When Vogue ran that piece by Chanté Joseph about why having a boyfriend is embarrassing, I laughed out loud. Not because I disagreed, but because I’ve lived it. I’m a single mother, nearly forty, and I’ve been single for five years. It’s the happiest, calmest, most productive chapter of my life. Looking back, I’m not embarrassed that I’m single, I’m embarrassed by the men I used to date and the way I used to dim myself to make them feel comfortable.
Motherhood changed everything for me. I have a son, and there came a point where I looked at my life and thought: if he ever treated a woman the way I’ve allowed myself to be treated, I’d be mortified. That was the moment. I realised I couldn’t just talk about raising a kind, respectful boy. I had to show him what boundaries, respect and self-worth look like in practice. I will certainly not raise someone’s embarrassing boyfriend.
I grew up early. I left home at eighteen, went to university, paid my own bills, ran my own household. I became the capable, can-do girl that men claim to want but secretly resent. My independence intimidated them, and in some cases, they tried to clip my wings, a comment about what I wore here, a complaint about a friend there. It’s always disguised as care or jealousy, but it’s about control.
And then there’s the other side of it: the hobosexuals. You know the type: men who go straight from their mum’s house to living with an established girlfriend, and suddenly they’ve got their feet under the table. You split the rent, so on paper it appears to be equal, but you end up managing everything else, utilities, bills, food, cleaning, the lot. It’s exhausting. I remember one boyfriend having a tantrum in Tesco because I bought own-brand products. I used to make sure I got all his preferred items, even though he’d never once managed a full food shop himself. When I once asked him to buy tampons, he came back with the wrong ones despite a photo and the exact box sitting on the bathroom shelf. That’s not forgetfulness, that’s malicious non-compliance. Pretending to be incapable so you never have to try. I know I’m not alone in having had this kind of boyfriend. So many women laugh about it on social media but it’s actually embarrassing that they’re so incompetent and thoughtless and we as women just accept this?
The first boyfriend I lived with was a whole other level of embarrassing. He insisted on setting up his huge gaming PC and chair in our tiny living room. Whenever friends came round, he’d sit there with his back to everyone, clicking away in silence. Making everyone feel awkward and uncomfortable. It was like living with an IT goblin. He rarely used it, and I wasn’t even allowed to touch it. It wasn’t for work. This huge set up which looked like an alien landing was a huge reminder of just how much he was not willing to grow up and compromise. The real shame was how much I shrank my world for him.
Then came another one. He’d never lived on his own and basically moved into my flat by stealth. He arrived with a TV and a PlayStation, and that was it. No duvet cover, no kitchenware, nothing remotely adult. One day I asked him to pick up a lightbulb. He came home with the wrong one and didn’t know how to change it. Twenty-five years old. A grown man. It’s honestly tragic. He didn’t even bring along any toiletries and so I bought him a toothbrush and he would use my very expensive shampoo and conditioner.
Please don’t get me started on the PlayStation brigade. At our age, if you’re sitting on the end of your bed with a headset on, shouting at your mates about war strategy in the middle of the day, it’s time to reassess your life choices. Join the reserves if you want to play soldier. Go paintballing. Touch grass. But don’t try to flirt with me via text when you’ve got a digital kill count and no life skills. I’ve got no problems with men having hobbies but when you both work, have very limited free time to spend together and you choose to do this instead of even sitting in the same room as your girlfriend it’s embarrassing. It’s also a huge ick.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped dressing how I wanted. I’ve always been quite bold with my style, quirky, colourful, confident, and yet I found myself toning it down. Jeans instead of dresses, flats instead of heels, because a boyfriend might sulk or feel insecure. I once went to a friend’s wedding where my boyfriend refused to wear his suit jacket for the photos. He wasn’t rebelling; he was embarrassed by his own insecurity. It’s embarrassing seeing him with his creased shirt amongst everyone else following dress code and looking smart. I feel like he just wanted to have a little episode that day because he wasn’t getting any attention for himself. I remember leaving him on the street arguing with a bouncer about wearing trainers while I went inside and enjoyed the night without him. So many times I used to remind him about the dress code for places and so many times I went home with him, but once I had had enough. That was probably my first taste of liberation and a bit of a revelation.
