The Stage Was Set: Me vs. My Secret Struggle

Let me set the scene. Picture a freshly minted college grad—idealistic, ambitious, and slightly overconfident—stepping back into her hometown of Boise after a year spent navigating Chicago’s cold winters and even frostier commutes. I was ready to take on the world and write my great American story. It was going to be a perfect blend of literary brilliance and all the indie-rock vibes of a Phoebe Bridgers album. What I didn’t expect, though, was to be blindsided by a silent antagonist that crept into my life like a sneaky draft under the front door: loneliness.

Not the fun, artsy kind of solitude where you sip overpriced coffee and stare out a rainy window while writing sad poems. No, this was the “what’s-the-point-of-leaving-bed-when-my-plants-are-the-closest-thing-to-a-relationship-I-have” kind of loneliness. And for a long time, I kept that battle to myself.

Because here’s the thing: admitting that you’re lonely feels like admitting defeat, as if you’re some kind of failure in the grand experiment of human connection. Especially when, on paper, everything seemed fine. I had a job I loved, a city I adored, friends who were just a text away. Everything should have been enough. But loneliness has a way of curling into the spaces between all that “should-be-good-enough” and making itself at home.

The Great Escape (Spoiler: It Wasn’t That Great)

My first strategy against the uninvited guest that was loneliness? Distraction. I threw myself into work the same way someone might throw themselves into binge-watching half a season of Succession in one sitting—it wasn’t about enjoyment so much as drowning out the noise in my brain. I started saying yes to every invitation: gallery openings, drinks at Boise’s newest microbrewery, hikes in the foothills where I cheerfully lied about being “totally into nature.”

And let’s not even get started on dating. Let’s just say there were enough awkward first dates at local coffee shops for me to earn a punch card for free americanos. One guy spent twenty minutes talking about his gluten-free bread recipe. Another brought a ukulele and serenaded me (unprompted) in the middle of the café.

The thing is, none of it worked. Sure, I was busy, but busy isn’t the same as connected. In the rush to escape my loneliness, I was filling the cracks instead of addressing the foundation. It was like slapping duct tape on a leaky pipe and hoping for the best.

Connection Starts with Vulnerability (Ugh, I Know)

Here’s where things started to shift: one evening, while walking along the Boise River alone (yes, insert indie film montage here), I realized that I didn’t just miss connection—I missed real connection. Not the kind you force by half-listening while scrolling Instagram, but the kind where you’re actually willing to admit your fears, your dreams, or why you cried over finishing The Great British Bake Off finale last week.

The problem? I wasn’t letting anyone in. I mean, how could I expect meaningful relationships when I wasn’t being honest—not with friends, not with family, and definitely not with myself? So, I started doing something I’d always dreaded: I asked for help.

It started small. I texted my best friend, who lived out of state, and said, “Hey, I’ve been feeling pretty isolated lately. Can we catch up soon?” It felt terrifying to even type the words. But her response? Immediate and heartwarming: “Oh my gosh, yes! Let’s do a phone date this weekend. I’ve missed you.”

That first step gave me the courage to open up to others. I told my parents I was struggling (“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” was the universal reply). I invited an old high school friend to lunch who I’d been meaning to reconnect with for years. Slowly, I went from feeling like an island to feeling tethered to the people I cared about most.

As cheesy as it sounds, I learned that you can’t build connections behind a polished version of yourself. Relationships, whether romantic or platonic, need space for the messy, insecure, and very real parts of you to truly grow.

Lessons from the Other Side

This isn’t some Hollywood screenplay, and I’m not sitting here pretending I have it all figured out. Loneliness still knocks on my door every now and then, but now, I know not to let it eat all my snacks and dominate my Netflix queue. Here’s what my Great Loneliness Battle taught me:

  1. Identifying the Feeling is Step One
    You can’t fight a battle you don’t acknowledge. Instead of shaming myself for feeling lonely, I started treating it as a signal—not a failure. Think of it as your emotional version of a “check engine” light.

  2. Be Honest (With Yourself and Others)
    When I stopped saying “I’m fine” on autopilot, things changed. Honesty doesn’t mean oversharing, but it does mean risking vulnerability. Whether it’s telling a friend you’re struggling or admitting you miss connection, that honesty will create space for people to show up for you.

  3. Quit the Fast Fixes
    I’ll admit it: Netflix binges and endless schedules won’t fill the loneliness void. (Believe me, I tried.) It took me a while to learn that throwing distractions at a problem doesn’t solve it; it just delays the inevitable.

  4. Create Your Own Community
    Sometimes, friendships and connections have to be cultivated. I started a monthly book club—nothing fancy, just tea and chats about the latest read. Not every event was perfect, but it gave me a reason to reach out, check in, and show up for others.

  5. Be Kind to Yourself
    If you’re navigating loneliness, let me say this: it’s okay to feel it. It doesn’t mean you’re broken or unworthy of connection. It means you’re human. You’ve survived this far, and that’s pretty incredible.

The Takeaway

Looking back, loneliness wasn’t the enemy I thought it was. It was more like a poorly worded postcard, telling me to slow down and reevaluate where I was seeking fulfillment. The battle I fought in secret? It put me firmly back in the driver’s seat, forcing me to build connections that were genuine, tender, and sometimes imperfect. But they matter—and so do yours.

So, if you’re reading this and any of it felt like looking in a mirror, don’t wait to act. Send that text. Make that call. Share your truth. Sometimes, you’ve just got to open the door and let someone in. Who knows? They might just bring snacks.