If you look at me closely, I think you’ll agree that I would be a good friend.
I am loving, loyal and honest, not brash or boastful. I’m quick to compliment people on a new outfit or hairstyle and always remember birthdays and anniversaries.
I’m interested in people and lead an interesting life – I worked in a variety of jobs, across the country, from PR to digital marketing, before launching my own gluten-free food blog, which led to a successful career. as an award-winning writer of specialty cookbooks.
All in all, I’d say women would do a lot worse than me if they’re looking for a special confidant or a shoulder to cry on.
But the fact is that I don’t have friends. Not one. Oh, I have acquaintances, hundreds of them, people I chat with at work events. My phone contact list is huge and I have over 400,000 followers on Instagram.
But do I have anyone I can call right now to see if they’d like to meet up for a glass of wine later or go shopping and get a second opinion on a new dress? No, I don’t. Not a single one.
The other day I looked at my phone and realized that I hadn’t received a call from anyone except my boyfriend, my mother, my work contacts, my doctor or my dentist, in over two years. Why is this? I wish I knew and believe me, I have dug deep for answers. I know it can’t be anyone else’s fault, that the common denominator in every failed female friendship I’ve tried is me.
Somewhere there is a disconnect, a hidden trip switch that prevents anyone from trusting me.
Becky Excell launched her own gluten-free food blog, which led to a successful career as an award-winning writer of specialty cookbooks.
Just like in nature, where animals subliminally identify individuals who are not part of their established social structure or who pose a threat to the group dynamic, other women just don’t like me.
And the problem is self-generated. The more I worry and look for clues about how I’m “received” into a new company, the more timid and tense I become, until finally I feel the rope slip through my fingers and I’m left adrift once again.
The more it goes on, the more rusty my social skills become. I have no idea what “appropriate responses” are, how much personal information to share, or how much to hide. Who calls who? When? And how often?
In the end, I tie myself into such a knot that it’s easier for me not to say anything. At that point (I guess) people assume I’m boring, haughty, or weird.
I haven’t always been like this. I grew up in a happy, stable home in Colchester, Essex, with my father, Steve, who owned a packaging and cosmetics company, and my mother, Sue, who worked in a bank, as well as my younger brother, Charlie, all of whom They had and have many friends.
As a child, I described myself as the popular, confident girl in elementary school, but the first wire came loose when it came to selecting our high school options.
Because she was a bright child, she was supposed to go to an all-girls primary school. But, with a horrible stroke of luck, on the day of the 11+ exam I got my first period.
Feeling distracted and uncomfortable, I failed the exam by a few points, while everyone in my friend group passed. My parents appealed, but to no avail, so in September I started at a new school without knowing anyone.
To be honest, he was such a confident person that it didn’t bother me. I was open to new beginnings and opportunities, and to start with I managed to get a new group of friends.
No one from my old school stayed in touch, but I didn’t do anything to maintain ties with them, so it was a clean break that I felt totally comfortable with.
But then, at ages 13 and 14, I noticed the first disconnect, as everyone began to mature at different rates and new social reference points, like makeup, boys, and “cool” acting, seemed completely disconcerting.
Being “me” had always been enough before, and I couldn’t force myself to toe the teenage line without feeling like a fraud and an oddity. It’s a tough time, I know, but I found myself pushed from the center of the group to the periphery, before I finally became a complete outsider.

Becky as a schoolgirl. She says she was a confident and popular girl in elementary school.
My confidence plummeted and for the first time I realized that making friends was no longer easy for me.
High school gave me a second “new beginning” and at first I fit in. There were nights out in pubs and clubs around the city and the alcohol definitely helped. In fact, it was on one of those drunken nights that I met my partner, Mark, now 37, who was at university at the time. I did very well in my A-levels (four A’s) and got a place at the University of Manchester to study law. So I left again, leaving another group of friends behind.
By then, social media was picking up and I could see my old friends having the time of their lives in remote cities with their new friends from college. I figured they wouldn’t be interested in hearing from me, so I didn’t keep in touch.
There have been other challenges along the way. I was in my first semester of college when my health started to deteriorate (I was exhausted and had horrible digestive problems) and I discovered I was gluten intolerant.
This opened the first noticeable gap between me and my housemates, as I couldn’t go out to eat or cook with them. I would be the ‘problem’, scanning menus, vetoing options or sitting awkwardly at the end of a table with a glass of water.
