i’m not lonely, i just don’t know where i belong

I’m not lonely. Not in the way you think, anyway. I’m not sitting in an empty room with nothing but silence to keep me company. I have people—friends that reach out, family who checks in. I exist in the spaces where connection happens. I know how to smile at the right times, how to nod along when someone shares their stories. I know how to belong on the surface.

But it’s the in-between moments that get me. The spaces where no one’s looking, where no one’s expecting me to be anything other than myself. Those are the moments when I feel it. This gnawing question that sits in the back of my mind, whispering over and over: where do you really fit? Where do you go when the mask slips and the act is over?

I don’t know. I’ve been trying to answer that question for years, but every time I think I’ve found the place, it crumbles in my hands. It’s like trying to hold onto water—slipping through my fingers no matter how tightly I try to cling to it.

I wonder if it’s me. If I’m just too much or not enough. Too quiet when I should be loud. Too thoughtful when I should let go. Too afraid to say, “This is who I am,” because what if they don’t like it? What if they don’t like me?

It’s not that I don’t have people who care about me. I do. But there’s something hollow about being surrounded by people who see only parts of you. The safe parts. The ones you’ve polished and curated so they’re easier to love. I don’t think anyone’s ever seen me whole.

And maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I’m too fragmented—too scattered across all the roles I’ve played and all the pieces of myself I’ve hidden away. It’s hard to feel like you belong anywhere when you don’t even feel at home in your own skin.

I keep telling myself that one day I’ll find it. A place, a person, a moment where everything clicks, where I can stop searching and just be. But some days, I wonder if that’s just a story I tell myself to keep going. What if belonging isn’t something you find? What if it’s something you create? And what if I’ve been waiting for someone else to do it for me?

I think about the spaces where I’ve tried to fit before. Friendships that felt like squeezing into shoes two sizes too small. Places that promised connection but only left me feeling more alone. I think about how I stayed in those spaces too long, convincing myself that it was better than nothing. That it was better than being alone.

But I’m not lonely. Not in the way you think. I’ve just been searching for a place to lay my heart down without fear. A place where I don’t have to explain myself, where I don’t have to shrink or twist or bend to fit someone else’s expectations. A place where I can exist in the fullness of who I am, messy and complicated and real.

I’m not lonely. But I am searching. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe belonging isn’t something you stumble into all at once. Maybe it’s something you piece together, moment by moment, as you learn to show up as yourself. Maybe the search is part of the journey, and maybe, just maybe, that’s enough for now.