Silenced

Edited on March 30th, 2025:

Greetings to all the inspiring minds here! I’m so glad you’re here. This is the “Digging Deeper Series”—a space where we explore the unspoken, the complex, and the often-overlooked dimensions of the human experience. Each week, I’ll be sharing stories that offer insight into the heart and soul of what it means to be human. These stories will be both raw and reflective, but always real and honest. The intent is simple: to create a meaningful connection, raise awareness about the things we often overlook, and offer a reminder that you are never truly alone in what you are feeling.

This week, I’m kicking things off with a brief but powerful story—one that I believe many of us will relate to at some point in our lives: the silent pain of feeling invisible, even when surrounded by others. It's a feeling that, though rarely discussed, is shared by many. And it serves as a reminder that even in a crowd, the need for connection and understanding remains deeply personal and vital.

Before we dive into today’s post, I want to take a moment to acknowledge something significant. September is National Suicide Prevention Month.

Years ago, a family member shared a post about losing a close friend to suicide. While that story is not mine to tell, the message it carried left a lasting impression. At the time, mental health was still a topic many avoided—conversations were limited, and the stigma was real.

I remember reading her words and feeling a jolt of realization. It wasn’t that I could directly relate—but it was the awareness that tragedies like this happen all the time, and often much closer to home than we think. We tend to believe these things only happen to “other people,” until they don’t. That moment reminded me just how quietly and suddenly heartbreak can enter our lives. It was humbling—and honestly, a little frightening.

Since that moment, I’ve carried with me the profound impact of my family member’s courage and vulnerability. Her willingness to speak out during such a raw time shaped how I approach conversations around mental health and emotional well-being. It reminded me that while we often hear about large-scale tragedies, the feeling of isolation or invisibility can manifest on a much smaller—but equally significant—scale in our everyday lives.

That realization became a driving force behind my decision to start sharing my own experiences—whether through moments of introspection or personal struggles—as a way to help break the silence surrounding these often difficult topics. If my words can spark a conversation, raise awareness, or offer someone a sense of solidarity in their own journey, then I know I’m playing a small but meaningful role in a much larger and essential conversation.

While I can’t speak directly to the experience of suicide or clinical depression, I can speak to something I do know: loneliness.

One particular moment came during the holiday season—a time that can feel especially heavy for those grieving or carrying the quiet weight of feeling unseen. But I never expected that weight to find me. I had been navigating a rough patch, yet I didn’t feel alone—until, suddenly, I did. Loneliness has a way of creeping in when you least expect it.

Whether or not you’ve experienced something similar, this post is about more than just that.

Years ago, during a holiday gathering, my family sat together in more of an oval shape—laughter bouncing off the walls, conversations flowing, everyone reconnecting. It was the moment I’d looked forward to all year: the chance to be with the people I loved, to feel connected, to belong.

But in the middle of all that warmth and joy, I felt… apart. A quiet disconnection settled in. While I was physically present, emotionally I felt distant—almost invisible. And I remember wondering: How can I feel so alone when I’m surrounded by people I love?

That was when I realized something I still carry with me today: loneliness isn’t always about being alone in a room. Sometimes, it’s about feeling unseen in a space that’s supposed to make you feel known. It’s about not being able to express what you truly need or feeling disconnected from the people around you—even when you love them.

I know my experience may not seem as dire or devastating as others. But it’s not something to brush off either. Mental health is no joke. These quiet, internal moments have the power to shape how we see ourselves and question our worth. And that’s something none of us should have to navigate alone.

Sometimes, it’s not the loudest struggles that hurt the most—it’s the quiet, unseen, and unpredictable moments that can feel just as heavy. The truth is, the smaller, often unnoticed waves of loneliness and disconnection can quietly accumulate over time, creating a deep emotional strain. Feeling isolated in a room full of people or disconnected from those around us is something many of us experience more often than we’d like to admit.

