Sometimes you’re lonely simply because you are you

Random click from my gallery — Tangalle Beach, May 2025

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about the threads that connect us to people and about the quiet, heavy weight of loneliness.

I recently came across something a psychologist (or maybe it was a psychiatrist, can't remember) had written: loneliness works in both directions. Depression can sink our self-esteem until we believe we’re not good enough for anyone, or that no one could ever truly understand us. And yet, sometimes, it’s the loneliness itself that breaks our spirit, slowly drawing us toward depression. It’s a cycle without a clear beginning, like wondering which came first, the chicken or the egg.

I often find myself longing for someone who could understand me completely, who could meet the deepest parts of me and simply say, “I get it.” It’s not that it’s never happened. But there’s this quiet belief that my mind works in such a strange, layered way that no one could truly see all of it. And some of those layers… I’m not ready to write down here.

There’s a particular kind of ache in feeling like you’re the only person of your kind. That’s why it feels almost magical when you meet someone who shares even a fragment of your way of thinking. You rejoice in it. “ah, here’s someone like me.” But later, you might find that apart from that small overlap, they’re quite different after all.

When I think about all the clients I’ve met (hundreds now, including children. I don’t keep a count) I realise this is so often the heart of what they bring to therapy. They arrive hoping to be understood, longing for their story to be seen without judgment. I’ve watched the relief wash over them when they are truly heard, when their feelings are held and validated. So many have been carrying silent guilt for years, because society told them that having such feelings was wrong. That kind of shame builds walls around the heart.

I think, by now, I’ve accepted that loneliness will visit all of us at some point. But what matters is what we choose to do with it. I’ve learned, in my own way, to welcome it—to see it as proof that I am my own person. Sometimes you’re lonely simply because you are you, and you are unmatched.

The art, I think, is in learning to treasure the small points of connection you do find, without letting the emptiness swallow you whole. You get to be yourself, and in that acceptance, life feels just a little lighter. Existence becomes a little easier.