I never thought I would feel this alone.
When I packed my bags and moved across the ocean, I told myself I was chasing adventure. A fresh start. A new chapter. And in so many ways, it was. I moved here with my daughter and into my husband’s world, a world filled with love, familiarity, and his family who welcomed me with warmth. But even with a wonderful partner and a caring family, I quickly realized something was missing.
No one ever tells you that when you move away, you don’t just leave behind places. You leave behind people. The ones who know you best. The ones who have seen you ugly-cry on a Tuesday night for no real reason. The ones who can tell what kind of day you’re having just by the way you say hello.
I didn’t expect the ache. The quiet grief that settled in my chest when I reached for my phone to text my best friend, only to realize she was asleep in a different time zone. The way my voice felt smaller when I couldn’t just walk into a room and be met with familiar laughter. The strange hollowness of sitting in a café alone, watching groups of friends talk effortlessly, as if friendship were the most natural thing in the world. Because when you have it, it is. But when you don’t, it feels impossible.
And even though I married someone whose friends are wonderful, even though I am part of a life that is full, I am still learning that there is a difference between being welcomed and truly belonging. His friends are terrific, but they are his friends. They have their stories, their inside jokes, their shared history. And while they are kind, generous, and open, I am still navigating what it means to find my own people.
No one tells you how hard it is to start over. To find your people again. Because it’s not just about meeting new people. It’s about meeting the right ones. The ones who make you feel like home. The ones who don’t need an explanation for why you are the way you are. The ones who let you be your messiest, most unfiltered self, and still choose to sit beside you.
Loneliness has a way of making you softer, even when you don’t want to be. It forces you to be more open in ways you never thought you needed to be. It makes you notice kindness in small moments. The stranger who helps you with directions. The barista who remembers your order. The acquaintance who lingers in conversation just long enough for it to feel like an invitation into something more.
If you are in this space right now, feeling lost, feeling like you haven’t found your people yet, please know you are not alone. It takes time. More time than you think it should. But one day, you will find yourself laughing at something so dumb, so unexpected, and you will realize you are no longer keeping count of the days since you last felt like you belonged.
And maybe, just maybe, that will be the start of something.
Because friendship isn’t always about finding people who have known you forever. Sometimes, it’s about finding people who are willing to know you now.
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