Third Wheel or Just Tired?

MJ Wynn
Aug 26
2 min read

It’s weird, the way loneliness can sneak in even when you're not technically alone.

I’ve been sitting with this feeling lately—the kind that settles in your chest when you're walking beside a couple and suddenly realize you're not really with them. You're just... there. A background character. The extra. The third wheel, if we're being blunt.

And it’s not like they’re doing anything wrong. That’s the worst part—they’re just being themselves. They’re in love, they’re connected, they’re sharing inside jokes and glances and rhythms that come with being a duo. It’s beautiful in theory. But when you're the solo one in a dynamic like that, it can get hard to ignore the disconnect. You're trailing a few steps behind on the sidewalk, watching them exist in a world you’re not fully invited into. Not intentionally excluded, but not quite included either.

It feels like being present without being part of anything.

That feeling has hit me harder than I expected. Because I love my friends—deeply. I want to be there. I want to show up. But sometimes it’s hard to keep showing up when it starts to feel like I’m just a ghost tagging along. Not out of malice. Just out of natural pairing.

And the truth? I miss one-on-one friendship.

I miss eye contact and conversation that doesn’t get interrupted or rerouted. I miss not having to share someone’s attention with their partner, or navigating plans that are built around couple dynamics.

It’s exhausting trying to fit yourself into a space that no longer fits you the way it used to.

Maybe that’s why I’ve been pulling back. Creating a little world of my own. Since my girlfriend moved in, I’ve started to feel something I didn’t even realize I’d been craving: presence. That one-on-one energy I’d been aching for? I get it now, daily. No third-ness. No accidental sidelining. Just us, orbiting each other in a way that makes space instead of closing it off.

And I get it—friendship isn’t always one-on-one. People grow, lives shift, and relationships evolve. But there’s something especially isolating about feeling invisible with the people you care about most.

So yeah, maybe I’ve started doing more things solo lately. Not out of spite. Not because I don’t care. But because when you’re constantly watching moments unfold from the sidelines, eventually you start to wonder if maybe it’s better to create your own moments. Even if you’re the only one in them.

If you’ve felt this too—this weird in-between where love and loneliness coexist—I just want to say: you’re not dramatic. You’re not selfish. You’re not wrong for craving connection that’s direct, intimate, and reciprocated. You’re not “just there.”

You deserve to be there. Fully.

And if that means doing shit on your own for a while, so be it.

You’re not alone, even when it feels like it.

xoxo,

MJ 💋