You can be surrounded by people and still feel like nobody really sees you.
I think one of the hardest feelings to explain is loneliness.
Not the kind where you're physically alone, sitting in an empty room with nobody around. I'm talking about the kind of loneliness that follows you into a crowded room. The kind where you're surrounded by people you love, carrying on with your everyday life, smiling, laughing, answering messages, taking care of everyone, and somehow still feeling like there's a part of you nobody really knows.
The kind where you wish someone would look a little closer and ask how you're REALLY doing.
And not just the quick "I'm good, how are you?" kind of conversation. I mean the kind where someone genuinely wants to know what's happening beneath the surface.
I've been thinking about this a lot lately.
Life has a way of changing you in seasons you never expected. Sometimes those changes are beautiful, and sometimes they are heartbreaking. Sometimes you look around and realize you're living a life that you once dreamed about, but internally, you're struggling in ways you don't know how to explain.
For me, a lot of that has come through my health journey.
Going from doctor to doctor, trying to understand why my body feels the way it does, navigating a lupus diagnosis, dealing with exhaustion and brain fog, and trying to continue being the person I've always been has brought out emotions I didn't even know I was carrying.
It's hard to explain what it's like to feel disconnected from yourself.
It's hard to explain how lonely it feels when your body doesn't cooperate, when your mind feels foggy, when you have to cancel plans, when you can't do the things you want to do, and when you feel like you're constantly trying to catch up with the person you used to be.
But I've also realized something.
Loneliness doesn't always come from being sick. Sometimes it comes from motherhood. Sometimes it's relationships. Sometimes it's friendships that have changed. Sometimes it's the pressure of being the strong one, the dependable one, the one everyone knows will figure it out.
Sometimes it's simply being a woman who has spent so much time taking care of everyone else that she doesn't even know how to explain what she needs anymore.
The loneliness of being the person everyone depends on
I think so many women know this feeling.
You're the one remembering the appointments, planning the birthdays, making sure everyone has what they need, checking on your friends, taking care of your family, showing up to work, keeping the house moving, and somehow trying to find a little time for yourself in between it all.
You become so good at being there for everyone else that people forget you might need someone to be there for you, too.
And sometimes, you forget it yourself.
You learn to say "I'm fine" because it's easier than explaining everything that's going on. You learn to push through because there are responsibilities that don't disappear just because you're having a hard day.
You learn to smile because you don't want to bring anyone down.
But who takes care of the person who takes care of everyone?
Who checks on the woman who always checks on everyone else?
Who reminds her that she doesn't have to be strong every single day?
I think sometimes we become so comfortable being the dependable person that we don't know how to let people see us struggling.
And that's a lonely place to be.
Sometimes the people around you don't see what you're carrying
One thing I've learned is that people can love you and still not fully understand what you're going through.
Sometimes they see the version of you that shows up.
They see you at work. They see you smiling in pictures. They see you making plans, laughing with friends, taking care of your kids, and continuing with everyday life.
What they don't see is what happens after.
They don't see the exhaustion when you get home. They don't see the tears you might cry when nobody is around. They don't see the mental exhaustion of trying to keep everything together.
They don't see how much effort it took to show up that day.
And sometimes, I think we make it even harder for people to see because we're so used to pretending we're okay.
We don't want to be a burden. We don't want to sound negative. We don't want people to worry. We don't want to constantly explain why we're struggling.
So we keep the hard parts to ourselves.
But I've been learning that just because someone can't see what you're carrying doesn't mean it's not heavy.
You shouldn't have to look broken for someone to believe that you're hurting.
You shouldn't have to reach your breaking point before you're allowed to need support.
And you shouldn't have to explain your pain perfectly for it to deserve compassion.
The loneliness of motherhood
Motherhood is one of the most beautiful things I've ever experienced, but I think there's a side of motherhood that doesn't always get talked about.
You can love your children more than anything in the world and still miss parts of yourself.
You can be grateful to be a mom and still feel overwhelmed.
You can love every little moment and still wish you had more energy, more patience, more time, or just a moment to breathe.
And sometimes motherhood can feel lonely in ways you never expected.
There are days when you're pouring everything into the little people who depend on you, while quietly wondering when you'll get a chance to refill yourself.
There are moments when you wish someone would notice that you're tired without you having to say it.
And for those of us navigating health struggles, that feeling can become even heavier.
I hate that there are days when I can't run around with my son the way I want to. I hate that my health sometimes makes decisions for me. I hate feeling like I'm missing out on things simply because my body doesn't have the energy.
I want to be present. I want to make memories. I want to be the mom who can say yes without having to wonder how I'll feel afterward.
