"Loneliness is not the absence of company, but the absence of the self." - Maurice Chevalier
Committing to my current relationship has been one of the most transformative experiences of my life, challenging in ways I never imagined, yet absolutely essential to my personal growth and evolution. It has pushed me to interact with an entity that I am a little frightened of—and that is honesty. Honesty points out my vulnerability without hesitation and somehow has the exact GPS coordinates to all the places that hold my happiness—and the excruciatingly painful path that will take me there.
Particularly, I’ve had to face honesty within myself. Traumas from my childhood, adolescence, and adulthood have shaped my behaviours in ways that sometimes feel like a mystery to me, despite years of self-development, books, and countless motivational quotes that I scroll through.

I grew up in a large family, and while there was always love and protection, there wasn’t always space for undivided parental attention. This meant we often didn’t feel fully seen, heard, or understood. As adults, I’ve noticed that my siblings and I now tend to value solitude as a form of self-love. It’s not about being “alone” in the conventional sense—it’s about creating space to feel our own presence, hear our own thoughts, and simply be with ourselves. It’s a deeply nourishing experience.
In contrast, my partner had a very different experience. His desire for closeness and connection stems from a family where relationships were often strained by conflict. This has led him to seek out a tight-knit family dynamic, where everyone shows up, in spite of all the differences.
This difference in how we approach love has sometimes led to confusion and self-judgment on my part. I’ve often questioned myself, wondering, “Is something wrong with me? Am I broken?” It has taken me a lifetime to be honest with myself—to recognize and honour what my true needs are, rather than what I wish they were. For example, I wished I could effortlessly embrace all the outings and gatherings with the people who wanted to spend time with us over the holidays. But in reality, what I needed most was the deep stillness and renewal that only solitude could provide.
Redefining Love and Compassion
I am also learning that our love for each other can be so limited, despite our deepest intentions to love better and make up for what we felt was lost.
When we hear of someone cutting ties with family members, we might think, "That will never be me. You always show up for your family!" But what if, instead of judging, we approached the situation with compassion and understanding? What if we considered the pain that person must have endured to make such a decision?
Perhaps the most loving response is not to judge, but to hold space for their story, honour their bravery in sharing their story, need and decision with us in the first place, and having compassion for the pain and the courage it took to take that step.

Letting Love Show Up in All Its Forms
Love, compassion, and support can look very different from person to person. While some people experience love and joy by gathering with family to drink hot chocolate and watch Christmas movies, others feel loved when they are allowed to “ditch us” during the holidays, travel alone, or be with people that are not us! Granting that kind of freedom shows benevolence and care. It allows loved ones to return to us feeling whole and grounded, knowing their self-love and respect have been protected.

Bridging Differences: Questions That Expand Love and Connection
Expanding our capacity for love means recognizing and embracing the many different ways it can show up. When we deny these differences, we risk leaving each other unseen, misunderstood, and lonely.
The next time someone’s behaviour feels unfamiliar or unloving, we can ask ourselves:
Clarify Needs - What does this person actually need to feel loved? Can I ask them directly if I don’t know?
Examine Judgements - What judgments do I have about their needs?
Explore Fears - What vulnerability, fear, or risk is underneath my judgement? What do I want to do with my fear?
Honour Yourself - What do I need to feel loved and cherished? Who can I ask to help meet this need? How can I summon the bravery required to tend to my vulnerability and honour my own needs?
There’s nothing quite as transformative as when another human being not only makes room for the part of us that feels like a misfit but loves us because of it—not in spite of it. Perhaps the only thing love asks of us is to see it in all the different ways it reveals itself.
When we can do this, even loneliness will feel less alone.
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