I Don’t Have Male Friends and It’s Important to Understand Why
Growing up different in a world that expects you to fit a mold leaves marks you can’t always see — but you can feel them.
I don’t have male friends. I haven’t for the longest time.
Maybe a handful of times throughout my life I hung out with a guy I considered a friend, but for the most part, the guys in my life have been the bullies.
And it wasn’t just in the world around me, which had its share. Most of the bullying happened inside the walls of my own home.
Growing up, my brothers — and sometimes even my father — made a sport out of putting me down. A lot of the jokes came at my expense, wrapped up in “emasculating humor” that was supposed to be funny.
It wasn’t.
If you’ve been through something like that — if the place that was supposed to feel safe sometimes didn’t — I just want you to know you’re not crazy for remembering it the way you do. It leaves a mark. And it shapes how we show up in the world.
I had no capacity for sports — not for playing them, not for understanding them.
I did okay at volleyball and badminton. I actually enjoyed playing those. But even then, I didn’t see many opportunities, because those spaces felt too peoply/social, too overwhelming, too full of rules that I couldn’t remember or that nobody could explain in a coherent way.
If you’ve ever felt like there was a secret manual everyone else got but you somehow missed, you’re not alone. That feeling can follow you for a long time.
There are a few guys I know who live overseas that I think could become good friends — people I’d seek out just to hang out and talk about life, about the things on our minds. Conversations that don’t feel like tests you have to pass to belong.
But when it comes to most guys I meet, I don’t really resonate with the typical “guy things.”
Sports
Cars
Being macho
Being alpha
I’m much more drawn to relationships. To mindfulness. To meaning. To discussing big ideas, new ideas, To being present. To challenge myself sometimes in the name of growing into the best human I can be.
What I’ve found, over and over again, is that women, overall, tend to be more open to that.
Women seek me out to connect — platonically — because we’re like-minded. It’s not about being male or female. It’s the mindedness that brings us together. The way we think about the world. The way we care about it. The way we want to connect with ourselves.
If you’re someone who’s always felt a little different too — like the usual ways of bonding didn’t quite fit — you’re in good company here. There’s nothing wrong with you for wanting something deeper.
One thing I hear often from these women is, “I don’t know any guys like you.”
And honestly? It’s bittersweet. Because I know there are guys out there who want this kind of connection too.
Guys who are hungry for real friendship — the kind where you listen, and learn, and grow together — even if they don’t always know how to say it out loud.
If you’ve ever stood a little off to the side, watching everyone else bond over things that didn’t make sense to you, I just want you to know: You’re not broken. You’re not behind. You’re just wired for a different kind of connection.
And that’s not only okay — it’s something the world needs more of.
Healing from this doesn’t mean forcing ourselves into spaces where we still don’t feel seen.
It means giving ourselves permission to build the kinds of friendships we always deserved.
Sometimes that looks like seeking out smaller, values-based communities where depth and presence are the norm — places like a weekly mindfulness/meditation group, a book club that reads memoirs or poetry, a slow-paced hiking/photography group, a support group for AuDHD adults, or even an online space built around intentional living or creativity of some kind.
Places where the goal isn’t to impress anyone — it’s just to show up and be real.
Sometimes it’s reaching out to one person who feels safe and starting a conversation that matters.
Sometimes it’s as simple — and as brave — as trusting that we’re enough exactly as we are.
Real connection isn’t about fitting in.
It’s about being understood.
And the more we start believing that, the more space we create — not just for ourselves, but for others who’ve been standing off to the side too, waiting for someone to wave them over.
If this sounds familiar — if any part of this feels like your story too — I’m really glad you’re here. Feel free to share if you want, or just take this as your reminder that someone else gets it.
P.S. If this spoke to something real in you, I share more reflections like this in my email community. You’re invited to join us if you’re looking for more conversations that feel like home.