Also included in this are difficulties where they have presented a very different public front from what they now say was going on at home – it's not that it's not believable, but it is surprising, as they played the other role well and it's taking me time to adjust to that rather than what was previously presented. They aren't happy that wasn't fully accepted right away . What is the best way to navigate this? What you've been going through is common and painful. Being the single, unmarried, and/or childfree person in a friend group where that's unusual can be deeply isolating. Priorities shift, availability dwindles, and emotional energy becomes scarce. As you've experienced, there's often an unspoken assumption that your time and energy are limitless, that you can be cancelled on or called upon at will. Many people have stood where you are now, feeling sidelined, deprioritised, and taken for granted. That pain and disappointment are entirely valid. When you've shown up consistently for years, only to have messages ignored, to feel reduced to a babysitter, or left out of significant life updates, it hurts. Friendships that once felt balanced and dependable may now feel one-sided and unrewarding. It's no wonder you've felt disoriented. READ MORE However, here's the hard truth: you may be deepening your hurt by clinging to the idea that things should stay the same. Time passes. People grow and change. Relationships evolve. Nothing stays static, and your unwillingness to accept this and adapt is leading to resentment toward people who likely still care for you, just differently. You can either embrace the transformation in your friendships or risk losing them entirely. Your friends' shifting roles, messy transitions, and new priorities may frustrate or upset you, but the truth is that their lives have undergone large, seismic shifts. You're so invested in how you are being affected by these changes that you're forgetting that your friends, like you, are just people living life for the first time, trying to figure it out, and stumbling along the way. What you're perceiving as neglect is likely just your friends simply being overwhelmed, flawed, or consumed by their own changing needs. .form-group {width:100% !important;} You express a sense of betrayal that some of your friends kept serious life events from you while presenting a curated version of their lives, but again, here you're overly invested in how this affects you to recognise their humanity. Maybe their less consistent communication and requests for childcare were the signs they were struggling. Maybe their silence about their relationship issues is the sign that it was too serious and potentially life-upending to speak about casually. Maybe they were just trying to survive and figure it all out in their own way, and don't need judgment about how they went about it. I want you to consider what you're showing them about the kind of friend you are. They're now offering you honesty, vulnerability, and asking for support – and instead of responding with emotional support and embracing this chance to connect with them authentically, you're offering them anger and resentment that they didn't tell you sooner. No single relationship will meet all your emotional needs, nor should it. Friendship, especially in adulthood, is often a web, not a lifeline. If you're feeling isolated, the answer is to expand the web, not tear it apart strand by strand I understand you're catching up emotionally, and that sometimes emotionally adjusting to the big shifts in the lives of those we love takes time. But don't let your discomfort with change become a wall against the humanity of others. Let go of the idea that your friends owe you the people they used to be. They don't. Just as you've changed, so have they. They owe you honesty now, not continuity with the past. Let them be who they are now. That doesn't mean you have to agree with all their choices, or absorb their emotional upheaval, or be their lifeline through crises they didn't invite you into earlier. You can witness without taking on, and you can care without being consumed. But don't let your unrealistic expectation that old friendships will never change close you off to the friendships being offered to you now. Maybe with less time, with more talk about toddlers' developmental milestones, some without the presence of a now ex-partner, but still friendship. This is a good time to take stock of what you need in your life and friendships, and start acting in accordance with those needs. You need to take responsibility for tending to your own needs, instead of neglecting yourself and getting angry at others when you start crumbling. Start by re-centring your energy. If you're giving far more than you receive in a relationship, it's time to take a step back. A connection that no longer nourishes you may not be broken – just different. You can speak your needs, or adjust your expectations, or even let the relationship fade. Sometimes, telling someone you feel a bit neglected and need some quality time with them is all that's needed, and they'll embrace the chance to readjust. Sometimes they won't be able to meet you, and you can let the relationship drift. But ending things entirely is rarely the only – or wisest – option. Our culture often confuses setting boundaries with cutting people off. But the solution to feeling lonely or under-supported is not to enforce more isolation by cutting people off. It's to accept the reality of what someone can give you now and then, crucially, to make space for more people in your life rather than fewer. No single relationship will meet all your emotional needs, nor should it. Friendship, especially in adulthood, is often a web, not a lifeline. If you're feeling isolated, the answer is to expand the web, not tear it apart strand by strand because each thread isn't strong enough to carry the whole weight of your heart. [ I have met someone who should be the ideal man for me - but I don't want anything serious Opens in new window ] Get out there. Build friendships with people whose lives look more like yours – other single or childfree folk who can offer the spontaneity, attention, and shared experience you're missing. That will help ease your longing and make it easier to see your older friends for who they are now, not who they were. And use this time to build a better relationship with yourself. Accept that people evolve. Speak your needs before they curdle into bitterness. Learn to say no, to guard your peace, and to focus on your own life. Ask what you need now, instead of ruminating on what someone should've given you last year. It's not wrong to want more. But wanting more starts by giving more to yourself, not by waiting for others to finally notice what you've been quietly starving for. Let this be the beginning of something new. Not just for your friendships, but for yourself.
