I Was Surrounded by People, But I Had Never Felt More Alone

For much of my life, I’ve looked back on how my personality was shaped by early experiences with trauma and loss. I’ve examined how I coped, how I survived. But in that reflection, I’ve sometimes felt shame. Shame for how I handled pain. Shame for the ways I showed up in relationships. Shame for what felt like wasted years.

Growing up surrounded by people who were consumed with their own pain, addiction, and attempts at their own daily survival, I learned that my emotional needs were often going to be overlooked. Out of necessity, I became fiercely independent. I internalized a belief: “If I don’t take care of myself, no one else will.”

That independence protected me, but it also isolated me. I stopped trusting that anyone could truly care for me without some sort of hidden agenda or self-serving motive. I set the bar so low for others that I stopped expecting anything at all. I surrounded myself with acquaintances, but even my closest friends didn’t really know me. I kept everyone at a safe distance, too scared to risk intimacy, too tired of disappointment to try again.

And it worked, until it didn’t.

Eventually, I realized I was surrounded by people, yet deeply lonely. My armor had become my prison.

Grace for the Past, Hope for the Future

There are times I look back on that woman and feel a pang of regret. Regret that I didn't fully engage in the meaningful friendships right in front of me. Regret that I didn’t know how.

But I also extend grace to her.

I was raising four incredible sons. I didn’t have a roadmap for vulnerability. I was doing the best I could with the tools I had. And those tools, created by my younger self, worked. They helped me survive. But as I entered a new season, I realized I needed to lay some of those tools down in order to truly thrive.

The Cost of Coping

Our trauma responses can come with serious consequences. Some become addicted to substances. Others develop destructive behaviors. Many of us become hyper-independent, avoidant, angry, numb, or all of the above.

For me, the absence of intimacy led to workaholism and emotional eating. I filled my time, numbed my needs, and buried my loneliness under achievement and performance. I thought if I could do enough, be enough, accomplish enough,then maybe I’d be worthy of love and belonging.

But what I really needed was connection. Community. Vulnerability.

And that required something I had spent my life avoiding: trust.

Rewriting the Narrative

In my late 40s, I began to learn, really learn, how to have intimate, authentic relationships. It was like learning to ride a unicycle. Wobbly. Awkward. Uncertain. But also, exhilarating.  And, I actually liked it. 

It took months of therapy and deep reflection to see how I had been trying to earn love rather than simply receive it. How I gave grace to others but held none for myself. How I judged my own need for community as “selfish,” yet would never say that about someone else.

Isn’t it strange how cruel we can be to ourselves while extending kindness to everyone else?

I had to go back and speak tenderly to that young girl who created those tools out of necessity. I had to thank her for helping me survive, and gently let her know that we didn’t need to live in survival mode anymore.

I went from a person who had decided she didn't have time to build intimate friendships, to a woman who now has intimate, social interaction with people 3-4 times every single week. I learned that in order to accomplish intimacy in friendships, I needed to commit time to achieve this level of intimacy. And, guess what? It actually worked!

Reframing Our Coping Tools

Recently, I’ve come to see those tools not with shame, but with awe. How incredible is it that our minds create ways to protect us, to keep us safe, to meet our needs when no one else could?

What if, instead of judging ourselves for the ways we coped, we honored the intelligent strategies our younger selves came up with?

And what if we also honored ourselves now by learning new ways to live,ways that make room for joy, vulnerability, intimacy, and healing?

Journaling Prompts

Use these prompts to reflect with compassion on the tools your younger self created and what you’re ready to release:

1. What belief did I adopt in childhood to protect myself from pain or disappointment?

2. What coping tools did I create to feel safe or secure?

3. How did those tools serve me then? How might they be holding me back now?

4. What am I afraid will happen if I let others in fully?

5. In what ways have I judged myself harshly for being “needy” or desiring connection?

6. What does my younger self need to hear from me today?

7. What new tools do I want to cultivate in this season of life?

8. Who in my life do I want to allow to see the real me?

9. What does true intimacy look and feel like to me?

10. How can I extend grace to myself the way I would to someone I love?

A Final Word

Healing takes time, tenderness, and intention. It’s not about “fixing” who you were, it’s about honoring who you were and who you’re becoming.

Your need for connection is not a weakness, it’s a sacred part of being human.

You don’t have to do life alone anymore. You don’t have to keep everyone at arm’s length. There is safety, love, and healing available to you.

You are allowed to need others. You are allowed to be known. You are allowed to belong.

Want to Go Deeper?

If you’re ready to explore your story, rewrite old narratives, and create meaningful connection in your life, I’d love to walk with you.

Schedule a free one-on-one coaching session with me and let’s begin your journey toward healing, wholeness, and connection.

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You are not alone,and you don’t have to stay stuck. Let's take that first step together.