Introduction
Loneliness is one of those quiet companions we don’t often talk about, yet it touches more lives than we realize. A recent Gallup report found that one in five U.S. adults feels lonely a lot of the day — a shared experience that can remain hidden behind outward appearances. For me, loneliness wasn’t just about solitude; it often surfaced in relationships where I should have felt most connected. I carried that feeling through different phases of my life until I began to realize that true connection had to start with myself.
Setting the Scene
I first truly felt loneliness when I transitioned to senior school at 11. I had thrived in a structured, supportive environment before, but my new school was chaotic, with disengaged students and teachers who didn’t seem to care. I was an eager, hardworking student, and that quickly made me a target. The first time I was ridiculed for working hard, it was devastating. What made it worse was that a teacher joined in with the kids to win their favor. That moment crushed my trust in authority — and deepened my sense of isolation.
From that point, I hid. I consciously chose to hide my smarts because a teacher’s praise in the classroom would lead to bullying in the playground. I became the class clown because if people were laughing with me, they weren’t beating me up. It wasn’t a role I sought, but it kept me safe. Over time, I learned to compartmentalize myself — only showing people the version of me they wanted to see. I became adept at adjusting myself, like a Rubik’s cube, constantly rotating parts of me in and out of sight. Deep down, the loneliness lingered, and I believed the real version of me wasn’t valued.
Emotional Depth and Reflection
That pattern followed me into adulthood. I was always skilled at reading what people wanted from me, and I gave them exactly that, even at the cost of my authenticity. It wasn’t until I hit a turning point in my life that I finally decided to both understand and break the pattern, accepting my own role in allowing myself to be treated badly. I realized I had been giving without receiving, letting too many takers into my life, and perpetuating my own loneliness.
A pivotal moment in my healing came during a conversation with my older brother. We only see each other about once a year now, but when we do, we take a deep dive into our shared history. We’ll talk about long-dead relatives, family stories, and embarrassing moments — digging into the past long into the night.
When my brother looked me straight in the eye and said, “Robert, mum had mental health issues long before you were born,” he wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know. I had always been aware that my mum’s challenges predated my birth, but as a child, I processed those stories differently. I blamed myself for her emotional unavailability. I believed her struggles were tied to me, and that I wasn’t worthy of her love. This belief added to the loneliness I carried for years.
Hearing those same stories from my brother, as an adult, allowed me to reframe my understanding. My mum’s challenges weren’t my fault; they were part of her own life story, shaped by traumas long before I was born. That conversation helped me release the guilt I’d carried for so long. I could finally comfort the little boy within me, telling him he was loved, had always been loved, and that none of her pain was his fault. This was the beginning of letting go of the loneliness that had defined so much of my life.
Broader Connection
This reframing transformed how I viewed myself and how I approached relationships. For so long, I internalized blame, believing that if someone treated me poorly, it was because I wasn’t enough. Now, I understand that people’s actions often have more to do with their own struggles than with me. When someone is mean, disrespectful, or angry, I no longer take it personally. Instead, I see what they might be going through while holding firm to my own boundaries — and that shift in perspective freed me from the isolation I once felt.
One of the most important lessons I’ve learned is the power of clearly stating my needs and staying grounded in my boundaries, even when others may not agree. Protecting my well-being sometimes means walking away or refusing to let others distort the truth of who I am. Standing firm in my needs is no longer a source of fear or conflict but a way to stay connected to my authentic self.
I’ve come to realize that relationships, like gardens, require conscious tending. Some need nurturing, others may need pruning or even letting go. If you find yourself reacting strongly to similar experiences — feeling overlooked, blamed, or struggling with boundaries — I hope my journey offers a flashlight to explore your own emotions. Noticing those reactions, whether they affirm or challenge your perspective, can point to where your own healing might begin.
Conclusion
These days, I never feel lonely. That’s partly because I’ve cultivated a healthy level of self-love. I’ve come to truly like who I am, and I’m confident in what I bring to relationships. Vulnerability, which I once viewed as a weakness, is now my superpower.
For years, I carried the weight of guilt, frustration, and anger, dragging an emotional anchor behind me. Letting go of that anchor felt like a sudden release — one I didn’t fully realize until I woke up the next morning and it was gone. I just felt lighter.
A few months later, visiting my parents’ grave, I recognized a new peace within me. I had always spoken of my dad’s grave, but for the first time, I referred to it as my parents’ grave. In that moment, I forgave my mum, understanding she had done her best, and asked for her forgiveness in return. Something inside me had healed.
When I returned home, I went through old family photos and rediscovered a favorite picture of my mum — one I hadn’t truly looked at in over 45 years. Seeing her younger, happier self stirred something deep within me. I had the photo enlarged and hung it next to my dad’s. Their pictures, side by side, are a daily reminder of forgiveness, love, and the healing I’ve embraced.
This openness has also allowed me to fully be myself in all my relationships. I no longer present the carefully curated “Rubik’s cube” version of myself, but instead, show up as my authentic self — loved and respected for who I truly am. This shift has not only deepened my connections with others but has also led to a creative renaissance. Much of this creativity has emerged through writing, as I share my experiences and the lessons I’ve learned.
As you read this, I hope you can reflect on your own life. What resonates with you? What sparks a strong reaction? These moments might be showing you where healing or growth could begin. It took me 63 years to undo lifelong patterns, but I hope my journey might help illuminate the path forward for you.
Letting go of the emotional anchor has given me a freedom I never expected — the ability to float when I need to or swim in any direction I choose. Staying bound to someone or something out of fear is not healthy. There is another way: to consciously nurture or prune your relationships, knowing that letting go can sometimes lead to growth. Rather than being weighed down by the past, I feel empowered to navigate this new chapter of my life with clarity, peace, and strength. Doors aren’t closing for me; I’m choosing which ones to walk through, and I have the tools and stamina to build my own if I wish. Self-love isn’t just something I practice — it’s the foundation that has replaced loneliness with a sense of freedom, purpose, and deep connection.