Nobody Cares That You're Single

A raw, unfiltered tirade exposing the exasperation with the church's relentless idolization of marriage

A few weeks ago, while visiting my parents, my younger sister invited me to join her for her church’s small group. “They’re all people your age,” my mom reassured me. “It could be a great opportunity to meet new people.” She knew I’d been struggling with loneliness over the past few months—feeling disconnected from my community back home, constantly stuck in fight-or-flight mode, and discouraged about my relationship status. That discouragement felt paralyzing, as if it were at the root of these feelings I couldn’t shake.

As we approached the pastor’s house, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe I’ll meet someone, I thought, clinging to a bit of false confidence. Lately, it seemed like I asked myself that question every time I left the house. I had been vocal about my pessimism toward love in the past, yet some small part of me still held onto a sliver of hope whenever the possibility arose.

That flicker of hope quickly faded as we approached the house. Strollers lined the front door, and the sounds of children running up and down the halls echoed through the entrance. I thought these were people my age, I mused. I’m twenty-four. Are people really starting full-fledged families at twenty-four? Something told me I wouldn’t be meeting my soulmate tonight.

And I was right! At one point during a breakout session, the discussion leader went around the room, asking everyone to share their marital status. As each person spoke—married, married, married—it became painfully clear: I was the only single person in the room. Nearly everyone had a spouse, and a good number had at least one kid.

To make matters worse, the message that night revolved entirely around relationships—marriage, divorce, and what the Bible says about both. I sat there, trying my best to look engaged, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of being completely out of place. These people were my age, yet none of them were in my stage of life. I didn’t know what it was like to find my one true love at eighteen; I couldn’t comprehend having someone care about me so much that they wanted me in their life forever. I had wandered into a club I didn’t belong to, one where everyone spoke a language I didn’t understand. Even my sister, who wasn’t technically a member of the club but at least had a long-term boyfriend, got to gush about being in pre-marital counseling while the other girls clapped and cooed over how exciting that was.

When the group concluded, everyone turned to each other, making plans for double dates and swapping stories about their kids in the other room. My sister chatted with a married couple about her upcoming weekend trip with her boyfriend, while I sat there waiting for her to wrap up so we could go home.

“Sorry the topic wasn’t super relatable,” she said as we entered the car. “I know we don’t have a ton of experience with divorce.”

Her apology had the right sentiment but the wrong focus. It wasn’t the topic that made me feel out of place—it was the people. I had no common ground with anyone. The one thing everyone in that room had built their lives around was the one thing I had longed for desperately yet had no control over. I’d never been in a relationship; I’d never been wanted.

In fact, I defied all the stereotypes. I attended a Christian college where the phrase "ring by spring" was often tossed around, and engagements were a common sight around graduation. Post-grad, I became actively involved at my church and took part in a Young Adults group brimming with a healthy mix of couples and singles, yet I still was never pursued. Despite plenty of opportunities to meet someone organically, it simply never happened.

Even with this track record, I make time to remind myself of the beauty in being single. Having ample free time in my twenties has allowed me to explore various aspects of myself in ways that may not have been possible with a partner. Over the past few years, I’ve picked up numerous hobbies and interests that I never really had the chance to pursue before: I’ve become a hobby photographer, rediscovered my love of drawing comics, joined a pottery studio, attempted to surf, hosted a multitude of themed parties, became a bit more in-tune with the LA coffee scene, traveled to a new state for a month just for the experience, taken countless impromptu city trips with friends, and so much more. Deep down, I truly appreciate the freedom to live carefreely—an experience I might not have had if I had married and settled down right after graduating college.

Unfortunately, with the positives also come the negatives. I often feel lonely and isolated, and I can sense the impact it’s had on my mental health as I've gotten older. As I continually witness my friends and family steadily enter and exit relationships, I frequently find myself asking, "What’s wrong with me?"—a question with answers that are often less than optimistic. Maybe I’m too weird, or not conventionally attractive enough. Maybe if I were bubblier and softer, I’d be more approachable. I catch myself spiraling, picking apart every aspect of who I am, desperately searching for the one piece of myself that makes me such an outlier. It often feels like the people around me have the privilege to move forward in the “next stage of life” while I’ve done nothing but stay stagnant. But when I bring these struggles to the church, I’m met with the same well-meaning reassurances and clichés that often do more harm than good. As soon as you stop looking, that’s when you’ll meet someone! Use this time to grow closer to God! Enjoy the freedom you have!

I know these experiences aren’t unique; many of us can relate to the sense of being out of place in a culture that often prioritizes couples. The Christian church places a significant emphasis on family, creating countless groups and ministries to support those in that stage of life. Yet, on the other side of the spectrum, there’s a noticeable absence of meaningful support or guidance for singles.

Rather than addressing the realities of singleness with honesty and depth, the church often reduces it to a footnote—something to be tolerated until marriage inevitably arrives. There’s little acknowledgment of the deeper struggles: the loneliness, the waiting, the feeling of being unseen. No one offers wisdom on how to navigate the ache of wanting companionship while having no control over when—or if—it will come. No one prepares you for attending church alone, week after week, surrounded by happy couples and growing families, feeling like an outsider in a space that’s supposed to feel like home. Instead, you’re left nodding along as the married girl a year younger than you—who’s had a steady stream of boyfriends since she was sixteen—cheerfully reminds you how blessed you are not to have to check in with a spouse before making plans.

And when the church does attempt to address singleness, it rarely goes beyond surface-level platitudes. It’s often awkwardly sandwiched into a sermon on relationships, where a pastor—who met his wife at 19—briefly acknowledges the singles in the audience with an empathetic smile before citing 1 Corinthians 7:7-9. “Singleness is a gift!” he’ll declare. Heads will nod in agreement, and the message swiftly moves on to the real topic at hand: marriage.