Irish Times
07-07-2025
- Irish Times
National histories are always something of a stitch-up - English identities in particular
A friend now living in Germany visited this week. Mostly my old friends and I catch up while I'm travelling for work, so I was delighted that C made the effort to come, partly because I've already found that there's nothing like showing your new home to old friends to let you feel some sense of belonging. I gave her a wholly idiosyncratic tour of Dublin, taking in all the bookshops and art galleries and avoiding the crowds and global chain stores by slipping down lanes and backstreets I've only recently learned to navigate confidently. I took her to the fine art textile exhibition in Dublin Castle , because we both like good cloth and sewing, and as we looked at some of the work there we remembered learning basic embroidery together in primary school. Aged seven, we learned about the Bayeux Tapestry , a series of embroidery panels made shortly after the Norman conquest of England in 1066. Our teacher wheeled in the school television on its trolley, and we watched a man in a brown suit explaining that the panels made a kind of strip cartoon telling the story of William the Conqueror overthrowing King Harold. English primary education in history always began with this moment, the Battle of Hastings, when the Normans conquered the Anglo-Saxons and began to rule England. In the primary school account, the Norman overlords spoke French, the oppressed peasants Germanic Anglo-Saxon, which over the centuries merged into the illogical and wild mash-up that is the English language. The conquest was presented to us ruefully, with a touch of embarrassment, because the Normans came from Normandy and were thus plainly French, though that was not an identity that would have made sense at the time, and the Anglo-Saxons, although originally hailing from Saxony – both French and German by modern reckoning – had been in England since the Romans left and were therefore pretty much English. It was, we were told, the last time England had been successfully invaded, which didn't make much sense because didn't the invader become 'England' by virtue of conquest, in which case were 'the English' the conquered or the conqueror? The Bayeux Tapestry set out the story in a way accessible to children, though interestingly without a clear indication of which side were the baddies. Our teacher marvelled with us that fabric and stitching had survived nine centuries, and encouraged us to look as closely as 1980s film and photography permitted at the detail and technique of the needlework. She pointed out the moments of high drama – Harold famously killed by an arrow in his eye – but also the smaller sadnesses around the edges. A clique of girls in my class were horse-obsessed, and Mrs Madras let them explore medieval horse-riding, armour and weaponry. My friend and I were, inevitably, more interested in the traces of emotion in the work: who was in pain, afraid, triumphant? It perhaps seemed to us even then that it was more important that men of violence had done harm that would carry down generations than who was waving which flag at the time. We would not for some years begin to see that with the damage of medieval warfare came new forms of art, culture and technology, which is not to say that 'progress' was then or ever worth its toll. READ MORE And, growing up with a mother and grandmother who were gifted needlewomen, I was curious not only about the sewing techniques, which had changed fascinatingly little across the centuries, but about the idea that embroidery was part of the historical record, and a natural response to war and revolution. I used to consider embroidery the most frivolous branch of sewing, which was already merely a feminine pastime, occupation for otherwise idle hands in moments of repose; my mother and grandmother both had full-time professional careers as well. So the juxtaposition of sewing, war and national stories of origin was surprising to me, but remembering that history lesson last week with my (Irish-English German-resident) friend in the coach house of Dublin Castle – a location with its own dark and complex past – it made more sense. [ Sarah Moss: A reader tried to needle me by scoffing at knitting - I was intrigued Opens in new window ] National histories are always something of a stitch-up. English identities in particular are patchwork, not made from whole cloth; the history of these islands is layered, interwoven, visibly and invisibly mended. The more we try to make simple stories of centuries of migration and conflict, the more we embroider the truth. [ English was never pure or logical. Policing how other people speak is pointless and unattractive Opens in new window ]
Irish Times
06-07-2025
- Irish Times
‘I'm 28 and gay but have not come out yet. I'm afraid it's too late'
Dear Roe, I am a 28-year-old man who is coming to terms with the fact that I am gay. I realised I was attracted to men years ago and had a series of short-lived relationships with women. However, I ended these as they didn't feel right. I had a relatively conservative upbringing where these issues would never really come up with family, but I get the sense that this is something that would be tolerated, not celebrated. I now find myself wanting to explore and date guys my age, and am sad that college and my formative years were in a sense wasted as I tried to repress that part of myself. I am in a high-powered job and have a circle of close friends that are all in the dark about me. Superficially, life is very good and I dread that this will damage my career and relationships with my friends if I come out as it's gone on so long - they still try and set me up with female colleagues. But I'd really like to at least try to find someone to share my life with. I don't think it's fair to date men when I'm sitting on this fence I've created in my head. How can I approach my new life after I've