Loneliness: A Portal to Self
Loneliness is such an open, in-between space—a vast void where we can finally hear the sound of our own voice. In that silence, our longings, our needs, beat loudly in our ears, dancing in our chest. Loneliness is the door we all fear knocking on, the room we avoid entering, because where does it go? What if I told you that your loneliness, your longing, is actually a portal—a doorway back to yourself?
We are made for connection: with the land, the stars, and even the eerie sounds of wind as it howls through the gaps where our wounds lie hidden. But what does it mean to hurt? To feel pain? Why does it ache so deeply when we’re left alone with the masterpiece that God created, this self that God dreamed of in the hopes we’d find our way back to it? Isn’t it strange that all of creation exists as God’s own longing to experience their miraculousness, yet here we are on earth, given the chance to be with ourselves, to truly know ourselves, and we feel only pain?
Why can’t we accept that we, too, are longing for ourselves? That we, too, desire to witness the wonder that is us? Every time God places us in a quiet space, in solitude, they are giving us the chance to hear them whispering through us. It’s an invitation not only to know ourselves but to engage in a sacred dance with the divine creator, as divine creation. When we embrace that we are life’s own longing, we realize that every moment of solitude is not loneliness but an opportunity to meet ourselves again. Each encounter is a chance to see how expansive God’s expression is, to witness the limitless beauty within.
When I feel alone, it’s often because I’ve been pouring out all my energy, wishing someone would hold me, while forgetting to hold myself. My heart aches, my mind is overwhelmed, my body exhausted, my spirit endlessly giving—and in those moments, I realize that I’ve ignored my own needs. I’ve been too busy to ask myself simple things, like, "Did you eat today? How are you, really?" I’ve abandoned myself. My loneliness then becomes a bridge—a question: why am I so easy to forget? Why do I wait for others to remember me before I choose to remember myself? Who am I waiting for?
Loneliness answers: they’re not coming. No one is. And here I am—ready to be enough for me. Isn’t my own voice a balm? A salve for aching muscles and skin? Aren’t I a midafternoon walk, a cup of tea pressed for all its warmth? Don’t I matter to someone? To myself?
I do. I matter to me. Who will I matter to, if not myself? Who else can I turn to but the God who opens my heart each morning like the rising sun? Who can I call upon if not me? And if I keep running from myself, who will be left to answer when I need it most? Some days, I dodge my own calls, fearing I don’t have the space to hold myself—afraid that if I do, there won’t be room for anyone or anything else.
But here’s the truth: I will love me. Even when you forget. Even if you’re preoccupied, or overwhelmed, or offering support in other ways, I will love me. And, strangely enough, I will love you too, for all the ways you show up.
