Alone?
Just got back from vacation and heard a simple platitude that I found meaningful.
“If everyone shared their loneliness, there might not be any loneliness left in the world.”
At first, it sounds like one of those phrases you might see stitched onto a pillow or printed over a sunset photo, gentle, well-intended, easy to nod at and move on from. But the longer I thought about it, the less straightforward it seemed.
Loneliness is a strange thing. It doesn’t always come from being alone. Some of the loneliest people I’ve known were surrounded by others, at family dinners, in busy workplaces, and in loud rooms filled with conversation. Loneliness isn’t just the absence of people; it’s the absence of feeling seen. It’s that quiet sense that the version of yourself you show to the world isn’t the one who’s hurting.
That’s where the common saying starts to be meaningful. To “share” loneliness isn’t just to admit we feel alone; it’s to risk being honest about the parts of ourselves we usually hide. Our doubts. Our grief. Our fears that everyone else seems to be moving forward while we’re stuck in place. When we keep those feelings private, loneliness grows stronger. We think we’re the only ones dealing with them.
But when someone shares these feelings openly, without polishing or turning them into a lesson, it does something subtle: it grants permission. Suddenly, the room feels less isolating. Not because the pain disappears, but because it’s no longer unique.
I’ve seen this happen in small ways. A quiet chat at a table. A stranger admits, “I thought it was just me.” A pause where no one tries to fix the feeling, but allows it to exist. These moments don’t eliminate loneliness, but they lessen it. They remind us that what we’re experiencing isn’t a personal failure, it’s a universal one.
We often think connection requires strength, confidence, or the right words. In reality, it usually begins with vulnerability, having the courage to say, “I don’t have this figured out,” and trusting that someone else might see themselves in those words.
Maybe the platitude isn’t suggesting that loneliness disappears when shared. Perhaps it’s saying that loneliness loses power when it’s no longer hidden, when we stop treating it as shameful and start recognizing it as something all of us experience.
If everyone shared their loneliness, there might not be any loneliness left in the world. Not because we’d all be fixed, but because none of us would be alone in it.
“If everyone shared their loneliness, there might not be any loneliness left in the world.”
At first, it sounds like one of those phrases you might see stitched onto a pillow or printed over a sunset photo, gentle, well-intended, easy to nod at and move on from. But the longer I thought about it, the less straightforward it seemed.
Loneliness is a strange thing. It doesn’t always come from being alone. Some of the loneliest people I’ve known were surrounded by others, at family dinners, in busy workplaces, and in loud rooms filled with conversation. Loneliness isn’t just the absence of people; it’s the absence of feeling seen. It’s that quiet sense that the version of yourself you show to the world isn’t the one who’s hurting.
That’s where the common saying starts to be meaningful. To “share” loneliness isn’t just to admit we feel alone; it’s to risk being honest about the parts of ourselves we usually hide. Our doubts. Our grief. Our fears that everyone else seems to be moving forward while we’re stuck in place. When we keep those feelings private, loneliness grows stronger. We think we’re the only ones dealing with them.
But when someone shares these feelings openly, without polishing or turning them into a lesson, it does something subtle: it grants permission. Suddenly, the room feels less isolating. Not because the pain disappears, but because it’s no longer unique.
I’ve seen this happen in small ways. A quiet chat at a table. A stranger admits, “I thought it was just me.” A pause where no one tries to fix the feeling, but allows it to exist. These moments don’t eliminate loneliness, but they lessen it. They remind us that what we’re experiencing isn’t a personal failure, it’s a universal one.
We often think connection requires strength, confidence, or the right words. In reality, it usually begins with vulnerability, having the courage to say, “I don’t have this figured out,” and trusting that someone else might see themselves in those words.
Maybe the platitude isn’t suggesting that loneliness disappears when shared. Perhaps it’s saying that loneliness loses power when it’s no longer hidden, when we stop treating it as shameful and start recognizing it as something all of us experience.
If everyone shared their loneliness, there might not be any loneliness left in the world. Not because we’d all be fixed, but because none of us would be alone in it.
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