I was such an idiot. I still am. (loneliness update)

Can I be tender with you for a moment?

Lately, I’ve been sitting with my loneliness. Not running from it, not trying to attack it, but turning toward it, curiously, like holding a magnifying glass to something both familiar and mysterious. It's hard, but it is the way.

Because the thing about loneliness is that it doesn’t always arrive when you’re alone. Sometimes, it finds you in the middle of a crowded room. It creeps in during laughter. It curls up beside you at a party, unnoticed by everyone else. And just when you think you’ve outgrown it, it reappears... softly, quietly... as you scroll through old photos from two summers ago.

Today, I looked through pictures from the summer of 2023. Do you remember where you were then? Who you were with? The people who, at the time, felt essential, who now exist only in memories or archived texts?

I saw myself smiling in hundreds of selfies. Surrounded by people I no longer speak to. And I felt it again, that ache. That sensation of the cold water hitting my back as I realize just how far away that version of me feels now. I am not the same felka I used to be.

I panicked. My mind began to spiral into that old familiar narrative: “Was life better when I had more people to call? When I was invited everywhere? When I never sat still long enough to feel anything deeply?”

Two summers ago, I was everywhere. Every party, every rooftop, every moment documented and posted to Instragram, of course. I was constantly being told I was pretty, cool, magnetic. People remembered my name, and for the first time, I didn’t have to repeat it three times. I felt seen. But not known.

The truth is, I was running. And the parties, the friendships, the buzz. They were all very clever distractions. I didn’t want to feel the quiet. I couldn't bare be alone. I didn’t want to sit with the sadness that would always greet me when the music stopped and I went home alone.

I know now that I wasn’t building intimacy, I was collecting connections like souvenirs. Hoping the right combination of admiration and attention would fill the void. But I never let anyone in. (Or, too much and it scared them away, but that is a deep talk for another time, my friend). My inner world remained locked away, guarded even from myself.

As I cleared space on my phone today, I found hundreds of photos. Fleeting moments with beautiful, kind-hearted people. Many of whom I no longer speak to—not because of a falling out, but because knowing everyone is not the same as being known.

And I realized something: in all those images, in all that curated joy, I was abandoning myself. I believed I wasn’t worth the kind of love that lingers. The kind that stays when the party’s over. I confused popularity for connection. And performance for meaning something.

So, I deleted the photos. (Don’t worry, I backed them up, I’m still a nostalgic romantic at heart.) But in letting them go from my phone, I made space. Space for new memories. Space for truth. Space for a new story.

And maybe that’s what I want to say here. Loneliness is not always what it seems. Sometimes, it’s not a problem to be fixed, but a signal to be listened to. Sometimes, it’s asking us to come home to ourselves.

So if you, too, have felt this beast of loneliness, if it whispers old stories like “you’re not lovable,” or “you don’t belong”—pause. Ask yourself: Is it true? Or is it just familiar? The same story I have always told myself.

You don’t have to believe every story loneliness tells you. You can listen. You can sit with her. And then, gently, you can decide whether it’s time to tell a new story, when you are ready.

One where you are not only seen, but truly known—first, by yourself.

....

The summer of 2023 was beautiful. It was also very hard. Felka then didn't know what she knows now, and that is okay. I show her love on this full moon. It's a perfect excuse to look up at the beautiful full moon and recalibrate my goals for friendship, love, and building a home in myself. I'd like to tell you to trust that you will feel better, you will get though this, and that one day you will see that getting through the storm will change you into an even better version of yourself. I believe in you!!

And if you're still in the storm, that is okay, too. But just know that you deserve to be a little kinder to yourself, my friend.

With lots of love,

your Felka