missed the exit? You have not missed the exit. There is never an expiration date on being yourself, and you do not have to be perfect or have figured everything out to begin to live more authentically. By coming out, you will begin a process of exploring, stumbling and entering a new phase of your life that you do not yet have experience in – and that's okay. That's the point. You'll be learning to exist in a more honest, fulfilling, joyful, open way. There will be insecurity and Bambi-legs along the way, because every journey of self-exploration comes with uncertainty. There may also be growing pains, awkwardness, and some heartbreak. But it's going to be so incredibly beautiful. Right now, you're already experiencing insecurity and anxiety and pain – but you're experiencing them through hiding. You're living a life where you have to lie and hide even from those closest to you; you're missing out on full-hearted connection, on the joy (and struggle) of dating people you want to, and on the possibility of transformative love. READ MORE [ My fiance revealed he once had a fling with a man - and I don't think I fancy him any more Opens in new window ] I know you're scared. In our culture, we talk a lot about how scary it is to come out as a young person, and rightly so – but we also need to talk about the unique complexity of coming out when you're a bit older. Because the truth is, as we get older, we get more entrenched in our identity, in our social life and in our roles within our social worlds. To disrupt that, to not only shift other people's perception and understanding of us in a big way, but also to begin a process of self-exploration and dating and trying out relationship with no life experience and fewer roadmaps than straight people have, can feel very daunting and destabilising. You're used to being seen a certain way – high-achieving, accomplished, put-together and, yes, straight. Now, you're considering stepping into something vulnerable and messy and new. Of course it's scary. There is never an expiration date on living more authentically. Queer people have long pushed back against rigid timelines and milestones. We make our own maps But that messiness? That vulnerability? That's living. That's the stuff love, desire and transformation are made of. And there is never an expiration date on starting that journey. Queer people have long pushed back against rigid timelines and milestones. We make our own maps. The theory of queer time, as developed by trans scholar Jack Halberstam, challenges the traditional, linear timeline of life – milestones such as marriage, buying a home and having children by a certain age. Queer time proposes an alternative way of thinking about temporality, one that values unpredictability, non-reproduction, community, and the freedom to live outside rigid societal schedules. It acknowledges that queer people, often forced to navigate exclusion or repression, may experience life events later or 'out of sync' with dominant timelines – and that this is not a failure but a powerful reimagining of what a meaningful, full life can look like. Queer time embraces delay, disruption, reinvention, and the possibility of starting over – at any age, in any way. You are not the first person who hasn't come out until adulthood. You are not the first person who has been scared to start over. But in doing so, you join a rich and exquisite history of queer people who have decided they deserve to live authentically – and who have been brave enough to take the first step towards the life and love they deserve, at all ages. [ 'I'm attracted to women but have been sleeping with men for years – how do I start living authentically?' Opens in new window ] You write that you feel like you can't date men until you've come out and figured everything out and can do it perfectly – but that's not a fence. That's fear talking. No one dates perfectly. No one has everything figured out. You won't feel certain until you start. If you get to Carnegie Hall by practicing, you get to love by having awkward flirtations, weird conversations, and some bad dates first. Most of the men you meet will have been through their own process. Even beyond dating, you'll find a community that understands your timeline and knows perfection doesn't exist. You don't have to come out to everyone all at once. Start with one person. Go to some LGBTQ+ events and tell people you're just beginning to come out. You'll find kindness that will bolster your courage. Let the truth emerge in small, safe ways if that feels better than an overhaul. Begin to build your queer life one brick at a time. Some people may be surprised. Some may fumble. But many will meet you with love and relief that you're letting them see you clearly. And those who don't? They were only ever loving the version of you that made them comfortable. You deserve more. You're worried about time. But know this: time will pass either way. At 38, you could either have ten years of authentic love and connection under your belt – or be exactly where you are now, still wondering 'What if?' and still telling yourself, 'It's too late now. I missed the exit.' There's no expiration date on living authentically. There's also no way to avoid the fear of beginning. But you can choose to move through that fear – towards joy. In The Painted Drum, Louise Erdrich writes, 'Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and being alone won't either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You have to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes too near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself that you tasted as many as you could.' You don't need the full map, just the next step. Tell a friend. Go to a gay bar. Make a dating profile. Say aloud, 'I get to love. I get to feel. It is the reason I am here on earth.' You're not too late. You're just ready now. I'm so excited for the rest of your life. .form-group {width:100% !important;}
