A Woman with No Friends
“It wasn’t that I wanted to be alone; I just didn’t know how to be anything else.”
Being a woman without friends feels like trying to navigate life without a map.
Everyone else seems to have their circles, their people, their group chats buzzing with memes and inside jokes. And you’re here, scrolling Instagram at 11 PM, wondering how they manage to hold onto those connections while you can barely keep a houseplant alive.
It’s not that you don’t have friends. People have come and gone, like the shifting tides, each leaving behind memories that sting a little when you replay them.
You try not to dwell on the empty spaces where friendships once were, but it’s hard not to notice. Harder still not to wonder if the problem is you. Are you too introverted? Too self-sufficient? Too... much?
There’s a line in Little Women where Jo March says, "I care more to be loved. I want to be loved." And isn’t that the heart of it? Friendship is love in its simplest form. It’s showing up for someone and having them show up for you, no strings, no pretences. It’s belonging.
But let’s admit something. You’re not always the victim here. Friendships require effort, and you’ve been busy. Busy working, busy thinking, busy existing.
You’re bad at checking in. You hate small talk with the fiery passion of a thousand suns. And when someone texts you, your first instinct is to leave it on read until you can think of something clever to say – which, let’s face it, is never.
And yet, you can’t help but notice the longing that bubbles up when you see a group of women laughing together at a coffee shop or sharing photos from a weekend getaway. You’re not jealous, not exactly. You’re not jealous (… not really?). It’s the wistful recognition of something you don’t have.
You tell yourself you’re better off alone. After all, solitude has its perks. No one expects anything from you. No one gets upset if you’re late or flaky. You’ve built a life you enjoy – a quiet, steady rhythm that suits you. But if you’re being honest, it’s not always by choice. The silence can get a little too loud sometimes.
What you crave isn’t a dozen surface-level connections. It’s depth. Simplicity. The kind of friendship that let you say, "This is me, in all my messy, unfinished glory," and hear, "I see you, and I’m staying."
So here’s what I’m asking of you. Stop waiting for the perfect moment, the perfect person, the perfect version of yourself to show up. Friendships aren’t neat and tidy. They’re built in the messiness of life – in the texts sent at midnight, the awkward pauses, and the times you show up even when you’d rather stay home.
Because in the end, friendships aren’t about fixing the emptiness. They’re about sharing it with someone who’s willing to sit beside you, no matter what your sky looks like.
With love.
