I have been told my entire life how lucky I am. How deserving I am. How anyone would be lucky to have me in their life. How am I worth it? And I believe those things. Not in a performative way, not in a fragile self-esteem kind of way, but in a grounded knowing. I know the type of friend I am. I know the joy I bring into rooms. I know the lover I have been, the daughter I am, the way I show up when it matters and I am proud of those qualities. I hold them with care.
And still, alongside all of that, I feel alone. I always have.
That truth has taken me years to name without shame. Because loneliness does not cancel worth. Feeling alone does not negate love, gratitude, success, or self knowledge. It simply exists beside them. Every sadness I have known has carried gratitude within it. Every joy I have experienced has held a quiet ping of loneliness. I often say that maturity is the ability to hold two truths at once, not just about other people, but about ourselves. The harder question I have been sitting with lately is not whether two emotions can coexist, but what it means to carry them moment after moment, day after day, without trying to resolve one to make the other feel more comfortable.
That weight is real. And it deserves tenderness.
When it comes to dating and connection, what I continue to see, both personally and clinically, is this. On a psychological level, you meet so many incredible human beings. And if you look closely enough, you begin to see that everyone is struggling. Some struggle with openness. Some with readiness. Some with old wounds, attachment patterns, fears that were learned long before you ever entered their life. And yet, within all of that, there is also something deeply beautiful unfolding. A wanting. A trying. A desire in so many of us to be better, to love better, to show up more honestly than we have before.
Meeting new people, starting new goals, continuing forward through hardship, setting boundaries, choosing yourself, all of it will always be layered. There will be optimism. And there will be disappointment. Sometimes in others. Sometimes in ourselves. That does not mean we are doing it wrong. It means we are participating.
If there is one message I am carrying with me into this new year, it is this. We have to stay open. Open to the bad days. Open to the uncertainty. Open to the possibility that we are more ready than we think. Open even within ourselves to acknowledge that we have done the work, and that now we get to choose.
I think of a few of my clients as I write this, and I know if you are reading, you know exactly who you are. We have talked about how hard it has been. How many years it felt heavy. How long did it take to even understand what was happening inside of you? And maybe before therapy, before these conversations, you simply did not have the awareness yet. That is okay. We all begin where we begin.
I knew going into this holiday season that it was going to be a difficult one. Not in an abstract way, not in a vague sense of sadness, but in very concrete, lived ways. I was single. I did not have someone I could text at any moment simply because I was bored, lonely, or my plans fell through. I could not rely on the comfort of a familiar presence showing up when the day felt too quiet. Around me, life was changing quickly. Some of my closest friends got married. One had a baby. One entered a new relationship. Another moved away. The shape of my world was shifting, and there was grief in that too.
At the same time, there was loss layered into the year in ways I could not ignore. There were many deaths in my family, and with it, an understanding that even home would not feel the same. The energy was different. The rituals were different. The sense of togetherness carried a heaviness that did not need explaining. Part of me prepared for that. Part of me braced it. Because sometimes you know a season will hurt before it even arrives.
What also grounds me is remembering that the people around me are in transitions too. My friends building families, new lives, new identities. My family is navigating grief and change. None of us are static. We are all moving through something. And just as they will come out the other side of what they are facing, so will I.
What I deserve is not intensity. Not chaos. Not uncertainty disguised as passion. What I deserve is a healthy relationships. And I am not afraid of that. Loneliness may walk beside me for now. But it does not define me. It does not diminish my worth. And it certainly does not take away my belief that love, real love, still exists and will meet me when the time is right.
So, for this new year, do me a favour. Take what you want. Take the leap. Go on the trip. Call that person. Show up at the gym. Join the class. Start and continue building the life you have always imagined, even if you are scared, even if it feels imperfect. You do not always need to be reflecting. Sometimes experience teaches us more than insight ever could.
That is all Spain was for me. An experience. A choice. A reminder that life expands when we let ourselves step into it. And I am deeply grateful for that.
And know this. Whether you win or lose, whether something works out or falls apart, you are not starting over. You are continuing. Continuing the incredible work you have already done. And I will be doing the same, right alongside you.
