I've always thought that psychology was that great promise, the panacea of the 21st century, the life jacket in a sea of existential crises. Spoiler: it wasn't. And not because I didn't do my part, mind you. I read the books, did the exercises, breathed deeply, and even kept an emotional diary that looked like it was written by a teenager in the middle of a hormonal revolution. But here we are, intact solitude, a heart with more cracks than a secondary road, and a bank account lighter than my expectations in therapy.
When I started this journey, I was told that it was all about "managing my emotions." As if the existential void were organized in filing cabinets and a simple "let it flow" was enough to make the lump in my throat disappear. They gave me motivational phrases, breathing techniques, and, of course, the star of the show: emotional validation. "It's normal to feel like this," they told me. Ah, perfect, so that's it. I have the right to feel like an extra in a sad movie, but can someone tell me how to fix it?
I tried several psychologists, each with their own style. One told me about the importance of "self-knowledge," another sold me mindfulness as if it were the Holy Grail, and another insisted that everything was solved by "reframing my thoughts." I gave them all a chance, but in the end I felt like they were giving me generic tools for problems that can't be fixed with theory.
They also told me about the importance of "going out and meeting people." That if social events, that if apps to make friends, that if striking up a conversation with strangers in the supermarket queue as if life were a romantic comedy. I tried, I really did. I joined activity groups, went to gatherings of people who were "similar" (lie, they weren't), and even tried to make the conversation with the bar waiter last more than two sentences. Result? Forced conversations, fleeting contacts, and an even greater feeling that, in the end, genuine connection is not achieved with a manual guideline. Oh, and a lot of ghosting, because apparently, nowadays people disappear faster than my desire to keep trying.
And the fact is that unwanted loneliness is the silent epidemic of our time. They sell us emotional independence as if it were a superpower, but in reality we are getting used to living in bubbles of individualism where human connection has become a luxury. It's not just a personal problem, it's social. People no longer know how to take care of affections, maintain ties, or, worse, assume the affective responsibility that comes with connecting with someone. We have become masters in unanswered messages, in the "we'll meet up" that never come, and in affections with an expiration date.
I'm not saying that psychology is useless, let no one be offended. Surely there are people whose lives have been changed, who have left therapy transformed into an enlightened version of themselves. But for me, managing loneliness with psychological tools was like trying to repair a broken pipe with band-aids. In the end, the leak is still there and you end up soaked.
So here I am, without an effective instruction manual, but with the certainty that loneliness is not "managed", it is survived. And sometimes, the best therapy is a coffee with someone who listens to you without charging you by the hour.
