How Do You Befriend Loneliness?
Perhaps the real challenge isn't learning how to make the loneliness disappear. Perhaps it's learning how to sit beside it peacefully, without letting it convince you that you are completely alone.
UNDERSTANDING CPTSD & MENTAL HEALTHCPTSD RECOVERY & PERSONAL GROWTH
Egle Kami
6/20/20264 min read
I don't think people truly understand the kind of loneliness that comes with CPTSD. It's not just the loneliness of having to heal alone, although that's certainly part of it. It's not simply about learning how to trust people or lean on others. The harder reality is that even when people are around you, even when they care, there is often a distance that feels impossible to bridge.
Most people will never fully understand your experience because they have never had to live inside a nervous system shaped by trauma. They won't understand that being tired after one bad night of sleep is not the same as living with severe chronic insomnia and recurring nightmares. They won't understand what it's like to wake up exhausted every morning and still push yourself through the day because life doesn't stop just because your body is struggling.
They won't see how much energy it takes just to appear functional. They don't know that beneath the smile, the work meetings, the social gatherings, and the carefully crafted "I'm fine," there is often someone running on empty. Someone who would rather stay in bed but keeps going because stopping isn't an option.
They won't understand that getting drunk on a Friday night isn't always about having fun or forgetting about work. Sometimes it's an attempt to escape your body for a few hours. A desperate attempt to quiet an overactive nervous system. To feel something different. To get a brief break from a brain that never seems to switch off.
They won't understand that there is no clear roadmap for healing. There is no medication that magically fixes CPTSD. There is no universally accepted treatment plan that guarantees recovery. Instead, you spend your free time becoming your own researcher, therapist, advocate, and scientist. You learn about trauma, hormones, sleep, the nervous system, attachment, and nutrition because your survival depends on understanding what is happening inside your own body.
Even recognizing your basic physical needs can become a challenge. And when you seek help, you often find yourself fighting to be heard. You have to convince doctors that your symptoms are real. That severe and prolonged stress can affect the body in profound ways. That trauma doesn't only live in memories. It can influence sleep, hormones, menstrual cycles, immune function, digestion, and countless other systems. Too often, you're left defending your reality instead of receiving support.
Psychiatry can be helpful for some people, but many trauma survivors discover that medication alone doesn't address the root of their struggles. And while awareness of CPTSD is growing, many professionals still receive limited training in working with complex trauma.
Then there is popular psychology. The endless stream of advice that promises healing through positive thinking, better habits, or simple mindset shifts. Much of it feels written for people whose nervous systems have never spent years trapped in survival mode. So once again, you find yourself trying to figure things out alone. And eventually, the loneliness becomes bigger than your relationships.
It's not just that your friends don't understand. It's not just that doctors don't understand. It starts to feel as though the entire world is operating according to rules that were never written for people like you.
If you're anything like me, you've probably had moments when you've wished for a more recognizable illness. Something people could immediately understand. Something with clear treatment guidelines. Something that would make others realize that what you're experiencing is serious. Because invisible suffering is exhausting to explain.
People don't understand that the insomnia never really leaves. That your life revolves around routines you didn't choose. That spontaneity often comes with consequences. That one busy weekend, one holiday, one stressful event can trigger weeks of exhaustion.
They don't understand that coming out of functional freeze isn't always some dramatic transformation. Sometimes it simply means being able to hold down a job. That's it. No glamorous comeback story. No thriving social life. No endless list of hobbies and adventures. Just being able to work, pay your bills, go to the gym if you're lucky, and pray your nervous system cooperates long enough to get through another week.
And the grief doesn't stop there. Sometimes it means questioning whether you'll ever have the life you imagined. A relationship can feel impossible when all your energy is already spent on survival. The dream of having children can become tangled with fears about your capacity, your health, your finances, and your future.
You find yourself mourning lives you never got the chance to live. Not because you don't want them badly enough, but because every decision carries a cost. A vacation may mean weeks of recovery afterward. A new project may mean burnout. A social event may mean insomnia. A dream may mean sacrificing something else.
So you let go of pieces of your future over and over again. And sometimes, despite knowing your limits, you convince yourself that this time will be different. You push harder. You try to keep up. You ignore the warning signs. Then the burnout returns. And once again, the world reminds you that your reality is different.
That is the loneliness people rarely talk about. Not the absence of people. The absence of being understood.
Eventually, you stop wishing for someone who completely understands your condition. You realize that's probably impossible. Instead, you start wishing for someone who accepts you. Someone who doesn't require you to hide your exhaustion, your frustration, your anger, or your sadness. Someone who doesn't need you to perform wellness in order to deserve love.
But life often teaches a painful lesson: many people are willing to be there for your best days, yet very few know how to sit beside you through your worst. And when your worst days happen more often than your best ones, that realization can feel devastating.
So, in the end, it becomes you and your loneliness. Not as enemies. Not as something to defeat. But as companions. And perhaps the real challenge isn't learning how to make the loneliness disappear. Perhaps it's learning how to sit beside it peacefully, without letting it convince you that you are completely alone.
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