Why Do I Feel Lonely Around Some People?
Feeling lonely around people is not about being physically alone. It’s more of a mental thing. You’re in a room with others, but you don’t vibe with them. The energy is different. You feel like you don’t belong, and that makes you feel more lonely. It can be subtle, like in a meeting where everyone is talking about things you’re just not connected to. Or it can be more direct, like feeling like your voice doesn’t matter in a conversation. It’s not about being alone. It’s about feeling disconnected.
One example I thought of is from work. I have been in this in-between place where I was not sure about how I want to continue my career. But around me, others were busy making plans for the next year. Their energy is focused on the future — what things to improve, what projects to start, who's going to do what — and I just sat there thinking, will I even be here next year? It’s hard to share that feeling in a moment like that. Everyone else seemed excited or certain, and I just felt unsure. That disconnect creates this quiet kind of loneliness. You’re there, you’re part of the conversation, but your heart isn’t in the same place.
Another example is from coaching athletes. I might see something in an athletes' jump — like in high jump, I notice someone doesn’t have enough distance from the bar and I want to suggest they extend their approach. But then a coach who I presume is more experienced has a different opinion, and then parents sometimes start chiming in too. And suddenly, even though I feel like I have something useful to add, it’s like my ideas are useless. Everyone else has their own idea, and mine just floats away. That can feel lonely too — like you’re not heard, even when you believe what you’re saying could help.
What’s interesting is that I don’t often speak up about these things. I just carry it and move on. I’m not always someone who expresses themselves on that deeper emotional level. Not because I don’t want to, but maybe because I’m afraid of the response. And the weird part is, I know that fear is probably not even relevant. Most of the time, if I did say something, I’d probably get a respectful and understanding response. People would listen. They’d be supportive. But still, that hesitation is always there. I’d rather not deal with the small chance of a negative response — even though I know, deep down, it’s almost never as bad as I imagine.
It’s like, you build up these possible scenarios in your head. You think of all the ways it could go wrong. But in reality, 99 out of 100 times, it doesn’t. And I know it’s something you can only get better at through experience — just like teaching or coaching. At first, it’s uncomfortable. It’s way out of your comfort zone, maybe even too far to really learn from it. But over time, it gets easier. You build experience. It feels more natural. You become more familiar with how it feels to speak up, and also with how people actually respond — which, again, usually isn’t bad.
So when I think about speaking up — about not feeling like part of the planning, or about disagreeing with a coaching decision — it feels scary, but in a freeing kind of way. Like something that’s close enough to my comfort zone to be worth trying. Not easy, but possible. And probably helpful.
It’s just that first step that’s the hardest. The stretch. But I guess that’s true for a lot of things.
This post is a response to "30 questions for me and for you" by Kay on marblethoughts.