And yet, we rarely speak about it. Maybe we don’t realize how common it is. Maybe we’re afraid others won’t understand. But the reality is, these feelings are far more widespread than we think—and they’re valid.

By giving voice to these quiet struggles, we not only begin to normalize them, but we also offer others a sense of solidarity and relief. These moments are nothing to be embarrassed or ashamed of. In fact, it takes immense courage—and a leap of faith—to speak openly about something so personal. But in doing so, we create space for healing. For ourselves, and for others.

When I reflect on my own experiences with loneliness, what stands out most is not the absence of people, but the absence of connection. Each time I tried to engage—especially when the conversation turned toward something personal or vulnerable—I was met with an abrupt change of subject, a polite nod, or an unforeseen distraction. It was disheartening. Frustrating. I was finally ready to share, to open up, to let someone in. And more than anything, I hoped for even the smallest reassurance—some acknowledgment that what I was feeling was normal.

All I truly wanted was to be seen. To be heard. Not for someone to fix things or agree with me, but simply to recognize that my feelings had weight. That I had weight. A simple “That makes sense” or “You’re allowed to feel that way” would have been enough. Just a moment of understanding—a pause that could have made me feel like I mattered.

But that’s the thing about loneliness. It doesn’t always stem from solitude. Sometimes, it’s standing in a crowded room, speaking without being heard. It’s existing among others yet feeling invisible.

As someone who’s often felt misunderstood—by family, within friendships, and even in life more broadly—you might assume I’ve grown accustomed to the feeling. And in some ways, that’s true. I’ve learned how to sit with it, how to carry it over time. But what’s been more difficult to navigate is the way people seem to just know how to connect—following an unspoken set of rules I was never taught. It’s like watching a language unfold that I was never given the chance to learn.

It’s often a seamless understanding between others—a rhythm built on shared history, common milestones, or life stages—that I somehow didn’t belong to. And so, I found myself on the sidelines. Present, but not truly part of it.

For much of my life, I’ve been the outlier—the one who didn’t quite fit in the same way. That dissonance created a deep sense of confusion and quiet loneliness, emotions I didn’t always have the tools to process, let alone express. At times, it left me feeling completely lost, unsure of how to move forward or where I even stood.

And while I may not have had the resources, guidance, or knowledge readily given to me, I often found my own way—relying on my creativity and inquisitive spirit to fill in the gaps. Whether it was through observation, asking questions, or thinking outside the box, I learned to navigate unfamiliar spaces in my own way. It wasn’t always easy, but it taught me resilience, adaptability, and the power of self-discovery.

Still, I recognize that not everyone is wired the same way. Not everyone has the tools, temperament, or support system to help them piece things together on their own. For some, those unspoken rules remain just that—unspoken, and painfully out of reach. And it’s not because they’re incapable, but because no one ever stopped to teach them, to include them, or to see them. That kind of isolation can be even more difficult to bear—when you’re not just on the outside, but unsure of how to even begin finding your way in.

It’s why empathy, patience, and a willingness to meet people where they are matter so much. We never know who’s silently struggling to learn a language the rest of us seem to speak without thinking.

Now for those who haven’t yet been in that space—or for those who might one day find themselves there, or walking alongside someone who is—here’s what I can offer:

Sometimes, we may not fully grasp the depth of what someone is experiencing when they feel disconnected or isolated. For those who haven’t gone through it, it might be difficult to understand how a person can feel alone even when they’re surrounded by others. This is the experience of a quiet disconnection—a gap between how we feel on the inside and how we perceive others engaging with the world around them.

Imagine being in a room full of people, laughing, sharing stories, and connecting. Yet, despite the noise and the activity, you feel as though you’re watching life from a distance. You hear the laughter, you see the interactions, but you can’t seem to truly connect or participate. It’s not about being physically alone, but emotionally distant. For some, this feeling might come and go. But for others, it can persist, creating a sense of deep loneliness even when surrounded by people who care.

