When Loneliness Finds You in a Room Full of People

There are moments when loneliness doesn’t wait for the quiet hours or the empty house.

Sometimes it walks in right behind you, sits down at your table, and makes itself comfortable in the middle of a room full of people you love.

That happened to me recently.

I was at an event that mattered deeply to me.

A night surrounded by my friends and the women who have helped build PS Society.

A room filled with laughter and warmth and the hum of connection.

A night centered around ending the loneliness epidemic in women.

And there it was.

A small ache in the center of my chest.

Loneliness.

Not loud.

Not dramatic.

Just present.

I didn’t fall apart.

I didn’t feel abandoned.

I wasn’t isolated from others.

I was simply the person in the room who showed up alone to a moment that would have felt better with a witness.

Someone who would have looked at me afterward and said “I’m proud of you. I saw you.”

The truth is that loneliness doesn’t always come from being without people.

Sometimes it comes from carrying the one role no one else is carrying.

I was the leader.

The speaker.

The one creating the experience.

The one helping other women feel safe and connected.

I was surrounded, but I wasn’t accompanied.

There’s a difference.

Loneliness often shows up in that gap.

The gap between the role you play and the support you wish you had.

The gap between being the one who holds everyone else and realizing you don’t have anyone holding you in that moment.

Research on loneliness tells us that it isn’t about how many people you have in your life.

It’s about whether you feel accompanied.

Whether you feel emotionally seen and anchored.

You can be in a crowd and still feel alone if you don’t have someone whose presence is for you.

I love my friends.

They show up.

They support me.

They are part of the reason I do this work.

And still, that night I felt a little empty space inside me.

It wasn’t shame.

It wasn’t self-criticism.

It was honesty.

Sometimes loneliness is simply the part of you that remembers you are human.

It reminds you that even strong, capable, grounded women still long to be witnessed.

Not saved.

Not rescued.

Just witnessed.

To be able to look over their shoulder during a moment that matters and know someone is there to say “Yes. I see this with you.”

What surprised me was how gentle that loneliness felt.

It wasn’t the kind that knocks you down.

It was the kind that simply sits beside you and says “You deserve connection too.”

That feeling didn’t ruin the night.

It didn’t overshadow the mission.

If anything, it made the work feel more sacred.

It reminded me why PS Society exists in the first place.

Women need spaces where they can show up as the whole truth.

Where loneliness can be named without shame.

Where we can be surrounded by people and still say “Something in me is longing for more.”

Where we can talk about the parts of our hearts that still hope for a witness.

Where we can remember that longing is not weakness.

It is evidence of how deeply we are wired for connection.

Loneliness will visit all of us, even at the most beautiful and meaningful moments of our lives.

It doesn’t mean you’re lacking anything.

It means you’re alive.

It means you’re still soft.

It means you haven’t closed the door on wanting to be seen.

And that softness is not something to fix.

It’s something to honor.

But I also think there’s something else we forget.

Something quiet and courageous.

Being seen starts with showing up.

Showing up to the room.

Showing up to the moment.

Showing up to the conversation.

Showing up to the possibility that someone might meet you there.

We talk a lot about connection, but the first step is presence.

Not perfect presence.

Not polished presence.

Just the act of being there.

Most women never get to the part where connection can find them because they’re terrified of arriving alone, or awkward, or unsure.

But the truth is that showing up is more than half the battle.

You can’t be seen in places you never step into.

You can’t be met in moments you never enter.

So here is my invitation.

Keep showing up.

Even if you feel shy.

Even if your chest aches a little.

Even if you feel like the only one arriving without a hand to hold.

You are worthy of connection, and sometimes the bravest thing you can do is walk into the room anyway.

Because the women who show up, even imperfectly, are the women who eventually get found.

PS. You are not alone.

And I hope you keep showing up so connection can find you.