I also missed Mark a lot, spending most afternoons talking to him on the phone or driving 230 miles home to visit him – another socially destructive snowball being pushed downhill. The less I saw of my roommates, the deeper the chasm between us became.
I hated my course too and quit after Christmas. I think my roommates barely noticed I had gone.
I tried again the following year, at the University of Sussex in Brighton, to study business administration, but I barely lasted a year. I became a virtual recluse, scanning the hallway through the keyhole of my room to check that no one was around before venturing out.
People just didn’t seem to like it. Every attempt I made to make friends ended in humiliating failure. I tried to join the women’s soccer team, giving myself a big pep talk beforehand and convincing myself that this was the way it was going to be.

Becky, left, on ITV’s This Morning alongside pop singer Mollie King last February.
But the trial followed the same depressing pattern: there was a superficial friendship as we walked off the court, before established bonds were broken, and I stood on the sidelines, trying to laugh in all the right places, but obviously doing it wrong. . Afterwards there were no more invitations to go to the bar. I didn’t make the team.
Shame made me keep most of this to myself. I never trusted anyone. Mark couldn’t understand why she cried every time she left after a weekend visit.
My third, and ultimately successful, foray into education was at the University of Essex, near my home, where I graduated with a First in Business Administration.
I deliberately didn’t move back in with my parents and got a room in a shared student apartment, where I didn’t connect with anyone.
What exacerbated the problem was the fact that now, in 2013, I was suffering from a serious eating disorder.
Confining yourself to your room most of the time and being socially isolated for weeks and months does not constitute good eating habits. I was later diagnosed with anorexia nervosa with a tendency to binge eat. There was no way to hide my dramatic weight loss. My parents and Mark were terrified; They just didn’t know what to do because I reacted angrily to any intervention.
When Mark, who was already running his own clothing brand, decided to move to Manchester to start over, it spurred me to act. With no friends, Mark was literally my everything.
So I went to the doctor and asked for help, and I got it.
My father paid for a psychotherapist and a private dietician, I was treated at an NHS unit in Colchester and slowly got back to health.
Mark and I are now settled in Essex. I’ve tried several office jobs over the years, approaching each one with a positive attitude, convinced that this time I would find the group of friends I was missing: during lunchtime or after-work drinks. However, everything remained at the same superficial level.
My coworkers were chatting in the kitchen, I walked in and the atmosphere just changed. I never knew the name of anyone’s partner or children, or where they went on vacation.
I stayed busy with my blog, which I started in 2013 to create and share gluten-free recipes, and my following grew. In 2017, I was able to focus on it full time, with Mark as my coworker. This led to a book deal in 2020 and my seventh book is about to be published.
I now have over a million followers on social media. My books are on the Sunday Times bestseller list. I have won multiple awards, appeared on television and radio and yet… I would still love to find a special friend.
When I hear that women my age are still seeing old school friends or serving as bridesmaids at each other’s weddings, I feel very envious. It’s such a special bond. I would love to have a friend like that.
I think part of the problem with the digital age is that while it’s easier than ever to connect with thousands of people, at the same time, one-on-one ties have become deeper and harder to maintain.
A few years ago, I became close to some people in my online networking community and hoped we would all meet up in real life. Then one day I went online and saw photos of a barbecue that had been organized and I had not been invited to.
I felt hurt and confused and asked one of the girls who had addressed the issue. She said she was sorry, but they only had room for a limited number of people.
It was an excuse; Of course they could have included me, but they didn’t want to.
I decided to accept it. That’s my life. And it’s not a bad life. I am busy, happy and loved. I have a lot to be grateful for.
Most of the time it’s just Mark, myself (who doesn’t have a large group of friends, something he’s perfectly happy with) and our immediate families, plus our miniature schnauzer dog, Peggy.
Every once in a while, though, I wish there was someone I could call, if only to complain about Mark on the rare occasion we have an argument!
I am now 34 years old and would love to start a family if I can. I’m told it’s also a great way to make friends.
In 2021 I did an interview on Radio 5 Live to promote my book where I confessed, for the first time, how difficult it is to make friends.
I got a surprising response: women between the ages of 18 and 60 were saying, ‘Oh my God, that’s me!’ It was a relief to know that maybe I’m not so weird after all.
After that, some people who feel the same way contacted me on Instagram and we exchanged messages.
We stay in touch and I haven’t given up on finding that special person: a true friend.
Budget Gluten Free, by Becky Excell, is out on February 13 (£20, Quadrille).