If you’d told 21-year-old me that I would still be single at age 30, I would have had a conniption. I’ve always been a diehard romantic, and for as long as I can remember, falling in love was something I pined after (can you tell I was brought up on a steady diet of 90s rom-coms and period dramas?). While I’ve gained lots of experience in the world of dating over the last decade and have had multiple short-term relationships, I’ve never had a committed long-term one. I’ve never lived with someone, I’ve never met someone’s parents and I’ve never had a ‘boyfriend’. 

For most of my 20s – despite being someone who writes about sex and dating – I wouldn’t have dared to openly admit this fact to anyone other than my close friends and family, let alone on the internet. I was, and still am to some extent, filled with shame at my ‘failure’ to find a long-term partner. But recently, I’ve come to terms with this just being another part of my story, in the same way that all the great things about me are.

It’s not all doom and gloom, either. Being predominantly single for the last decade has meant I’ve had untold amounts of time to develop incredibly deep friendships, nurture my hobbies and throw myself into my career. Of course, you can do all these things while in a relationship, but it’s undeniable that you have less time to dedicate to them. 

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Sometimes the most challenging part of being long-term single is not even my own experience of it, but the way society treats women who are in my position. There’s a persistent belief that we’re sad, lonely and desperate for partnership, and while this may be true for some, the reality is a lot more nuanced. 

Personally, while I go through periods of loneliness and sadness about my singleness, the longer I stay single the more I know who I am and what I really want out of a relationship. Instead of rushing into something because someone is interested in me, I’m waiting to find someone who I feel is genuinely compatible; someone who will enhance my life in some fundamental way. 

Growing up, there were very few representations of long-term single women in their 30s, bar shows like Sex and the City, and I can’t help but wonder (sorry, it was too easy) if I’d feel differently about singledom if I’d viewed it not as something to be feared, but instead, an entirely valid way of living my life. 

But my experience is only one of many, so I spoke to three long-term single women in their 30s to find out how they feel about it.

Navigating long-term singledom

Clare* is a 31-year-old based in Auckland who’s been single for close to eight years. All of her long-term relationships happened between the ages of 16 to 23-years-old, and when I ask her why she thinks she’s been single for this long, she tells me it’s a question she often asks herself. 

“I see people around me getting into relationships all the time and wonder what the hell is wrong with me. Perhaps I rejected guys in the past because they didn't give me butterflies or maybe I focused on the guys that gave me butterflies but they clearly didn't have anything for me. As I've gotten older, I’ve definitely learnt that I need to find a balance: a guy who respects me but also gives me some butterflies. Sadly, that option is very hard to come by. The emotional unavailability is very present and it kind of forces you to put walls up all the time.”

Like me, Clare has also wondered whether her appearance has anything to do with her singleness. “I don't feel desirable to men. When I was young, guys approached me in bars and now I couldn't feel more invisible. I shouldn't have to feel desirable for men but dating as a bigger girl can be daunting. I tend to just assume men ghost me after one date because I don't match their ideal of me in their head based on my dating profile,” she shares. 

She tells me that while she knows she shouldn’t blame her body image for her negative outlook on dating, it allows her to not focus on her deeper worries, like “not having cool hobbies or leaving the house enough”.

Nara*, a 33-year-old based in Wellington, has been single “basically my whole adult life”. Like Clare, she’s experienced feelings of unworthiness due to her single status. “In my early 20s, it was mostly because I was pining for boys who would string me along, giving me that little bit of hope they might be into me too. But ultimately they knew they weren't interested, they just really loved the ego boost you get when someone is super into you. This led to a period in my mid to late twenties where I thought I wasn't good enough and I didn't deserve to be with anyone,” she says.

But as she’s aged, these feelings have mostly dissipated and been replaced with an unshakeable belief in her value. “Now I've hit the 30 mark and it's the reverse – I've come to realise maybe nobody is deserving of my brilliance. I'm not willing to settle for the next man to show any vague interest just because of some stigma about being a single woman in her 30s.”

Similar to Nara, Gina*, a 32-year-old originally from Auckland but now based in Melbourne, puts her four years of singleness partly down to the high standards she has for prospective partners. 

“My theory about my singledom is that I’m not everyone’s cup of tea and few people are mine. This narrows down the pool substantially. I can be abrasive, I have high expectations for intellect and emotional maturity and I need people to be my kind of funny, but really I’m just not attracted to that many people,” she says.

