The Loneliest Person in the Room

For as long as I can remember, I’ve overthought nearly every conversation I’ve had. I replay them in my head—analyzing my tone, my timing, my word choice. I worry I’ve said too much or dominated the conversation. It’s exhausting. And it’s not just mental—it makes me want to avoid social interactions altogether. I’ll find myself drained, unproductive, and emotionally tapped out just from the worry that I came off the wrong way.

Growing up, I had friends, but I was often the kid picked last—the one on the outside. My home life wasn’t especially nurturing either. My dad worked nights and needed the house quiet during the day. As an only child, I spent most of my time alone. My parents rarely had people over, and that isolation became my normal. I learned to stay quiet and to live in my own head.

School didn’t help much. I faced bullies, constant teasing, and even those I considered friends made fun of my choices. I longed for more than my hometown could offer. By the time I hit my late teens, I was ready to leave and start fresh. And in many ways, my 20s and early 30s were a breath of fresh air. I began to build a life that felt like my own. I had amazing opportunities inn college and was incredibly fortunate to have some amazing opportunities early in my professional career. I felt like I was on cloud nine.

Then the pandemic happened.

Along with the stress of working at a start-up struggling, the social isolation from the pandemic and I had a baby and slipped into deep postpartum depression. My already fragile social muscles atrophied entirely. I was anxious, paranoid, convinced people were out to get me—and I started self-sabotaging relationships and opportunities. It was one of the loneliest times of my life.

Oddly enough, one of the moments that stuck with me was meeting astronaut Michael Collins—the lesser-known member of the Apollo 11 mission. While Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin walked the moon, Collins stayed behind, orbiting alone. He was called “the loneliest man in the universe.”

That’s exactly how I often felt—in a room full of people, yet completely alone.

But this past fall, I made a conscious decision to change. I wanted to make new friendships and experiences a priority—not just for me, but for my son too. I signed up to volunteer. I joined a book club. I started walking regularly with a neighbor. I said yes to more playdates.

And this week, I hosted my first party. At my own house.

For our book club, I chose Life in Five Senses by Gretchen Rubin and created a full “sense-orium”—stations designed to awaken each of the five senses. From a box of unique snacks and candies from Japan to a playlist of Mongolian throat singing and whale calls, to a make-your-own-perfume station... it was a hit. Every person told me how unique and fun it was. And despite all my internal doubts, I felt so proud.

I’m still working through all of this. I still replay conversations. I still wonder if I’m doing enough. But it’s getting easier. Every step outside my comfort zone makes the next step feel more possible.

Because life, at the end of the day, is about the relationships we build—and I'm learning to build them, one brave moment at a time.