The Weight of Lonely

Notes from the Hollow Bone, entry fifteen.

There is a word many avoid naming aloud.
But the other day, in the quiet pause between tasks, someone said it. Not with shame or apology—just with truth.
Lonely.

She didn’t flinch, and I admired that.
It takes courage to name something the world teaches us to hide.
To admit to loneliness is often treated like weakness, like failure. But I didn’t see anything broken in her—only honesty.

Her words lingered.
They brought to the surface my own brushes with loneliness—
Not as a permanent dwelling,
but as a passing spirit,
a companion that visits when the world grows too quiet or too loud.

Here is what I’ve come to understand:
Peace doesn’t come from avoiding solitude.
It rises when you sit with yourself and realize—you are not lacking.
Not because someone else says so.
Not because you’ve filled your time or proven your worth.
But because, within the hush of your own presence,
there is enough.

We confuse solitude with shame when we compare our lives to others—
to friends, to strangers, to curated versions of joy.
And in that distortion, we turn aloneness into a curse.
We name it strong or weak,
when really, it is simply true.

So then the questions become:
Are you living your truth—
or living in reaction to what others expect?
Do you meet your emotions with reverence—
or do you bury them in distraction?

Loneliness, I’ve learned, is not a punishment.
It’s a call inward.
A teacher in the quiet.
It’s the universe asking:
Can you hold yourself gently in the silence?
Can you listen to the lessons that don’t shout?

That conversation wasn’t life-changing.
But it was soul-echoing.
And sometimes, that’s enough.

With Grace & Ink,

Mai