If singleness is truly a gift, then why does the church treat it like something to be endured rather than something to be embraced? Why is it spoken of as a temporary waiting room for marriage rather than a meaningful, valuable stage of life in its own right?

My Young Adults pastor—a man who married later in life—once explained that when people enter relationships, they often experience a kind of amnesia about what it’s like to be single. Because of this, language becomes one of the biggest obstacles for the church when addressing its single members. Married couples tend to dismiss singleness as a simpler phase, urging you to “enjoy this time while you can”—as if every free moment will vanish the instant you slip a ring on your finger. Marriage isn't a walk in the park; it comes with its own set of challenges that I’ve never had to face. By framing the conversation this way, however, the genuine struggles of pursuing godly singleness are minimized and once again overshadowed by the glorification of marriage. I refuse to be belittled for hoping for marriage someday; it's insulting when a couple reminds you that real-life romance isn’t some fairytale just because you express your desire for it. Both stages of life have their ups and downs, and both deserve acknowledgment. Otherwise, the dialogue becomes demeaning—no matter which side of the aisle you’re on.

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While the "encouragements" to hang in there are often lousy, the narrative doesn’t have to stay this way. There are ways the church can better embrace its single members just as it does everyone else. I’ve witnessed firsthand how, in times of hardship, the church comes together in a remarkable show of solidarity. When a member faces personal loss or any form of crisis, the community mobilizes—offering up different forms of hospitality, meal trains, or simply a shoulder to cry on. This outpouring of care reminds us that even in our darkest moments, we are never alone.

Similarly, the celebration of relationship milestones—engagements, weddings, anniversaries—brings out the best in our community. The church transforms into a joyful gathering where couples have the opportunity to be showered with praise, heartfelt congratulations, and validity in their sense of belonging as they embark onto a new chapter of life. These celebrations aren’t just about the couple; they stand as a testament to collective joy and a shared commitment to honoring the blessings of companionship. There’s no reason to constrict these celebrations to relationships only; every victory—whether it’s reaching a career goal, completing a degree, buying a first home, or experiencing personal and spiritual growth—deserves to be met with the same enthusiasm. Singles are often doing the hard work of navigating life on their own, and each milestone reflects not just their individual achievement but also the strength and resilience they bring to the broader community. If the church can rally for their married congregants, they should be able to uphold that same amount of excitement for their single community. They're worthy of the same joy, recognition, and community support to celebrate the milestones that shape their lives.

Hospitality is another underrated yet powerful way the congregation can help singles feel seen and valued. Holidays and other family-centric events can be particularly isolating for those without a spouse—especially for those without family nearby. While many look forward to these gatherings as times of togetherness, others are left feeling like outsiders, unsure of where they fit in.

A simple invitation can go a long way. Welcoming singles into holiday dinners, church gatherings, or even casual Sunday lunches helps bridge the gap, fostering deeper relationships within the community. My Young Adults pastor, for example, opens his home on the first Sunday of every month for a big dinner with our group. While it may seem like a simple gesture, this kind of intentionality creates a sense of belonging that many may not experience elsewhere. These moments matter—they remind people that they are seen, valued, and an integral part of the church family.

Rather than assuming singles will “figure it out” or find their own plans, the church can take an active role in cultivating spaces where they feel truly embraced. It’s about shifting the mindset from viewing singleness as an in-between stage to recognizing it as a meaningful and fulfilling season in its own right—one that deserves the same warmth, celebration, and community support as any other.

But fostering community is only part of the solution. True inclusion goes beyond social gatherings—it requires the church to fully acknowledge the realities of singleness, not just the surface-level aspects. Loneliness, unfulfilled longing, and the challenge of trusting God in uncertainty are real struggles that deserve to be met with honesty, not dismissed with empty platitudes. Too often, these conversations are brushed aside with throwaway comments from well-meaning married individuals. When I’ve shared my feelings in the past to other congregants, I’ve been told, “Well, I don’t worry about you.” While likely intended as reassurance, it ultimately disregards the weight of what I’m experiencing in this season of life. Instead of minimizing these struggles, the church should create space for honest dialogue and genuine empathy. Even if this topic isn’t relatable to those who married young or have experienced multiple long-term relationships, it remains a reality for many and deserves to be acknowledged, not brushed aside.

Additionally, when the church does speak on relationships and singleness, the voices at the table matter. If every testimony, sermon, and study come from the perspective of someone who married young, how can singles feel truly seen? There’s a need for a more diverse range of stories—ones that reflect the full spectrum of experiences, from those who found love later in life to those who remain single and have built lives of meaning and purpose. I want mentorship from someone who knows what I’m going through, someone who can validate my fears but also provide comfort in what feels like a trying time.

It’s easy to feel desperate and discouraged in this time. Hell, I feel discouraged by my placement more often than I care to admit. It’s not always a fun season, but you’re not alone. Singleness can be a really fulfilling space to be in, but that doesn’t minimize the fact that it has the utmost capacity to be lonely, and constant reminders of it are everywhere. In the future, I’d really love to see the church take a more hands-on approach in caring for their single members. When the church truly listens and engages with singles, it creates a stronger, more inclusive community that reflects the love and care of Christ. Singleness isn’t just something to get through—it’s a valuable season in itself, and it’s time the church recognized and celebrated that.

So, if you're feeling the weight of your situation, remember that it's okay to experience those emotions, and it's okay to be in this space.

You are not alone.