I’m starting to believe nobody loves me the way I love them.

Whether it’s relationships, friendships, or family, I care so deeply that it sometimes physically hurts. Someone’s energy feels slightly off. Their tone changes. A text goes unanswered for too long. And suddenly, it feels like a gut punch; my chest caves in and the world around me feels like it’s collapsing.

I’ve been this way since I was a kid.

It’s as if the mere concept of life overwhelms me. Every emotion feels like someone, somewhere, has turned the dial up a little higher. I don’t just feel things. I feel them. Completely. There is no halfway, no middle ground, no dipping my toe into an emotion and pulling it back out before it becomes too much.

I can’t feel half-heartedly. I don’t think I ever have.

And trust me, I wish I could sometimes.

I wish I could be numb. I wish my brain could have a moment of respite from constantly analysing, feeling, anticipating. I wish I could stop caring for just long enough to breathe.

But the numbness never comes.

Honestly, it's kind of impressive that a man managed to disappoint me without us ever actually meeting.

How is that even possible, you ask?

I'd been speaking to this man on and off for about a year and a half. At first, he was enthusiastic. Flirty messages. "We should FaceTime." "When am I seeing you?" The kind of consistency that convinces you someone might actually own a calendar.

Travelling from London to Birmingham was, apparently, the equivalent of asking this man to cross the Atlantic in a rowboat. Sending flirty messages? Effortless. Following more girls on Instagram? A breeze. Booking a train? Now, let's not be unreasonable.

The worst part? I convinced myself every single one of his excuses was totally valid.

He didn't reply because he was "busy working," yet somehow found the time to upload numerous mirror selfies and follow ten new people on Instagram. A remarkable level of productivity, really.

She’s 21, graduated with a First-Class Honours in Astrophysics, founded a skincare company and travelled the world volunteering.

Meanwhile, I’m scrolling Indeed at 11pm on a Tuesday, trying to convince a minimum-wage, 9–5 job that my music degree makes me an ideal candidate for a gym receptionist position.

Bleak, I know.

When did being a woman in your twenties stop being about finding a boyfriend and start being about becoming a fully realised fucking human being?

Now, I’m not complaining. I’m glad women in 2026 are rejecting the idea that marriage and motherhood are the ultimate goals, and building lives around their own identities instead.

But I do think the pressure hasn’t disappeared. It’s just shifted.

The old milestones are changing. The ONS’s latest figures, published in July 2026, show that the proportion of adults in England and Wales who are married or civil partnered has decreased over the past decade, while the number who have never married has risen, with some of the biggest increases among 25–34-year-olds.

Perhaps that’s because instead of telling women they need a husband, they now need a fucking five-year plan.