No wonder young single women are lonelier than ever. Where is their community?

Loneliness is often seen as an “old people” problem, something that affects us much later in life. But data published last month shows that single women are disproportionately affected by this little-discussed issue.
Researchers found that loneliness follows a U-shaped pattern: there’s an uptick at the start and end of adulthood, but it drops during middle age, when many of us are preoccupied with families, relationships and career building. But for single women who don’t follow this trend, self-reported loneliness is disproportionately high.
I fit squarely into this category and I have definitely felt lonely over the years. It’s hardly surprising when you look at the realities of being a single woman today. Women in big cities are now being advised to move elsewhere to find a suitable partner or affordable housing. Having children is becoming increasingly out of reach for those who aren’t wealthy, and any form of socialising in our post-pandemic, high-cost-of-living economy feels like a luxury. For those of us who are single by choice, who don’t want kids and don’t date, the constant gendered expectations of what life should like look by a certain point can feel relentless and isolating – and often come at the expense of community.
The latest research echoes findings by the Campaign to End Loneliness, which found that women are more likely to be chronically lonely than men, and that 16- to 29-year-olds are twice as likely to be chronically lonely than those who are over 70. Older people are, of course, at high risk of extreme loneliness in the UK too, but it’s significant that the face of this loneliness epidemic is increasingly shifting to the young and female.
In both the young and old, loneliness is subjective, and stems from the gap between what we hope for and what we get when it comes to our personal relationships. For young women, feelings of loneliness are no doubt exacerbated by the disconnect between the societal expectations heaped on us when it comes to dating, life and families, and the reality that many of us are living. Patriarchal societies not only disfranchise single people, but people are also penalised for not fitting into cultural gender norms.
There are tax breaks for married couples, while single people end up forking out a surcharge just to go on holiday alone. Add to the mix that so many of our social interactions now happen online instead of in person, at the cost of those all important nuances around intimacy and communication, making it harder to form authentic bonds, and I can understand why so many young women may be feeling disappointed with their realities.
In my mid 20s, I definitely struggled with belonging. I was grieving the loss of my dad, bouncing between unstable relationships and house shares in London and grappling with my sense of self-worth and identity. My loneliness was so acute that it felt like a backpack I carried with me everywhere I went. It didn’t help that so many people around me seemed to settle effortlessly into romantic relationships and stable graduate jobs – while I was a struggling freelancer and often single.
But living in Lisbon for the past few years, a smaller, sunnier city, I finally started to shrug off the need to compare myself with others. My friends lived closer to me and last-minute plans were easy to make. I crafted a community and socialised with carefree abandon in Lisbon, found lots of single female friends and started writing retreats for women of colour.
I’m back in London now. Even though I know my way around here and how it operates (booking friends three weeks in advance is, unfortunately, still de rigueur), I’m cautious that loneliness may rear its ugly head again. But, post-pandemic, there seems to be a better understanding of loneliness and the importance of taking steps to combat it. A booming market for niche meet-up groups has appeared in recent years, which fills me with hope, and single women have options. There are singles supper clubs (I went to one recently in Notting Hill called Gooce, which was great), women’s book clubs, anti-dating-app meet-ups, sip-and-paints for people of colour, LGBTQ+ run clubs and so much more. I have made a list of things I want to try, and I also plan to volunteer as a mentor for young women. To me, fighting loneliness is all about finding meaningful connection.
Navigating the learning curves that are thrown at you in your late 20s and early 30s can feel overwhelming, especially within the context of what is traditionally expected of young women. But even if it sounds like a cliche, pouring energy into your own life, building a community and tuning out the background noise is key, as is remaining optimistic – however unfounded that may be – that there is always something brighter and better around the corner.