A few years ago, my mom and I had a blowout fight. I can’t recall what sparked the argument, but what I do remember is lying on the bathroom floor and sobbing as I scanned my texts for someone to reach out to who could keep me distracted from all the sadness.
In my phone were the names of dozens of girls I met during my time at college, when I was rotating through late-night clubbing, brunches, and concerts in an attempt to get closer to people I hoped would one day be bridesmaids at my wedding. But truthfully? These friendships were superficial—nothing like what I watched and coveted in the TV show Girls. I couldn’t rely on them during a panic attack. And if you can’t call a friend at 10 p.m. on a weekday when the snot coming out of your nose has made you unintelligible, are they even a friend?
I am a successful 21-year-old who is a published journalist and works a good, degree-aligned job. I live happily in New York City. I work out, love nature, and have a great boyfriend. The only thing missing? Friends. I lack them, and although this feels almost radical to confess these days, I know for a fact I’m not alone in it.
Today, lonely women like me abound, and the data backs this up. About 1 in 6 Americans say they feel lonely or isolated from those around them all or most of the time, according to the Pew Research Center. The Campaign to End Loneliness goes one step further, finding that people under 30 are the loneliest age group and that women are significantly more likely to be chronically lonely than men. I have often dreaded the end of the workday when I’d find myself faced with the prospect of an evening spent alone.
However, judging by recent media coverage, you’d be forgiven for thinking that loneliness is almost exclusively experienced by young men. Whether it’s through stories of perpetually online Joe Rogan–devoted incels lashing out in anger over their own inadequacies or average guys who lack the tools needed to deal with their feelings, the message around loneliness is that it’s affecting men at alarming rates—and we should all be concerned, especially when social isolation leads to violence and extremism in men.
“The epidemic of loneliness is hitting men hardest,” a Los Angeles Times op-ed from last year posits. “Is the Cure to Male Loneliness Out on the Pickleball Court?” asks the New York Times. “Are men okay?” wonders Vox.
Earlier this week, the conversation on male loneliness was reinvigorated thanks to a New York Times article on “mankeeping.” According to the Times, this is “the work women do to meet the social and emotional needs of the men in their lives, from supporting their partners through daily challenges and inner turmoil to encouraging them to meet up with their friends.” Not only are women alarmed that the men in our lives are friendless, but it appears we feel responsible for helping them feel less alone.
In pointing to a real problem, this media coverage glosses over another issue. Women’s struggles with loneliness can be just as if not more severe than men’s, but female isolation is rarely the topic of think pieces or trend stories. Are women okay? Some of us aren’t, but when we’re not occupied with “mankeeping,” it’s up to us to mitigate our own social anxiety.
“Women take on an especially high level of pressure and urgency to feel a deep connective tissue in a friendship,” Alyssa Petersel, LMSW, CEO of the therapist-match platform MyWellbeing, tells me in an interview. “Women tend to view loneliness as a personal failure, but men, broadly speaking, are more likely to externalize the feeling (what’s wrong with other people?) or not recognize it at all.”
And while, according to Petersel, men may feel like “their cup is full” after bonding with friends over concrete activities like watching sports, for women it’s all about quality versus quantity. Even with a high weekly volume of lunch dates or Pilates meetups, we don’t feel truly satisfied until our standard for a friendship’s depth is met.
“Female loneliness is often existential: I know a lot of people, but who really knows me?” echoes Los Angeles–based clinical psychologist Dr. Lauren Kerwin. That’s not to say men can’t feel a mismatch between the friendships they have and the friendships they want to have, but the experts I talked to say men are less likely to blame themselves for it. “There’s a persistent cultural script that women should be naturally good at friendship. Lonely men may be socially accepted, even expected, but lonely women often carry shame,” says Kerwin.
This pervasive loneliness has deep roots in art and culture. Reclusive and brilliant writers like Emily Dickinson or Emily Brontë described their own isolation at a time when women often couldn’t work outside the home, gain a university education, or own property. Instead of going out to a tavern with a friend (unheard of) or bonding with coworkers, most of us could be found taking care of (ahem, “mankeeping”?) our husbands by tending to their meals, trousers, and mood swings.
In the process, we learned how to hide behind the mask of a seemingly perfect life—the magna cum laude college honors, say, or the beautiful photos on social media—which is one reason female loneliness hasn’t seemed like an epidemic. The media, our partners and families, and the broader culture rarely see cause for concern or theorize about how to enhance our lackluster social lives. And so we are left to forge ahead on our own.
Despite my efforts, I have struggled to tolerate superficial initial connections that (I assume) would slowly evolve into the close-knit, know-everything-about-your-life bonds I’ve seen and envied on TV. I don’t want to talk about the merits of a new facial salon downtown or what’s worth getting at the Alo Yoga sale, and so I don’t even try. Still, I’m not okay with being a recluse. New York’s beauty lies in the fact that you can find everyone here, and it stings not to have people tuned to my frequency.
I have found a solution to all this, however, and it’s fittingly retro. Bella and I became pen pals in 2020, at the age of 17, as part of Rachel Syme’s Penpalooza letter-writing program. At its peak, the exchange had 10,000 members from over 75 different countries. Some pairings lasted for only a letter or two and others, like ours, are still ongoing. While I long for in-person friendships, as of right now, this long-distance platonic confidante knows my heart better than any of my lackluster college connections.
Bella is a month older than me and also a journalist. In our early letters, when she was living in Florida, I used my best stationery to tell her about college applications, nature walks, and Covid-era existential crises. She wrote to me about the lake outside her window and the independent magazine she helmed.
Bella lives in Spain now. We’ve only met once IRL. We can’t share the joys of post-work drinks, trips to bookstores, or getaways to the beach on the Q train. At first, because of the distance, I didn’t want to burden her in darker moments, like that post-fight meltdown on the bathroom floor. Week after week though, I felt giddy when running to my mailbox. Emily Dickinson lived a solitary life. Letter writing was also great joy for her—maybe because it let her express things she could never say out loud.
“This is an ode to all the girls we’ve been together,” Bella wrote in a card after I moved in with my boyfriend, accompanied by roses. The gesture made it feel as if she were in the apartment with us. So, in the tradition of deep and thoughtful long-distance correspondences between women who feel like they were born in the wrong century, I have come to realize true friendship doesn’t require proximity.
While the digital realm can be hazardous for isolated young men who stumble onto the manosphere, for lonely women like me, it’s still a lifeline. Meeting Bella taught me that sometimes the best platonic connections live over 3,500 miles away but will still celebrate your wins, offer clarifying pushback when you’re being stupid, and meet every new version of you with open arms. So while the media may never obsess over the fate of lonely letter-writing girls like me, thanks to modern technology, old-fashioned modes of correspondence, and a hefty dose of female resilience, there’s still hope for us.
A version of this article also appeared in Love, Willa. If you liked this story, you’ll LOVE our relationships newsletter. It’s a special place where we navigate the wild terrain of modern love together—whether you’re cuffed, ghosted, heartbroken, or thriving. Sign up here.
