It’s been such a chaotic week in terms of everything I’ve had to work through and sort out. Actually, chaotic is probably not the best word to describe it. It’s just been busy.
It’s been full of emotions—different emotions, for different reasons. But as I continue navigating this whole adulting thing, I’m realizing that there are seasons of life that simply require more from you than others. More energy. More intentionality. More thrust.
I actually just got back from the gym before I started writing this, and my lower back doesn’t hurt as much right now.
Caveat: right now.
I spent some time stretching before I left the gym, which I’m also realizing is probably just as important as the workout itself. I’m glad I pushed through it and was able to get back into the rhythm of my day.
Recently, someone asked me what intimacy means to me.
At the time, I answered pretty quickly. But afterward, I found myself sitting with the question a little longer.
For me, intimacy—both physical and non-physical—is deeply connected to trust. It’s rooted in the ability to be your most authentic self without fear of shame, disappointment, embarrassment, or rejection.
Ultimately, what we all begin to crave is connection.
Connection that’s rooted in safety and intentionality.
The problem is, it doesn’t always come easily. It doesn’t always come quickly. And sometimes, it doesn’t come at all.
Even in the places where you desire the deepest connection, it’s simply absent.
Lately, I’ve realized that whenever my heart aches, it’s usually because I feel like I’m standing on an island, surrounded by people who can see me, but with no one actually standing on the island with me.
Some of that, I’m mature enough to admit, is by design.
There was a time when my life was incredibly busy—not necessarily because I was people-pleasing, but because I was constantly surrounded by people. Casual dating. Exploring different interests. Growing my circle of friends. Building relationships everywhere I went.
But the deeper I’ve gotten to know myself, the more I’ve realized that eventually, all of that can become incredibly lonely.
I still imagine what a future wedding might look like. I think about a milestone birthday filled with people I’ve loved through every chapter of life—friends from old jobs, different cities, church communities, and every pocket of my journey.
But I’ve also come to realize that it’s possible to be surrounded by people and still feel like you’re standing alone.
Sometimes, all you really want is to be standing with someone.
I say someone intentionally because there are moments in life when community is exactly what you need. Friends matter. Family matters. But I also believe there are seasons where the beginning and the end of what your heart longs for is being deeply connected to the person who’s meant to walk through life with you.
One of the things that disappoints me most about growing up is this constant feeling that I have to do everything by myself.
Not because the people in my life have failed me.
Not because they’ve done anything wrong.
I just think there are parts of adulthood that are inherently lonely.
I worry. I work hard. Sometimes harder than I probably need to. Not because I enjoy it, but because I’m constantly thinking about what happens if I don’t.
What happens if I take my eyes off the ball?
What happens if I stop carrying everything?
I worry about ending up as one of those people standing alone on their own island.
I love my family.
I love my friends.
They each have their own places where they show up for me, and I’m grateful for that.
But I genuinely think one of the most painful feelings you can experience as an adult is loneliness.
And I know there will be people who read this and make it about themselves. Others will read it and simply feel sorry for me.
But after sitting with this for a while, I think what hurts the most isn’t either of those things.
It’s realizing that you can attract people who admire your grit, your ambition, and your determination, yet still not find the companionship you’re actually longing for.
That’s the painful part.
Looking around and realizing that there are people who genuinely enjoy spending time with you, people who care about you, people who want to be around you—but the most they can offer in that season is community.
And sometimes, community isn’t the same thing as companionship.
Sometimes they simply don’t have the capacity to give you what you need.
Safety.
Depth.
A place where you can lay everything down.
One of the things I’ve always struggled with is talking about my problems.
Not because I don’t want to.
But because I’m such an action-oriented person that I don’t enjoy talking about a problem just for the sake of talking about it.
If you’ve ever had one of those conversations with me, it usually goes something like this:
You ask me how I’m doing.
I tell you I’m stressed.
I start rambling through everything that’s on my mind.
Then somewhere in the middle of talking, I either solve the problem, stumble onto the solution, or come to the realization that it’s simply not something I can solve right now.
Oddly enough, I’m okay with all three outcomes.
Because I’ve learned that growth isn’t always about fixing everything immediately.
I’m not a magician.
I’m good at a lot of things, but I’ve also learned that I have to become comfortable with the reality that I can’t fix everything at every moment.
That doesn’t make me weak.
It just makes me human.
But that realization doesn’t erase the loneliness.
Wouldn’t it be nice to go through something difficult and feel like the people around you had the capacity, the wisdom, or even the willingness to help carry some of it with you?
One of the things I struggle with most as I get older is sharing something that’s weighing on me, only to hear, “Man… that really sucks.”
And don’t get me wrong.
Sometimes, that’s exactly what I need.
Sometimes the validation alone is enough.
Sometimes I don’t need advice.
Sometimes I don’t need solutions.
Sometimes I just need someone to acknowledge that what I’m carrying is heavy.
But there are other days when hearing, “That really sucks,” feels painfully insufficient.
Not because the person doesn’t care.
But because, in that moment, you wish someone had the ability to meet you where you actually are.
And sometimes… that’s simply not available.
Like I said at the beginning of this piece, that’s heartbreaking.
But we keep going.
We keep striving.
Because giving up has never really been an option.
That much I know.
At the same time, I think it’s okay to admit that carrying so much by yourself can be incredibly heavy.
And maybe admitting that is the first step toward letting someone help carry it one day.
Till next time.
Stay up.
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You are highly appreciated.
#WordsOfWednesday
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