The mental load of being with these men was something else. Once you become a parent, the imbalance becomes glaring. I worked and still got texts asking what was for dinner. I’d come home to find my son’s meal delayed because his dad was “waiting to see what I wanted to cook”. I had to pack nappy bags, plan meals, pay bills, and still make sure the house looked nice, while he couldn’t find the radiator key without Googling it.
It’s not just me. According to the Resolution Foundation, in UK couples where both partners work, women do the majority of the housework in 63% of cases, while men do it in only 10%. And a Mintel study found that 61% of single women in Britain say they’re happy being single far more than men. Maybe we’re not the bitter ones after all.
I think back to those years and laugh at the things I thought were normal. Splitting bills evenly when he ate twice as much. Paying extra for the Sky Sports package I never watched. Upgrading furniture and soft furnishings while he “had opinions” but never contributed. Waiting for proposals that never came, because they were perfectly happy being half-grown men playing house.
Now, my home is exactly how I want it. I’ve painted every room myself, and even if it’s not perfect, it’s mine. I pick the films, the food, the holidays, the music. As a single parent I don’t have to compromise on anything or apologise for my choices. My living room isn’t dominated by a giant TV, and no one reschedules Valentine’s Day for a football match anymore. It’s taken a while to get to this stage. My career, my social life, my hobbies. Nothing is limited anymore by having a boyfriend who holds me back.
I love going out on my own now. I have a brilliant group of friends, some married, some single, and the dynamic is easy. I’m not blasting all men. Married men who are actually grown-ups behave like adults. They talk politely, they contribute, they don’t need to prove their masculinity in every sentence. When someone introduces their fiancé I am genuinely happy for them because they have found a person who wants to commit to them. I even think that when someone introduces their partner it sounds better than “my boyfriend” – there’s just a level of acknowledgment there that there’s equity in the relationship and that they aren’t dating a man child who thinks they’re Peter Pan.
My son’s growing into a polite, capable young man. He washes his own plates, helps with DIY, and can use a washing machine. He’ll hopefully never be one of those men who brags about not knowing how to cook or iron. I don’t want to sound like a “boy mum” but my hope is that one day he finds happiness and never makes a woman feel the way that some men have made me feel in the past.
For a long time, I felt like the chorus girl in my own story, the back-up dancer to a series of Z-list men. Now I’m centre stage, and it feels incredible. Some people find it divisive when women like me say these things out loud. Men get defensive. Some women in relationships feel attacked. But the truth is, there’s a growing number of us who’ve realised we don’t need to pretend to be fulfilled just because we have a boyfriend. I am myself, I’m not ever going to be introduced as someone’s girlfriend and take on that role and let it define who I am as a person.
The social stigma around being single used to be suffocating. At weddings, dinner parties, even family events being “on your own” was treated like a temporary failure. The pressure around the late twenties to settle down meant that perhaps I stayed with the wrong boyfriend wanting what society wanted for me instead of realising what I really needed at the time, I’ve seen what goes on behind closed doors. Some couples are blissfully happy, but plenty aren’t. I’d rather be alone and at peace than miserable with someone who makes me small.
If being single at nearly forty is embarrassing, (which some men seem to think is the case based on the social media comment threads) then fine, I’ll take the crown.
What’s really embarrassing is wasting years on men who never grow up, who drain your energy, and call it love. I’ve had boyfriends. Now, I’ve got peace. And honestly? That’s far more impressive.
References:
Mintel (2022) All the Single Ladies: 61% of Women in the UK Are Happy to Be Single
Resolution Foundation (2023) How Cohabiting and Married Couples Share the Housework
Office for National Statistics (2023) Families and Households in the UK: 2.9 million lone-parent families, most led by women
Last Updated on Sunday, November 9, 2025 by Lavania Oluban