When we think of loneliness we think of someone physically alone and isolated from the outside world. But some of the loneliest people I work with are surrounded by others. They may have busy jobs, families, a social life and active social media accounts. They are rarely physically alone. Yet they carry a quiet, persistent ache that tells them something fundamental is missing.

The kind of loneliness I am talking about has very little to do with the number of people in your life. Instead it is about whether anyone really knows you. Do you feel really known and understood? Do you feel safe enough to let another person see who you really are? Or have you spent so many years becoming who everyone else needed you to be that you have no idea who you are yourself?

The masks we learn to wear

Very few of us set out to hide ourselves. Most of us learn to do it for very good reasons. Perhaps you grew up in a family where feelings weren't spoken about. Maybe you learned that being upset meant you were ‘too sensitive’, that anger wasn't acceptable or that needing love and reassurance meant you were ‘needy’. Some people become the family peacemaker or entertainer. Others become the high-achiever or the dependable one, the organiser or the one who never asked for help.

These roles often begin as ways of keeping ourselves emotionally safe and as the fastest route to being loved and accepted. The difficulty is that they can become so well practised that we stop noticing we are wearing them. By the time people arrive in therapy they often say things like:

‘Nobody really knows me’

‘Everyone thinks I'm coping’

‘I'm the person everyone else comes to’

‘I don't know why I’m so frightened of being vulnerable’

The sadness is that while these protective strategies may prevent rejection and vulnerability they also prevent genuine connection. People can only connect with the version of us that we allow them to meet.

To be loved is to be known

One of the greatest misconceptions is that popularity and a busy schedule protect us from loneliness. They don’t. You can be admired and still feel invisible. You can be successful and still feel emotionally alone. You can have hundreds of social media followers and nobody you would call at 2am. You can be in the middle of a humming party and feel no one there speaks your language.

Inside perhaps you are carrying a private fear: ‘If people saw the real me they wouldn’t want me’. It is this fear - not the absence of people - that creates loneliness.

Vulnerability feels risky

Therapy asks people to do something that feels risky. Instead of becoming more impressive, more capable or more together we gently explore what happens when they become more authentic. If they’re not sure what that even looks like any more then we gently explore that together.

Opening up can feel scary particularly if previous experiences taught us that vulnerability led to criticism, rejection or disappointment. Clients tell me they don't want to burden other people with their problems. If I ask them however how they feel when a friend reaches out to them emotionally they always say the same thing. Privileged. Trusted. Touched.

The irony is that the thing they are most afraid of is the bridge to deeper relationships. When someone says, ‘Actually, I'm struggling,’ they frequently discover not rejection but recognition. Someone else quietly replies, ‘Me too.’ Real intimacy rarely grows from perfection. It grows from honesty.

Therapy as a place to be fully known

One of the best things about being a therapist is watching this happen. At the beginning clients will minimise their struggles. They frequently feel a sense of shame around their loneliness. ‘What is wrong with me?’ As trust in me develops they gradually allow more of themselves into the room. Such is my privilege that I get to know all their parts – the frightened, shame-filled, angry parts as well as the competent, capable, hopeful parts. Sometimes they are discovering for the first time what it feels like to speak without editing themselves. To say something aloud and find that our relationship not only survives but deepens and strengthens.

That experience can be profoundly healing. Not because therapy waves a magic wand but because being accepted exactly as we are can slowly change how we see ourselves. And if clients can do that with me in the room they can develop the skills and the confidence to start to do it in the outside world.

Connection starts with small risks

If loneliness is about not feeling known the answer is not necessarily finding more people. It may be allowing one trusted person to know a little more about you. That might mean admitting you are having a difficult week instead of automatically saying, ‘I'm fine.’ It might mean asking for help before reaching breaking point. It might mean telling a friend that you miss them. Or letting your partner see the fear that sits underneath the frustration. It might mean finding ‘your people’. People who share your authentic interests and letting friendship develop alongside exploring something new together.

These are often tiny moments. But relationships are built through these tiny moments repeated over time. The people we feel closest to are rarely those who have never struggled. They are usually the people with whom we have shared something real.

You don't have to carry it alone

Loneliness can convince us that we are somehow different and ‘less than’ everyone else or that other people have life all figured out. In my experience the opposite is usually true. Most of us are quietly reaching for deeper connection while simultaneously protecting ourselves from the vulnerability that connection requires. The opposite of loneliness isn't simply being with other people but the extraordinary and affirming experience of feeling truly seen. And discovering that when someone knows the real you they won’t walk away.