A lonely life - How did I get here in the first place?

Trigger Warning: This post discusses mental health struggles, shame, and feelings of unworthiness. Please read with care and take breaks if needed.

Looking back at my life, there has always been one creature in the shadows, lingering in the back of my mind, a pair of glasses distorting reality - shame. It was an undercurrent in every part of my life, hindering my relationships and shaping how I interacted with the world. I didn’t like myself—truthfully, I never had. I felt like an outsider, isolated and alone, always searching for a sense of belonging that seemed just out of reach. This is the story of how shame, fear, and mistrust shaped my life and led me to where I am today.

From a young age, I felt like a weirdo. I didn’t feel like I had a place where I truly fit in, or friends who cared about me. In primary school then on into secondary school, I tried to be someone who fit in, doing other people’s homework for them, hoping it would make me feel wanted. I became a social butterfly—not because I felt comfortable in groups, if anything it was the opposite - I never felt safe with any one group, so needed to be able to fall back on another group if necessity demanded it. As I moved through different social circles, no matter who I was, no matter what I did, I felt alone and disconnected. I was bullied regularly, having to take different routes in an attempt to avoid those who would steal my belongings, or make me cry.

Crying was the worst. I have always been really tall, mistaken for someone older than I was. My mother recalled recently how strangers would tut, comment, and judge me as a baby, or a toddler, believing me to be 3, 4, 5 years older than I was. As I grew older still, crying just resulted in people laughing at me. Whether they'd stolen my scooter, doused me in water, or punched and assaulted me; the worst pain was the joy that my pain gave them. At home, my emotional responses were confusing, difficult, and criticised - and so instead, I learned not to cry.

In secondary school and university, I began to form real friendships—relationships where I felt wanted for who I was, rather than what I could offer. For a while, these friendships helped me feel grounded. But a deep-seated mistrust of people, born from years of feeling unwanted, made it hard for me to fully open up. I was always the "funny" friend, quick-witted, protective, never asking for anything for myself. That still felt like too much of a burden to place on anyone else. I kept the world at arm’s length. While I trusted my friends on the surface, I never really let them in. Vulnerability felt impossible, and the idea of relying on someone else for anything terrified me.

That same mentality went on to infect every relationship I had prior to starting therapy, culminating in the explosion of a six year relationship. I had never learned to communicate, to express my own desires or wants, for fear that it was too much, and they would be gone. Being alone was subconsciously the worst thing possible, proof that I wasn't worth anyones attention or affection. In six years, we hadn't really grown closer; we had lived together, and enjoyed things together, but that was the extent of our emotional intimacy. Hiding what you want, and who you are for fear of abandonment chokes a relationship before it's started. Whilst I clung to the relationship for some sense of value, I stifled the relationship of any opportunity to grow. 

Even now, I’m only just beginning to learn how to be vulnerable. It’s a slow and gruelling process, full of setbacks and moments of self-doubt. I’m starting to see that vulnerability isn’t a weakness but a strength—a way to build deeper connections and let people see the real me. Therapy has challenged me to rethink what I wanted from my connections and, more importantly, from myself. Polyamory has encouraged me to embrace a life without pre-defined expectations, permitting me to question and explore what I want, and release myself from the anxiety inducing complexity of trying to fit in to so many ill-defined rules that I've never known, but always been expected to follow.