For Gina, the prospect of getting to know people in a romantic capacity is draining, especially when she enjoys her own company so much. “I’m obsessed with dating myself so the idea that anyone will be as enjoyable as my own company feels like a complete farce at this point. More recently I’ve decided that I’d really like to see a therapist before I start dating – some sexual trauma stuff that I’d really like to work on alone before having to work on it with someone else. This has been more of a conscious singleness which has actually been a real relief. Often I feel like I should be dating because I should be dating. But paring it back I don’t really have that much desire for it,” she tells me. 

All three women brought up finances and owning property as pitfalls of being a single woman, something I’ve also been reflecting on. Owning a property as a single person is out of reach for many of us, and it’s undeniable that society is set up in a way that benefits couples. 

“There are things that become harder when you're a single person. At one point I looked at the initial steps for buying a house, but with one income you're a risk most banks don't want. The ego took a hit that day, even as an ‘I don't need a man to be fulfilled’ strong feminist icon I felt so judged just because I didn't have someone to go halves with,” Nara says.

Clare feels similarly, but she finds the lack of intimacy and care she experiences as a single person is just as hard. “From a financial standpoint, being single does suck. But also, no one looks after you when you're sick, no one helps you get out of bed in the mornings. You don't get cuddles or intimacy when you want it.” 

She has to focus on the positives of being single so as not to succumb to more negative feelings. “I'm at the point now where I've banished ideas of marriage or having kids out of a future life I want. I'd love to meet someone and just do the stuff my friends with relationships did in their 20s – to have a boyfriend, share a house together, go travel together. The thought of anything more seems unrealistic for me to dream about.”

Like me, Nara flip-flops between feeling empowered by the independence being long-term single provides, and navigating feelings of intense shame. “I don't have to consult with anyone else or factor them into any life choices. If I wanted to blow $5000 on a pink leather jacket or run away to join the circus, the only person I'm really accountable to is myself which is a feeling I do love. I also feel a huge amount of shame a lot of the time. There are only so many weddings you can go to as the only single person on the guest list – current count is five.”

While Gina admits that having a partner would be “great for some renting capital”, she doesn’t want to be in a domesticated relationship anytime soon. “I have so many friendships that are ultimately so fulfilling, I love my family, I have lots of my friends’ kids in my life, I find pleasure in my own company – these are things that are more important than being in a relationship right now,” she says. Moreover, when she was in a long-term relationship, she didn't experience the joy that she now feels in all of these dynamics. 

But more than anything, she just wants the world to stop asking her who she’s dating. “To be honest, if the world stopped asking me I would barely give it any thought. That to me says I’m satiated, and my satiation is only punctured by societal expectations othering me all the time and making me feel a type of way. I don’t agree with the hetronormative-monogomous-scarcity model that this world puts upon us and it feels really validating to be living out those values,” says Gina.

And it’s true; there is so much joy to be found in a life untethered to a significant other. Clare emphasises how much time she has to focus on her friends, and how independent she’s become. “I've definitely grown a lot knowing I can look after myself and my own mental health. I don't have to do chores or feel responsible for someone else,” she says. 

Nara tells me that she generally finds the experience of dating as a single person enjoyable. “I enjoy the experience of dating in general: meeting new people, learning about what excites them, and the flutter of a new crush. I get to live the Sex and the City fantasy life I always dreamed of. I've just never found a spark that's lasted for more than three dates.” 

She’s come to a place where she’s more or less neutral about the fact that a long-term relationship might never happen for her. Instead, she’s prioritising living her life as authentically as possible – but that doesn’t mean her negative beliefs have entirely dissipated. “I'm no longer interested in changing my whole personality and pretending to be interested in something I'm not just to make myself more ‘appealing’. I don't want to settle for just anyone because I'm afraid of being alone forever – which I very much am. 

“With every year that goes by where I stay single, all those negative thoughts from my youth come creeping in like ‘Maybe it's me, maybe I am just unloveable!’. Objectively I know that's not true and 85 percent of the time I know I'm bloody great and I deserve the absolute best but oh boy, that neggy 15 percent is loud sometimes.”

Gina, on the other hand, tells me she’s “long shed the idea that being in a relationship is a version of success” and that she’s found being alone incredibly liberating. “I feel like we look up to these iconic single women in their 60s and glamourise their lives and their independence but we don’t acknowledge that we don’t have to wait for that. We could just be them, now.”

* Names have been changed for privacy.