On the morning of my wedding a few months ago, as my team of bridesmaids wrestled three young flower girls into their dresses and the make-up artist put the final touches of blush on my mother’s face, I was hit with a pang of melancholy. The weather was glorious, I was marrying the person I loved in front of everyone we cared about, and yet I couldn’t help but feel like something was missing: a sibling to do it all alongside. Amid all the excitement, I felt oddly empty, like I was missing out on a sister to hold my veil or a big brother to give me a hug at the end of the aisle.

As an only child, this unique kind of loneliness is nothing new to me. Growing up in an era when 2.4 was the magic number when it came to kids, I felt like an anomaly. I was constantly questioned about how spoiled I was (very) and whether I felt like I was missing out (yes). People would ask my advice when planning their own families. “Would you recommend it?” they’d ask, like it was a book or new beauty product they could try out. But fast forward two decades and one-child families are on the rise.

According to the latest figures, there were 3.7 million one-child families in Britain in 2023 – a 16% increase from 3.2 million in the early 2000s. For my family, having only one child wasn’t a choice but a result of years of fertility struggles. Yet many women now are simply being priced out of having another kid. Thanks in part to the ongoing cost of living crisis and skyrocketing childcare costs – as well as very real concerns about the impact of having children on climate crisis – the Office for National Statistics (ONS) estimates that one-child families will make up 50% of all families in the UK within the next seven years.

“I was a ‘miracle baby’, but growing up an only child came with a lot of pressure”