Burning Beneath

There is a quiet kind of loneliness that doesn’t come from having no one around.

It comes from being surrounded by people, conversations, plans — and still feeling unseen.

Lately, I’ve noticed how much I long for connection. Not noise. Not constant messaging. Not small talk stretched thin across screens. Real connection. The kind where you can sit with someone without managing energy, without filling silence, without explaining yourself. Where presence alone is enough.

And yet, every time I try to reach for it in the usual ways, something in me pulls back.

Dating apps feel hollow. The delayed replies, the scripted questions, the endless “getting to know you” that never actually gets anywhere. I find myself waiting, checking, shrinking — until eventually I delete the app entirely. Not out of anger, but out of exhaustion. My nervous system knows this isn’t how I connect.

What I’m realizing is that the loneliness isn’t because I lack people.

It’s because I’ve outgrown shallow connection.

I’ve outgrown conversations that require me to perform.

I’ve outgrown relationships where I give more than I receive.

I’ve outgrown the urge to rescue, entertain, or hold emotional weight that isn’t mine.

There was a time when I confused closeness with effort — when showing up more, giving more, doing more felt like love. But now, anything that pulls me into tension instead of ease registers immediately in my body. Irritation isn’t cruelty; it’s information. It tells me when I’m crossing my own limits.

This phase feels uncomfortable because it sits between two worlds:

The old one, where connection meant overextending —

and the new one, where connection must feel safe, mutual, and alive.

I don’t want constant interaction.

I want resonance.

I don’t want to fill emptiness.

I want to share space.

Loneliness, in this season, isn’t a flaw to fix.

It’s a signal that I can no longer tolerate what once passed as connection.

Something deeper is forming beneath the surface.

And until it arrives, I’m learning to stay with myself —

not numbing the longing,

not forcing substitutes,

but trusting that the right kind of presence doesn’t need to be chased.

It meets you where you are.