I’ve been thinking lately about how much it hurts to try and connect — really connect — and find nothing coming back.

Over the past few months, I’ve offered small pieces of myself to people. A thoughtful message here, a check-in there, a quiet hope that something might grow. And yet, one by one, the threads just quietly dissolved. No fight, no drama. Just absence.

It leaves a particular kind of ache: not rejection, not connection — just silence.

I think part of what’s so painful is how honest I was. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone. I wasn’t performing. I was just showing up. And somehow that still wasn’t enough to spark something real.

It’s easy to take that personally. To let it confirm an old belief — “Maybe I’m not really wanted unless I serve a purpose”. But I know, somewhere deeper, that’s not the full story.

The truth is, I’m coming into this stage of life where many people already have their support systems. Their friendships. Their rhythms. I’m not being invited in because there’s no obvious space to fill. And I don’t want to contort myself to fit anyway — not anymore.

But when you’ve spent most of your life not having secure, nourishing connection, it’s hard to know how to build it from scratch — especially when the world around you seems already paired off and satisfied.

I find myself in this awkward in-between: aware of how much I long for closeness, and yet not willing to fake it just to soothe the ache. I don’t want surface-level anymore. I want something honest, even if it’s rare.

Maybe that’s why it hurts so much. Because what I’m offering is real. And when realness is met with indifference, it wounds something deep.

But still — I would rather try and be unmet than stay silent and feel safe.

There’s a quiet strength in continuing to hope. Even when that hope feels fragile. Even when the world seems indifferent. It’s not about forcing connections or making people respond. It’s about staying open — despite everything that says to close off.

So here I am. A little bruised. A little wiser. Still reaching out, but maybe not to the people I was before. Maybe I’ll find my people slowly. Maybe I already am. Maybe this post is one of the threads.

And maybe — just maybe — I can begin to believe that being real is never wasted, even when it feels like no one is listening.

If you’re someone who knows what this feels like, just know: you’re not alone. This longing, this courage, this ache — it’s part of being human. Part of rebuilding. And part of choosing to stay open in a world that often tells you to shut down.