Loneliness is solitude in progress

I've spent most of my life running from loneliness.

My elder brother moved overseas when I was a teenager, so I lived my teenage years as an only child. Suddenly, the house felt emptier. My parents' world was too different from mine—we were born in different eras and lived in other realities. The things that filled my days were foreign to them. A few years later, I got a job and moved out, hoping independence would cure this feeling.

It didn't.

Living alone brought a new flavor of loneliness. Nobody greeted me when I came home, and my phone rarely showed notifications (except from my mom). I had stories to tell but no one to tell them to. I thought freedom would make me happy—the ability to do whatever, go wherever, and whenever. Instead, it made me miss home even more.

I had stories to tell but no one to tell them to.

Spending time with friends became painful. Not because I didn't enjoy their company, but because I envied them. I envied how they seemed free from the loneliness that followed me everywhere. This envy made me hate my life even more.

A couple of years later, I got married. Surely, this would solve everything, right?

But I am my own person, and my wife is, too. We love each other profoundly and need each other, but there are still moments when I can't even understand myself—moments when I can't even articulate what's on my mind.

So, on nights when she was asleep, I'd sit outside alone, letting my mind wander. In those quiet moments, I began to understand this feeling a little better.

At work, a colleague once confided in me that she felt lonely despite having three children. That's why she kept working. Motherhood made her feel isolated—cut off from the outside world. Work was her escape, her place to interact with adults and have conversations that didn't revolve around diapers and homework.

That's when it hit me: It doesn't matter how many people I live with. It doesn't matter how lively my house is. It doesn't matter how old I am.

There will always be times when I feel lonely, even when I'm at home with my parents, hanging out with friends, living with my wife, or when I have kids in the future.

When it's time to feel lonely, it will be lonely, so I just let it be. I don't need to find out what's wrong with me or to overthink it. Once I became comfortable with loneliness, it became easier to be alone without feeling lonely.

When it's time to feel lonely,
it will be lonely,
so I just let it be.

I am my own home

I've made myself a place where I can feel at home, where I can rest without judgment, where I can acknowledge my feelings without rushing to fix them, where loneliness is just another visitor, not a permanent resident—just like sadness, anger, embarrassment, and any other feeling.

When I learned to befriend myself, I discovered that loneliness wasn't something to fear or escape. It was simply a reminder that I am human and capable of deep connections, including the one with myself.

And in that understanding, I found a quiet peace that no relationship, no achievement, no distraction could ever provide.

It's not that I never feel lonely anymore. I do.

But now, I know how to sit with it. And somehow, that makes all the difference.

I've found solitude.

I hope you find this insightful. Remember:

It's not going to be easy,
But it's not impossible.

Your friend,
Brian.