Not Married, Not Missing Out

Lately, I’ve been thinking about this a lot.
Have you ever looked around your group of friends and suddenly realized... you’re the only one who’s not married?

Yep, that’s me.

It’s not exactly sadness. It’s not envy either.
It’s... something else. A mix of peace, pressure, pride, and a bunch of unspoken questions.
Spoiler alert: I don’t have the answers—just a lot of thoughts and a keyboard.

To be honest, even writing this makes me wander off track. I’ve hesitated to talk about it because I worry—what if people misunderstand? What if my married friends think I’m bitter or jealous? I’m not. It’s just… complicated. And talking about it openly sometimes feels like breaking a code no one admits exists.

So here it goes.

I’m the only one in my close circle—especially those who live here with me on this beautiful island—who’s still unmarried. Sure, I have a few single friends, but they live far away, and I rarely get to see them. Most days, I just catch glimpses of them through social media. And somehow, that makes the feeling of being “the last one” even louder.

I think one of my best traits is being a good friend.
Since I was a teenager, I’ve always shown up. I got my license early and had the privilege of using my mom’s car, so I’d drive my friends everywhere—picking them up, dropping them off, being the designated listener to their heartbreak stories (even though I’ve only had one real breakup myself). I knew how to comfort them, how to hold space for their pain, how to step into their shoes. It came naturally to me.

Then slowly, one by one, my friends started tying the knot.

Let me be clear: I love them. I love that they’re getting married. I love seeing them find their person, someone who’ll love them, support them, and build a life with them. I cry with them, I celebrate with them. I’ve never felt envious—not even once.

But I’d be lying if I said the shift didn’t hit me hard.

It was like reality suddenly slapped me—not in the face, but straight to the heart.
I realized that I’ve always given friendship, but rarely been chosen. I’ve always been the driver, never the passenger. And now, I’m doing the driving alone.

They’ve found someone to share their lives with, someone to rely on, someone to walk with—maybe even into the next life. And me? I felt left behind... in something I never even had.

So what does it really feel like to be the only unmarried friend?

At first, it feels like being the odd one out. The outcast.
You sit in on conversations about husbands, in-laws, babies... and you smile politely, knowing you can’t relate. You’re quiet when the inside jokes start—those subtle, married-people things you don’t understand. Sometimes they even lower their voices during certain topics, like it’s a secret language you don’t speak. You feel it—their world is not yours anymore.

Their time isn’t yours either.
Plans need permission—from husbands, from schedules packed with kid activities. And you? You’re the flexible one. The free one. The one no one needs to ask if you're available—because obviously, you're “always free,” right?

That hurts too. Not because you're not happy for them—but because being seen as less complicated sometimes feels like being seen as less important.

And let’s not ignore what the world sees.

People project things on you. They try to set you up with any single guy just to “fix” your status. As if you’re a project to complete. As if being single makes you incomplete. And sometimes even your own friends—yes, the ones who should know you better—join in. It’s like they forget your type, your standards, your worth. You’re just the “last one”—and they want to tick you off the list.

The comparisons sneak in too.

“You’re so lucky—you have your freedom!”
“You don’t have to deal with what I’m going through.”

Maybe they mean well. But you can’t help but think:
How can I be ‘lucky’ when I’ve never even experienced what you have?
You’re struggling, I see that. But does that mean I’m thriving? Or just missing something entirely?

And here’s the part I hate admitting: I don’t know how to comfort them anymore.

Their problems are no longer ones I understand. I’ve never had a husband. I’ve never dealt with in-laws. I’ve never faced marriage conflicts. I don’t want to offer fake empathy. But I also don’t want to be sidelined. I’m still their friend. I’ve been here longer than most of their husbands. But now, I feel like I’ve failed—because I can’t give advice. I can’t truly relate. And that makes me feel... distant.

But here’s the other side.
The brighter, softer, wiser side.

Being the only unmarried friend is also… a gift.

Their lives are like manuals—thick books filled with lessons.
I’ve been studying from the sidelines. Learning from their tears, their fights, their compromises, and their triumphs. I may not know how to be a wife, but girl, I’ve got notes! Tips on red flags, on love languages, on family dynamics. One day, when it’s my turn, I’ll walk in more prepared than I ever imagined. Because I’ve been watching and listening all along.

And don’t get me started on the babies.

Their kids adore me.
They call me auntie, but sometimes they love me like a second mama. Maybe even more. I’m the fun one. The no-nag, free-spirited soul they look up to. Kids can see through people—and if they think you’re an angel, you probably are.

So no, I don’t compare.
Not anymore.

We all face our own hard. Married or single, there’s no “easier” path. There’s just life—messy and beautiful and uniquely ours. And I’ve learned to stop seeing things through labels. I see them as women. People. Humans—just like me.

And when the comparisons do creep in (because let’s be real, they always try), I shift my lens. I choose peace. I pick joy. I absorb what I need, and I let the rest pass.

And if a conversation feels too heavy? I excuse myself and roll into my bed. Not because I’m bitter—but because I’ve learned to protect my peace.

So, how do I feel now as the only unmarried friend?

Grateful.
Wiser.
More whole than I ever expected.

They got married, and I’m happy for them.
I’m still single, and I hope they’re happy for me.
Different paths, different joys, same love.

The key is this:
Take care of your own heart.
Don’t envy.
Don’t take things personally.
Don’t leave your friends just because they no longer speak your “language.”

Because maybe, just maybe, we’re all still learning to speak the language of love, in our own ways.

So... did I handle it well?

I think I did. And if not, I’m still learning.

xoxo_M.