I Try, but I Stay Alone, Am I Meant to Be Alone? 🌱

Serinette 🌸
May 21
4 min read

Hello deer, this is Seri 🌸

Have you ever felt like you were made of something softer than the world around you?

Like you care too deeply, feel too much, and tire easily in conversations that others seem to enjoy without effort?

Have you ever loved meeting people but felt that most connections fade, no matter how much you give?

If you’ve ever wondered why friendship can feel both beautiful and exhausting…

If you've ever protected your heart by building gentle walls, even though part of you longs to be seen—

Then maybe these words will feel familiar.

This is my story.

Of shyness, sensitivity, and why having friends has never been simple for me.

I often think about my relationship with others. With humans.

It’s something tender, yet tangled, soft like petals, yet sometimes heavy like rain-soaked branches.

Childhood 🌱

When I was little, I was shy. The kind of quiet that hides behind others in new spaces, the kind that prefers the corners of a room rather than its center. But I didn’t feel lonely. I grew up surrounded by my family—cousins my age, laughter echoing through weekends, familiar arms always nearby. My world was full. I didn’t seek more because I didn’t feel the absence of anything. I had one close friend for years, and that bond was enough. In my childhood eyes, that was what friendship looked like: simple, rooted, safe.

My 20s 🌱

Growing up meant meeting more people. And slowly, I started noticing something: I didn’t feel like I belonged. Not in the dramatic, movie-like way, but in a quiet, aching way. I felt different : not because I wanted to be, but because I couldn’t help it. My thoughts didn’t echo others’. I’d often sit with ideas or beliefs that few seemed to share. I questioned things that others accepted. I felt too deeply, in a world that rewarded those who didn’t.

I’m also introverted so while I enjoy conversations, I often find them draining. Small talk exhausts me. Crowds overwhelm me. And trying to be understood feels like trying to translate a language no one else speaks.

Adulthood 🌱

As I grew older, my naivety slowly faded. I saw the world more clearly and with that clarity came weight. I became more aware of how people treat each other, how harshness is often disguised as strength, how indifference is seen as maturity. And because of my sensitivity, this awareness wasn’t just intellectual, it was emotional.

I began to feel like I was too soft for this world. Like the things that moved me deeply didn’t move others in the same way. And that’s when the isolation began.

Alongside this growing distance, something else quietly took root : social anxiety.

It wasn’t there in childhood, but in adulthood, the fear of being misunderstood, judged, or simply “too much” started to whisper inside me. Even simple conversations could feel overwhelming, and the safe space I longed for often felt just out of reach. This anxiety wrapped itself around my need for solitude, making the world feel heavier still and making friendship feel both precious and painfully fragile.

Today, Why Do I Always End Up Alone? 🌱

Today, I find myself more selective. I don’t let people in as easily as I once did. Not because I want to live in an echo chamber where everyone agrees with me, but because I need to feel safe. Emotional safety is not a luxury for someone like me, it’s a necessity. I’ve learned that even small disagreements, when they touch on my core values, can feel like tiny heartbreaks. I’m the kind of person who can’t ignore injustice, even in conversations. And I often find myself hurt by things others say casually, things they forget the next minute, but that stay with me for days.

Human connection, while beautiful, is also draining for me. I love meeting new people. I love the sparkle of a first conversation, the quiet magic of shared moments. But deep down, I never expect it to last. Even when I get attached quickly—and I often do—there’s a part of me that silently prepares for the distance that might come. Because most connections, no matter how lovely, don’t always stay.

So, I’m more on my own now. I seek solitude more than I seek company. I take time to answer messages, not because I don’t care, but because I care too much, and I need time to refill my inner well.

I’ve learned that I need quiet to feel like myself again.

Friendship is not something I take lightly. It’s not just about having someone to talk to, it’s about feeling seen without having to perform, held without having to explain everything. And that’s rare. That’s why it’s hard.

I used to wonder if there was something wrong with me for finding it so difficult. But maybe, some of us are just built this way. Soft. Sensitive. Searching.

And maybe that’s okay?

Conclusion 🌱

I’ve come to accept that the way I connect with people might always look and feel different.

My softness isn’t a weakness, it’s a way of moving through the world that’s quieter, slower, but deeply real.

Even if I don’t have many friendships that last forever, the ones that do stay are precious and true.

And maybe, part of growing is learning that it’s okay to walk alone for a while especially when you're walking gently, in a way that protects your spirit.

I still believe in connection. I still believe in kindness.

But I’ve also learned to believe in myself in the quiet strength that comes from solitude.