I was 12 when I decided I would never be lonely again.
I did what any self-respecting pre-teen would do after deciding that being lonely was unacceptable. At least, I did what any socially-traumatized near-teenager with trust issues would do. I made friends with characters in a book.
From that day forward, I vowed that I would never again be caught out, awkward and alone, in a social situation. I would be surrounded by my good friends Anne Shirley and Gilbert Blythe, Nancy Drew, and Elizabeth Bennett. When life disappointed, I could step into the world of a wardrobe or enroll in a school for wizardry. I would hop an ocean liner or find myself on a deserted island dealing with inexplicable murders rather than the even more inexplicable social dynamics of my life.
If I didn’t feel alone, I couldn’t be lonely.
Later, I would reach out and grasp for marriage as a buffer against isolation only to learn that you can be the loneliest you’ve ever been in your life when you are lonely but not actually alone. I would leave the marriage and give birth to worlds that were filled with characters infinitely less fickle than the ones I encountered on this plain of existence. I determined that I would befriend solitude, and I did.
I grew more self-possessed. I made friends with my shadows. I learned to exist in a quieter world where real people existed only at the outer edges. Letting them in led, usually, inevitably, to my destruction. I had resolved to be indestructible.
It came as a surprise to find out that I have been lonely all along, having insulated myself so well against the feeling. Yet, after losing and then losing more, I finally found myself stripped of all my defenses. Even my books could not shield me. Being busy could not protect me. Sleep was a temporary respite only. I tried to out-run, out-ride, and paddle away from it as fast as I could.
Then, I stopped, winded and weary, to accept the fact that I was built for longing, connection, and belonging — not because I am weak but because I am human. I am yet another flawed person who doesn’t want to live my life unwitnessed and unknown. So, I let the loneliness settle, and I did not run from it. I did not try to pretend it away or befriend it. I bathed it in tears and accepted its place in my life. After all, what else could I do?
While my story is uniquely my own, the thread of it may run through others. A childhood trauma creates a hurting place we spend our entire lives trying to escape. Being honest might mean admitting feeling isolated and lonely at times — even if it’s not the whole story.
After all, I have always genuinely enjoyed my own company. Admitting that I also enjoy the company of others doesn’t negate that.
These days, I’m sitting with my loneliness like an old friend. I know it’s there. I know there’s nothing I can do to banish it entirely.
I used to think that never being lonely was my superpower, but like so many superheroes, the secrets we keep (even from ourselves) become a barrier to true connection. If we cannot admit to our true feelings, we cannot be truly vulnerable with other people — a necessary ingredient for building trust and creating stronger, more connected relationships. Creating buffers against ever feeling lonely didn’t make me less lonely; if anything, being unable to admit it kept me more isolated than ever.
Our relationships in this world don’t need our clever facades or best faces forward. They need our honesty. They need us to show up in the full authenticity of who we are, not who we think we’re supposed to be.
It takes courage to stand up and admit how we feel — especially knowing that most people are going to hit us with instant clichés, unsolicited advice, or some unwelcome platitude meant to ease their discomfort, not ours. But being honest with the right people can create stronger, more intimate, and lasting relationships. It’s a risk we must take if we ever want to stop feeling lonely and start building stronger bonds.
These days, I still have worlds of books I can disappear into at will, but I also reach out to real-life friends. I don’t deny that I often feel lonely. I’ve just stopped fighting the fact that loneliness is part of the human condition — as valid as any other emotion.
And as fleeting.
I was 12 when I decided I would never be lonely again. Then, I grew up, and I realized that loneliness can be the bridge we take to get to stronger relationships. But only if we can admit it’s there in the first place. And only if we’re brave enough to take that first, trembling step forward.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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Photo credit: Sinitta Leunen on Unsplash