We all belong here.

My feelings of loneliness started when I made the decision to move internationally to complete my undergraduate degree at the age of 17. Being an only child and having lost my father to brain cancer at 13 years old, it was a huge decision that prioritised my desire to balance my athletic and academic career whilst simultaneously overlooking the emotional turmoil that would accompany it. To put things into context, I had been exempted from attending school camps due to severe separation anxiety from my mother and was in the early stages of recovery from an eating disorder that developed from needing some level of control in an unstable world. So, making this transition across the world came with more hurdles that I could have ever pre-empted prior to landing.
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The initial stages were filled with novelty and excitement, but quickly culture shock and the reality of being thousands of miles away from my family, friends, and other members of my support network set in. I cried most days, battling with the long nights and constantly trying to coordinate any form of contact with the time differences that existed between my hometown and my new city in America. While I was part of the track team so had an immediate ‘family’ that I was welcomed into, I felt like I had no one external that could seek for a conversation to share my feelings open and honestly, nor a companion that wouldn’t report concerns of my well-being to my coach. I tried to get by utilising daily facetime calls with my mother however this quickly grew into a routine that failed fill the void of loneliness in an unfamiliar place. I had some good friends on the team, but we were majoring in different subjects, so I spent most of my days in lecture halls with 500 plus people never seeing the same face more than once. I dedicated my spare time to meticulously completing my homework but the feeling of being alone hung over my head like a cloud.
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This pattern of training, university and long periods of study continued until the first case of COVID-19 was detected. While this seem removed from me at the time, the pandemic quickly spread, and the restrictions of social isolation grew more real than the demons in my head. I was physically and emotionally restrained from being with others, which spiralled my mental health severely. Once the realisation set in that I would have no choice but to put myself in a vulnerable situation to make friends as visiting home was off the cards for the indefinite future, I started to make some inroads in broadening my overseas network of friends. By the end of my college degree, I had learned so many new skills, strengthened my personality traits and developed some lifelong friendships that I still hold onto today. However, like all good things they must end and once I had graduated, I had to return home and leave this new group of companions behind.

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It felt like I was starting all over again, my friends back in Australia had moved on since high school and I didn’t feel as though I belonged in any of the groups I was once a part of. Like déjà vu, I was back to feeling lonely and isolated in a once familiar place. This was devastating and really tested my resilience. Like before, I leant on my circle at work to broaden my group of friends, meeting new people and being open to different experiences. Quickly I felt like I was back home again and regained the support and emotionally stability I needed.
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This sense of security remained until I accepted a position interstate to complete my master’s postgraduate studies. I laboured over what the right decision was whether I should get up and move again or stay in a place that was familiar and safe. The thought of loneliness for a third time in such a short span of my life played a huge part in my decision for following the best pathway forward. Financially and careerwise moving to Sydney opened the most opportunities and positioned me favourably to progress in my studies. I thought I would be more prepared, that I had the skills necessary to manage the inevitable loneliness that would accompany the transition, but I didn’t. Each move has been different, associated with its own challenges and trying to tackle life’s hurdles without any form of support heightens normal feelings of isolation substantially. There have been many days I have sat alone, longing for my friends back home. Returning to my apartment after a long day of study, I am greeted with silence and the need to prepare dinner. Walking into my local shopping centre reminds me of the unfamiliarity of the stores. Seeing elderly people out for a morning coffee, gives me an empty sense of missing my grandparents. Even the lack of having a car instils a sense of being trapped and completely alone. While I have made friends and have people around me who I trust and can confide in, I have noticed that loneliness still infiltrates my daily life.

In high school, I was so afraid of being labeled a loner or — being one — that I did everything in my power to stop it from happening. I swallowed my pride. I would ask just about anyone if I could sit with them at lunchtime. I would even pretend to be someone I’m not, just so I would “fit in,” so they would like me. That’s how desperate I was.

And for a while, it worked. I had a group I could sit and hang with… but it didn’t make me feel any less lonely. I realised you can be surrounded by a room full of people and still feel lonely. On the surface, it seemed okay (I didn’t look like a loner), but beneath all of it, I was truly alone. Not only that, it was exhausting, and I was only hurting myself.

When I finally had enough, I said to myself, “enough is enough,” and mustered the courage to walk away from all of that. I ended up sitting alone, and now I was truly a “loner.” It was scary, and sometimes I wonder if I made the right decision. But being alone felt better than being in a group that made me feel lonelier. It was liberating.

It’s okay to be lonely. It’s not something you have to deny or run from.

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There are moments where I’m met with the shock of others expectations for me to be fully independent and self-sufficient, or even my own. In these moments, it can feel like I have no other option but to step off an unknown ledge – without certainty that I will be able to support or catch myself if there are no footholds. This feels daunting and lonely, and it feels unfair because it feels like I am being forced into a life of serving something else (capitalism, perhaps), without the security that it will support me back. I don’t want to be reliant on my family forever, but in becoming less so, at this time in my life, there feels like much uncertainty about whether I can actually achieve this whilst still living the life I want – for my health and my sanity.

An interpretation of the quiet resilience required to hold yourself together, of reaching for your own hand in moments of hardship or everyday stress. Even with a strong support network, we remain the only constant presence in our own lives, the ones who must always show up for ourselves.

The quietness is something like misplacing something warm and familiar, something you didn't realise you reached for so often until it wasn't there, like a hoodie that holds many memories.
It's the loss of routine and connection that subtly shape every single day, something comfortable that I didn't know I grew used to. In a place that is still new, the sense of stability means more than you realise, now navigating your days looks like getting used to the quiet and to trust that feeling lost is part of finding your rhythm again.