But I'm learning that being a good mom isn't measured by how much energy I have or how many activities I can fit into a day.
Sometimes being present looks different.
Sometimes it's sitting together, talking, laughing, watching a movie, or simply being close.
And maybe those moments matter just as much.
I think we need to give moms more permission to be human.
You don't have to love every second of motherhood to be a wonderful mom. You don't have to lose yourself to prove how much you love your children.
You are allowed to still be a person outside of being someone's mom.
The friendships and relationships that change along the way
I also think there's a loneliness that comes with realizing relationships aren't always what you thought they would be.
Sometimes friendships change as life changes.
Sometimes you stop being the person who always makes the plans because you're exhausted. Sometimes you become quieter. Sometimes you don't have the energy to respond to every message or show up to every gathering.
And sometimes people don't understand.
You might find yourself missing people who are still technically in your life. You might miss how things used to feel. You might wonder if anyone notices that you've pulled away or if they assume you simply don't care anymore.
But sometimes pulling away isn't about not loving people.
Sometimes you're just trying to get through your own life.
I've learned that some seasons reveal who knows how to sit with you when things aren't easy. Who checks in without expecting anything in return. Who understands that sometimes you don't need advice, a solution, or a pep talk.
Sometimes you just need someone to say, "I'm here. You don't have to pretend with me."
And I think that's one of the greatest gifts we can give another person.
Not fixing everything. Not having all the answers. Just making someone feel less alone.
What if we started being a little more honest?
I wonder how many of us would feel less alone if we stopped pretending everything was okay all the time.
What if we answered "How are you?" honestly once in a while?
What if we told our friends when we were struggling instead of waiting for them to figure it out?
What if we checked on the people who are always checking on everyone else?
What if we stopped assuming that the woman who looks happy has nothing weighing on her?
I think we sometimes underestimate how much a simple conversation can mean.
A text that says, "I've been thinking about you."
An invitation that doesn't come with pressure.
A friend who understands when you need to cancel.
Someone who listens without turning your feelings into a competition.
A reminder that you don't have to earn your place in someone's life by constantly showing up, doing favors, or being the happiest version of yourself.
And maybe we can start offering those things to ourselves, too.
We can stop expecting ourselves to be everything for everyone.
We can let ourselves rest.
We can make room for friendships that feel safe.
We can ask for help.
We can admit that some seasons are harder than others.
And we can remind ourselves that needing people doesn't make us weak.
Learning to be there for myself, too
I'm still learning this.
I'm learning that I can't keep giving every last piece of myself away and then wonder why I feel so empty.
I'm learning that taking care of myself needs to become part of my everyday life, not something I only think about when I'm completely exhausted.
I'm learning to listen to my body, protect my peace, and be more honest about what I can and cannot do.
I'm learning that I don't need to apologize for having hard days.
And I'm learning that I don't have to be the old version of myself to deserve love, friendship, or happiness.
I want deeper relationships. I want conversations that matter. I want to be around people who make it okay to be honest, even when honesty isn't pretty.
I want to be that person for others, too.
I want to check on my friends more. I want to remind the moms around me that they're doing better than they think. I want to make people feel included, appreciated, and loved.
Because I think we are all walking around carrying things that other people know nothing about.
And maybe the world doesn't need more people pretending to have it all together.
Maybe it needs more people willing to say, "I'm having a hard time, too."
A little reminder for whoever needs it today
If you've made it this far, I want you to take a second and really hear this.
You are not alone just because you feel lonely.
You are not difficult to love because you're going through a hard season.
You are not a bad mom because you're exhausted.
You are not a bad friend because you haven't had the energy to reach out.
You are not failing at life because things look different than you imagined they would.
You are a human being, and you are allowed to have needs, emotions, limitations, and days when you simply don't have it all together.
And if nobody has told you lately, I hope you know that you matter outside of everything you do for other people.
You matter when you're productive, and you matter when you're resting.
You matter when you're happy, and you matter when you're struggling.
You matter when you're showing up for everyone, and you matter when you need someone to show up for you.
I don't think we talk enough about how lonely life can feel sometimes. But I hope we can start having more honest conversations about it.
So check on your people. Really check on them.
Be the friend who makes room for the hard conversations. Be the person who doesn't make someone feel guilty for struggling. And if you're the one who needs support, let yourself ask for it.
You don't have to carry everything alone.
And if you're reading this while quietly feeling like nobody really sees you, I hope these words remind you that somewhere out there, someone understands more than you know.
We're all just trying to find our way through different seasons of life.
Let's make a little more room for each other along the way.
With love,
A woman who's still learning, still growing, and still finding herself. 🤍
