I'm 40 And I've Never Had A Boyfriend — 'Nobody Ever Noticed Me'
Maybe happily-ever-after doesn't always have to be shared with someone.
Dean Drobot, Pro Creators| Canva Sometimes, people just don't get a happily ever after. It appears I am one of those people.
I am a 40-year-old woman who has never had a boyfriend.
How did that happen, you may wonder? Well, I don't know. It just did. I did all the normal stuff other women do throughout their lives; I went to discos, I hung out with my friends, I hit the bars, I worked with, and interacted with, lots of guys on a day-to-day basis in my various jobs. And whereas this normal approach to meeting others seemed to work for everybody else I have ever known, it just didn't work for me.
Years ago, I came to peace with the fact that I am not a "head-turner." I was never going to be That Girl — the girl who caught your eye and took your breath away when you walked into a room.
Having said that, neither am I a bridge-dwelling troll. I am just your average woman, with average-to-pretty-ish looks, average everything, maybe a little curvy around the edges, but so are lots of other women. Women who have partners.
No, I am more the girl next door — a nice, normal girl, the girl you don't notice at first, the girl who lives or works next to you, but the more you interact with her, the nicer she seems. So maybe you then ask her out... except that never worked for me either.
I remained invisible. I remained the "wing woman," "the funny one" among my more traditionally good-looking friends. Night out after night out, my friends would get chatted up and approached by guys. I got ignored. Sometimes blatantly so. Sometimes rudely so. Sometimes downright cruelly so.
All my efforts to flirt or interact with guys were rebuffed. It was like I just wasn't there. Like I didn't exist as an intimate being. Guys would look over at us, checking out our group, and would only approach to chat the others up when I was at the bar or in the lady's room. That wasn't a one-off — it happened regularly.
I remained a virgin until I was 27 which according to the CDC is 10 years older than the national average. I lost it on a drunken one-night stand. I didn't go on my first actual "date" until later that year, either.
It was clear from the time he met me on our date that I wasn't quite what he remembered from the nightclub the previous week. I suspect that he got me mixed up with my friend, the girl he met out with me the week before, and was expecting her on the night of our date.
Maybe politeness or embarrassment stopped him from ending the night there and then. I was so helplessly inexperienced in dating at the time that I sat there, smiling and looking around me, with the drink that my date (!) bought for me, while he texted a "friend" during some of the evening (who, it transpired later in the conversation, was "sort of" an ex) and ignored me. He dropped me home after a couple of hours and I never heard from him again.
NDAB Creativity / Shutterstock
There is so much of life that seems to be wrapped up in being part of (or at least, having been part of) a couple. Sadly, I find it increasingly difficult to relate to my peers in this respect.
I work with many women of a similar age to myself; I am the only single one there. Most of them already have children, some are pregnant at the moment. I never mention my personal life at work — it's a subject that's just too uncomfortable for me. It's hard to admit to others that you have never had a boyfriend or managed to attract a mate, at an age when most have managed it, several times, even if they are not currently married or partnered.
I know I can appear as a "closed book" to others, as the normal office small talk amongst women of kids and partners just does not apply to me, and so I never join in with stories of my own.
I don't have any stories of current or past relationships, no anecdotes that are just so every day to others — that restaurant you went to last weekend, places you went to on holiday together, silly habits your partner has, their little foibles, the mess they made of dinner last night. Those little things that seem so ordinary (or maybe even annoying) to casual observers are alien to me.
I know that people who are long-term single often cringe when people ask them if they are seeing anybody, forcing them to re-affirm their single status, time and time again. But there is something worse than that: when they stop asking. When acquaintances, workmates, or relatives you only see once a year ask you all about your work, hobbies, or your holiday, and avoid asking you about boyfriends.
And now I'm 40. Up until probably my mid/late-thirties, I still held out some hope. Hope that I will find "him," fall in love, and we will have a life together. And possibly even children. But the chances of that happening now are very, very slim.
For me to have a child in my early 40s, I would have to meet someone special NOW and get pregnant within, say, the next two years. And that's in an ideal situation. I won't even get into the whole reduced fertility/increased risks argument.
I have never formed a romantic bond with a man; I have never met someone whom I knew loved me, who I loved back, and who I felt secure with. Nobody I could envision as the father of my children. I have never even eaten breakfast (or any other meal) with someone. Those few men who have slept with me don't tend to stick around long enough to learn my last name.
I know some readers will roll their eyes and say, "Just get out there, join a club, online dating, be yourself, and be happy, it will happen." Believe me, I have done all that. To death. And yet here I am, 20-odd years looking and still nothing, apart from a few one-night stands, few and far between.
I have gone on several online dates, with first contact mostly initiated by me — only one wanted to see me again. And that was just to hook up.
Sofia Alejandra / Pexels
The fact is, not everybody finds someone, no matter what good qualities they may have. Some people don't ever find someone to share their life with, despite their best efforts.
I know there are upsides to being single, but I truly do. Nobody to answer to, weekends to do whatever you want, and you never have to share the remote control or deal with difficult in-laws.
But I've had 20-odd years of adulthood to experience complete independence, all the time. Just for once, I want to know what it's like to not be single. To not be lonely a lot of the time. To matter in someone's life romantically.
To just once, be able to visit my parents (or friends) and say "I'm seeing someone..." To have someone to share those yearly milestones with — birthdays, Christmas, New Year's, Valentine's Day. I want to know what it's like to go away for a weekend with someone, or a holiday. To meet someone's parents or friends.
To feel someone's arm around me on the couch, or to make me some tea when I'm ill. To share the remote. To cook dinner for someone. To have loving, fulfilling, meaningful intimacy. To just be able to say, in passing conversations with others, those two little words: "my boyfriend." I'm not the only one; statistics from the US Census show that 1 in 10 adults live alone.
But I don't believe it's going to happen now. And it's starting to be okay. It doesn't happen for everyone. I'm not the only person in the world who is perpetually single, even if it feels like it sometimes.
It appears I'm going to have to make my own happy ever after. Coming to terms with never finding love has gotten easier over the past couple of years. I've had to deal with it, because, well, what's the alternative? A lifetime of bitterness?
Let's see where the Good Ship "Solo Flier" takes me over the next year as I take a deep breath and step forward with a feeling of acceptance. Sometimes, the things that pass us by may lead us down paths we might not have traveled down otherwise.
xoJane was an American online magazine from 2011 to 2016 geared toward women and founded by Jane Pratt and co-published by Say Media.