What I’ve come to understand is that feeling ‘alone in a crowd’ doesn’t mean that anyone is unwanted or unworthy—it’s simply a part of the human experience. It’s a feeling that many of us go through, and it doesn’t make someone any less deserving of connection or love. However, these feelings can be hard to navigate, especially when they go unspoken.

If you ever find yourself in that place—or if someone close to you expresses that kind of weight—don’t dismiss it. Don’t rush to fix it or fill the silence with platitudes. Just be there. Sometimes the most powerful thing we can offer is presence: a look that says “I see you,” a word that says “You matter,” or even the quiet willingness to sit in the discomfort with someone until the storm passes.

Because when the world feels too big or too distant, what we need most is not a solution—but connection.

Looking back on that holiday season now—when I felt isolated and invisible—I realize they may not have meant to overlook me. They were likely just swept up in the rhythm of the gathering: caught in conversations, distracted by the usual holiday busyness, or simply navigating their own moments. And there I was—quiet, in the background. Unaware that beneath that stillness, I was spiraling inward, caught in a silent storm of wondering where I fit, how I belonged, or if I even did.

I was so wrapped up in my own internal dialogue—my perceptions of myself, my assumptions about how others saw me—that I never once considered their view of me. I didn’t think to ask: What did they see when they looked at me? Were they even aware I was fading into the background? That moment became one of many in my life where I began to question not just my place in the room, but my place in the world.

These moments have stirred something profound within me, prompting deeper questions about the nature of existence—what we are meant to learn from life, what we are called to offer, and how societal structures influence our understanding of worth and belonging. I often find myself reflecting on the imbalance of whose voices are amplified and whose are silenced. Why are the narratives of the marginalized so often overlooked? What compels us to disregard the quieter truths—those that don’t conform to prevailing norms, yet carry just as much depth, humanity, and insight?

These reflections don’t just stop at human behavior; they push me into bigger questions. About the layers of reality we live in, the hidden dimensions of understanding, and whether we’re all just walking through different versions of the same world—each one shaped by what we’ve been seen as or never seen for.

Much of what we accept as societal ‘truths’ are, at their core, shaped by preconceived notions—interpretations born from personal experience, cultural conditioning, or dominant narratives. In the absence of rigorous research or data, these beliefs often reflect individual or collective perspectives rather than objective reality. We then turn to patterns—through correlation or causation—to make sense of the world, attempting to validate which viewpoints appear more credible. But in doing so, the line between evidence and assumption often begins to blur.

This, in itself, speaks to the immense power of the mind—its ability to interpret, assign meaning, and construct the lens through which we perceive reality. Our thoughts, influenced by the worlds we’ve lived in, can quietly become the architecture of what we accept as true. It’s a reminder that belief can carry as much weight as fact, and that the inner landscapes of our minds can create entire realities—some that free us, and others that quietly confine us—depending on what we choose to examine, challenge, or accept without question.

The more I reflected, the more I realized that much of my sense of disconnection had been planted within me. I had unknowingly absorbed external messages—subtle judgments, dismissals, and misunderstandings—and accepted them as my truth. Over time, I began to believe my emotions were excessive, my sensitivity a flaw, my inner world too complex to share. I silenced myself—not because I didn’t want to be seen, but because I feared the cost of being seen, a cost that felt too painful to bear.

What made it harder was the weight of unspoken emotions—the ones we rarely discuss, yet which shape our lives in profound ways. Emotions like embarrassment, shame, guilt, anger, sadness, and hurt—the very ones that have the potential to create meaningful change. On top of that, I carried the burden of others’ projections, expectations, and assumptions as if their version of me held more truth than my own. I had to unlearn the belief that I was responsible for carrying it all, for proving myself worthy in the eyes of others.

And perhaps the most liberating lesson of all was realizing that just because someone has a version of who I am doesn’t mean it’s the truth. I am not bound to accept someone else’s narrative as my own.

