Breaking Loneliness: How A Single Hug Changed Everything

It was a regular weekday and I was sitting in my usual seat at one of my go-to café’s. As my eyes lifted for a moment, I saw a familiar face: Jack, a guy I’d seen around town several times. We’d exchanged the usual pleasantries before: “Hey, how’s it going?” “Good, you?”, but nothing deeper. For some reason I hadn’t really wanted to engage, until this day.

As I made my way to the bathroom, Jack entered the space. We exchanged our usual pleasantries, but this time, something unexpected happened. Without thinking, without hesitation, I opened my arms and hugged him. I don’t know why, I only know it felt right, like a part of me that had been starving for connection had finally found the courage to show itself. I was tired, vulnerable, but more than that, I guess I was ready. Ready to break through the walls I’d built around myself for years.

It was impulsive. Surprising to both of us. But when he wrapped his arms around me, it felt like coming home. His embrace was warm and solid. I laughed nervously, stumbling over an apology. He looked at me amused, his calm presence reassuring me it was okay. “Can we do this again?” I asked, half-embarrassed, yet utterly moved by the simplicity of it all. His hug wasn’t just a hug, it was an answer. An unspoken acknowledgment of a need I’d been pushing away. It wasn’t just physical: it was emotional, spiritual, and it was human.

On The Run From Loneliness

Loneliness. I’ve spent years running from it, terrified of the emptiness it might bring. I remember the nights when silence became too loud, the space around me too vast. My chest tightening as the world fell away, leaving only me and the hollow quiet. Even in crowds, in relationships, I felt it, this nagging ache. It wasn’t the absence of people; it was the absence of connection. Of truly being seen. I filled my life with distractions, noise, faces, hoping the loneliness would fade away. But it always caught up. And when it did, it hit harder than I could take. It felt like a weight pressing in from all sides, and there was no escape.

But here’s the thing, I wasn’t so much afraid of being alone in a room, I was afraid of confronting myself. The loneliness I feared wasn’t external, it was internal. It was a deep, unspoken ache within, a reminder of the parts of me I’d been too scared to face.

Rejecting Myself

Lately, I’ve realized something important. For most of my life, I’ve abandoned myself. Parts of myself that were too painful, too shameful, too “wrong” to acknowledge. I hid them and buried them under layers of what I thought I was supposed to be. But those pieces didn’t disappear. They lingered. And by suppressing them, they only grew louder.

Loneliness wasn’t chasing me, it was a part of me trying to come home. Every time I rejected it I made the wound deeper. Imagine sharing your truest self with someone you love, your raw, unfiltered truth, and seeing their face shift, their gaze turn cold. The sting of rejection is unbearable, but the silence that follows is worse. Now, imagine that same heartbreak inflicted by your own actions. Over and over. That’s what I did to myself for years. No wonder I felt sad, abandoned, and alone.

Embracing the Shadow

Carl Jung spoke about “The Shadow”, those hidden parts of ourselves we push away because they’re too painful to confront. But shadows don’t disappear. They don’t go away just because we ignore them. They wait, silent, patient, until we’re ready to acknowledge them. Ignoring them only makes their presence louder and their pain more insistent.

So, instead of searching for love in others to fix me, I’m trying something different. The next time loneliness finds me, I won’t run. I won’t push it away. I’ll sit with it. I’ll listen to it, treat it as a friend who’s been hurting, not an enemy to escape. If it needs to cry, I’ll cry with it. If it needs reassurance, I’ll offer it. I’ll remind myself that every part of me, even the broken parts, deserves to be seen.

A Letter to Loneliness

To my loneliness: I see you. I’m sorry for all the times I pushed you away. You’re not the enemy I once thought. You’ve been here, quietly waiting for me to notice, patient in your presence. And now, I’m ready. Ready to let you in, to feel your weight, to hear your truths. I’m learning to embrace you, and in doing so, I’m learning to embrace myself.

True healing doesn’t come from running. It doesn’t come from perfection. It comes from embracing our pain, our brokenness, and loving ourselves. It’s in accepting our shadows that we begin to discover the connection we’ve always been searching for, not in others, but within ourselves. And in that quiet, tender self-acceptance, we find healing.