Navigating Loneliness and ‘Finding’ Myself Again
Starting uni felt like stepping into a storm without shelter. I was grappling with strained personal relationships; my longest and closest friend stopped speaking to me, leaving a void I didn’t know how to fill. I was also in a relationship that made me feel even more alone and unsupported. My family, with their high expectations, added another layer of pressure. With uni, two jobs, and a web of complex relationships, I quickly spiralled into burnout and isolation. As expected my grades began to slip, eventually dropping lower than they’d ever been before. I couldn’t figure out what I was doing wrong, and this constant frustration only added to my feelings of failure.
I felt completely disconnected from everyone. Friends seemed distant, and I struggled to support myself. I wore a mask, pretending to be fine, but it only left me more exhausted. Eventually, the weight of it all became too heavy, and I found myself in a deep depressive episode. In an attempt to pull myself out of it, I reached out for professional help, but that too was disheartening. Doctor after doctor asked why I was depressed, as if I could just explain it away. The truth was, I didn’t know. I couldn’t pinpoint how things had become this bleak or why my usual coping mechanisms stopped working. Each attempt to connect felt like it pushed me further into isolation.
After a long, frustrating journey of trial and error, I found a psychologist who gave me the support I needed — although I didn’t know it at the time. I was sceptical, thinking I was already self-aware and understood my issues. In many ways, I did. But therapy wasn’t just about knowing; it was about taking the next steps with some guidance. I’ll admit that sometimes, even just showing up and talking felt like a heavy task, but little by little, those sessions helped me gain perspective.
I started to recognise patterns in my behaviour, like people-pleasing and co-dependence, and began coming up with small, comfortable ways to challenge myself. Finding little actions I could stick with helped me build trust in myself again. At first, it was just about trying to feel like myself. But over time, I realised I wasn’t the same girl I’d been in high school — the one who seemed happy, surrounded by friends, and was always a high achiever. She’s still a part of me, but I’ve grown, and it’s okay that the people I connected with back then aren’t the people I connect with now.
Some days, even the most basic tasks felt monumental. Taking a shower, brushing my teeth, and changing my clothes became achievements. But I made a promise to myself to commit to a few small acts each day. Slowly, I worked my way up to eating breakfast regularly and going outside for a short walk, even if it was only 15 minutes.
Occasionally, I tried other small activities, like watching a childhood Disney movie, doing a face mask, or trying painting (I’m the least creative person btw). I even found the courage to go to my gym’s classes (yes, I was in the back corner), visiting a new café (b/c I love coffee), or just doing little things to nurture myself, and while this didn’t make me happy at first, they afforded me moments of self-care. Over time, they led to small, unexpected moments of connection too. I started making an effort to connect with strangers in simple ways — asking a café barista how their day was or saying “Good morning” to someone I passed on a walk or the bus driver on my way to class. I took time to be genuinely interested in others, and showing that I was listening gave me surprising moments of warmth, as if I wasn’t entirely alone. Slowly, I learned that taking time to care for myself wasn’t just necessary but transformative. Though I feared it would take away from my study and work time, it ultimately allowed me to be my best. My grades picked up, and by my final years, they were better than they’d ever been.
I won’t pretend it was an easy or straightforward process (a lot of anxiety was involved and had to be overcome). There were many days when tears came more readily than strength, but now, looking back, I’m proud of the growth I see in myself. This journey taught me that the path to self-acceptance and connection is ongoing, and it’s okay for it to be messy. I want others to know that even when things feel dark and isolating, there’s a beauty in learning about yourself again — no matter how slow or unsteady that process might be.
Talking about my experiences now, I realise how empowering vulnerability can be. When I’ve opened up — even when it felt daunting — I’ve found moments of genuine connection with others. I may not have shared every detail of my story, but by speaking out, I discovered I’m not alone, and neither are you. There’s hope in knowing we’re all just moving through life’s ups and downs, finding strength where we least expect it.
I’ve come to understand that healing isn’t about getting rid of loneliness or pain overnight. It’s about allowing myself to feel, even if it’s uncomfortable, and trusting that each small effort matters. It’s been about patience, self-compassion, and seeing the value in tiny victories. So, to anyone going through their own struggles, don’t give up on yourself. Keep showing up in whatever ways you can, and trust that every small act of care builds a little more strength. In time, those small steps will lead you back to connection — with yourself and with others (who are probably just going through it too).
