The Worst Kind of Loneliness When Feeling Lonely

Have you ever sat in a room full of people who laugh at your jokes, lean on your advice, applaud your resilience, and felt utterly, bone-deep alone? That kind of silence is violent.

It’s not the silence of solitude. It’s the silence after giving too much and getting nothing back. It’s the sound of “You’re so strong” echoing while your hands shake quietly in your lap, wishing someone, anyone, would see the tremble and say: Let me carry you, for once.

But no one does. Because you’re the strong one.

People don’t check on the strong ones. They assume we’re fine. Worse, they need us to be fine. It comforts them to know someone is holding the roof up. They don’t want to see that we’re under it, too. That we’re tired. That we’re holding our breath more than we’re breathing.

Being the strong one means being praised for surviving pain that people would never want to hear about if we actually told the truth. Try it! Tell someone you’re not okay. Tell them you’re exhausted. Tell them you need someone to just sit with you and not ask for anything. Watch their face freeze. Watch them go quiet. Watch how quickly the conversation shifts to something easier.

It’s not that they’re cruel. It’s just that strength has become your brand. And people don’t know what to do when their hero limps.

So the strong ones become experts at invisibly bleeding. We master the art of answering “How are you?” with “I’m good” even when we’re hollowed out. We check in on everyone else, remembering birthdays and breakups and doctor’s appointments.

We give and give and give, hoping someone will see past the giving into the ache. But rarely do they.

It’s crying in the shower, so no one has to hear. It’s laughing loudly at dinner because you don’t want to ruin the vibe. It’s holding space for everyone else’s grief while swallowing your own.

The resentment. The exhaustion. The slow erosion of self. Until one day you catch yourself fantasizing about a breakdown, just so someone might finally see that you’re not okay.

But even then, you won’t let it happen. You’ll keep showing up. Keep smiling. Keep saying, "I’m good, just tired,"
because strong people know how to package pain as politeness. And no one wants to believe the lighthouse needs a life raft.

And eventually, that loneliness grows teeth.

It becomes resentment. It becomes bitterness. It becomes that numb stare at 2 a.m. when you’re too wired to sleep and too tired to cry.

You start to wonder: Who checks on me? Who brings me soup when I’m sick, not just physically but soul-sick? Who says “I’ve got you” and means it, with actions, not platitudes?

A gilded, admired, lonely trap. And escaping it feels like betrayal. Like failing the role you were cast in. But maybe...just maybe... strength isn’t about being invulnerable.

But here’s what I want to say:

Just because you’re good at carrying doesn’t mean you were meant to do it alone. Just because you know how to hold space doesn’t mean you don’t need it held for you. Strong doesn’t mean invincible. Capable doesn’t mean unbreakable. And being needed is not the same as being loved.

Maybe real strength is crying in front of someone you love. Maybe it’s texting “I’m not okay” without apologizing for the inconvenience. Maybe it’s letting yourself be held even if you’re the one who’s always done the holding.

Maybe it’s saying I’m tired of being the strong one.

And hoping someone replies: You don’t have to be. Not with me.

Because we all deserve to fall apart sometimes. And we all deserve to be gathered.

So if this is you: if you’re the strong one, the reliable one, the one who never asks, I hope someone sees you.
I hope someone asks. I hope you find a soft place to land.

And if not yet, I hope you learn to ask for it. Even through trembling lips. Even if your voice cracks.

You don’t have to shatter to be worthy of being checked on.
You don’t have to fall apart to deserve softness.

You don’t have to be the strong one all the time.

And if no one’s told you lately: You don’t have to carry this alone. I'm here. I feel the same.

Join my inner group here.