The greatest lesson, however, has been the power of self-reflection and the freedom to change at any moment, in any circumstance, simply because we choose to. By acknowledging our wounds—those hidden scars that often remain locked away—and giving voice to the full spectrum of our emotions, we empower not only ourselves but others as well. We can reclaim what has been taken, we can heal, and in doing so, we can give others the power to heal too.

As we reflect on these emotional truths, it becomes all the more important to recognize how crucial real, meaningful connection is—especially during National Suicide Awareness Month. So many individuals feel the weight of silence, isolation, and misunderstanding, and in those moments, it can feel as if there’s no space left for healing. Yet, what can make all the difference is offering a place where vulnerability is met with compassion, where individuals are encouraged to voice their struggles without fear of judgment.

True connection is not just about listening; it’s about understanding and validating the experiences of others, allowing them to feel seen and heard in their entirety. This connection is vital for mental health, for without it, we risk leaving people stranded in their pain, feeling like their emotions are too much or too complex to share. But when we create environments where people can safely express themselves, acknowledge their scars, and begin to heal, we foster a society where growth and resilience are not only possible, but expected.

By giving others the opportunity to heal and grow, we help break the stigma around mental health and suicide. We remind individuals that their voices matter, their struggles are valid, and that they are not alone. In doing so, we don’t just support individual healing—we strengthen the fabric of our entire society. When people are empowered to address their wounds and find a sense of belonging, it creates a ripple effect of positive change that can uplift us all.

If you are struggling with a constant internal dialogue, intrusive thoughts, or an overwhelming inner conflict, I want you to know that you’re not alone. I hope this message finds you, especially if you’re in the midst of difficult emotions.

If you’re currently facing challenging thoughts or feelings, please reach out for help. You deserve support. You can connect with a mental health professional by calling or texting 988, which links you to the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline.

If reaching out feels hard, consider talking to someone you trust—whether it’s a friend, family member, or loved one. Sometimes, simply voicing what you’re going through can provide relief, and you don’t have to carry this burden alone.

If you’re feeling stuck or unsure where to begin, here are some things that helped me on my own healing journey:

• Spending time in nature or near water

• Reaching out to friends, family, or a community for support

• Engaging in regular exercise, eating healthy, and ensuring adequate rest

• Spending time with pets

• Writing down my thoughts

• Drawing, painting, or even just scribbling on paper

• Taking time for self-care—whether it’s a bubble bath, a face mask, or treating myself to my favorite meal

• Learning to reframe my thoughts, finding new perspectives in difficult moments

• And, above all, remembering to be gentle with myself

Remember, healing is not a straight path—it’s a process that unfolds in its own time. Each small step you take, no matter how seemingly insignificant, brings you closer to a place of peace and understanding. And as you move forward, remember to be gentle with yourself. Embrace the moments of struggle and growth, for they are part of the journey too.

If you’re feeling overwhelmed or unsure, don’t hesitate to reach out for support. There is strength in asking for help, and no one should have to walk this path alone. Whether it’s speaking to a loved one, a professional, or someone you trust, you deserve to feel seen, heard, and supported.

We are all in this together, and together, we can create a space where healing is possible, where growth is welcomed, and where no one has to feel alone in their journey. Take your time, honor your feelings, and trust that healing is happening, even when it doesn’t feel like it.

Going forward, for the next five weeks of the Digging Deeper Series, I am committed to being more open, honest, and vulnerable than I have ever been before. My goal is to share my personal experiences in the hope of raising awareness, fostering meaningful dialogue, and educating others. I encourage you to reach out at any time—whether you have questions, want to share your own experiences, or need to express any concerns.

In the meantime, I wish you a beautiful week ahead, and I look forward to connecting with you again next Monday, September 30th, 2024.

As a signature of my blog, I like to end each post with a suggestion to “Pass on kindness”. There is no such time as the present to Inspire Those Who Inspire You. Acts of kindness, no matter how big or small, can have a direct, positive impact on someone else. Go out there today and change someone’s life for the better!

***These are my personal opinions and may not be those of my employer.***