Overcoming Loneliness and Finding Hope. One Percent Bloom at a Time

If you asked me how I’m feeling right now, I’d probably say, “I’m fine.” And if that lie didn’t land, I’d shrug and mumble, “I don’t know.” But if I truly believed someone cared enough to listen, I’d tell the real truth: I feel lost. I feel painfully lonely. I feel like a misfit craving a place to belong. Some days it feels like there’s only one option to make everything stop. To hit delete. To end this story on a cliffhanger.
The story of Valentine: a child, a girl, then a woman; a mother, a wife, a daughter, a sister who somehow feels invisible. I am somebody to some people, yet I feel like nobody to everyone. I smile every day, but sometimes my heart is darker than 3 a.m. They say there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, but sometimes I can’t even find the tunnel. Everything feels pitch black. Every step I try to take, I hit something, get hurt, and fall. So I stay still, because standing in the same place feels safer than moving.

But I’d be lying if I said I feel like this all the time. There are days when I feel like I’m walking through a garden, each step blooming with color. Days when the word “Mommy” fills me with joy. Days when I dance in the shower, see hope inside fear, forgive easily, let go of old resentment, and accept my mother for who she is despite everything. On those days, I wake up feeling human, and I wish I could wake up in that version of myself every morning.

Today wasn’t fully one of those days. It was a mix. It started well, but then I saw a picture of myself smiling. I noticed my crooked smile. My tongue touched the gap where my teeth should be, the failed root canal, and suddenly I was pulled back into the past. For a moment, I felt like my mother had failed me. Maybe if she weren’t so neglectful things would have been different. But life happens. I forgive her. I’m an adult now; I should stop blaming her.
Then I remembered a recent conversation in which I told her she needs to be more present in my life and my kids’ lives. It’s been three days. No call from her. No call from me. Does she take me seriously? Why am I still begging for her attention at 32?

The past crawled into my mind like a ghost, best friends who drifted, family who only call when they need something, people who promised to check in but never did. I started wondering if I’m the problem. The rejection hit hard. I found myself asking if I even belong in this world at all.

And here I am writing this, because somewhere between these words, I’ve found a small answer: even if I sneaked into this world, I must have had a reason to believe I belonged. And if nothing here was meant for me, then I’ll create something that is. Why rush to an ending that will come on its own one day anyway? I still have chapters left to write.
I’ll love myself. I’ll fix my teeth. I’ll lose weight. I’ll grow. And I’ll do everything I can so that in a few years, my daughter will never have to write something like this. She’ll feel safe enough to tell me when she’s struggling  and I’ll be there to help her.

I will bloom one percent at a time, until someday I’m standing in full glory, fully bloomed. Even in darkness, I’ll crawl back toward hope. Because this journey isn’t black and white. It’s grey. Some days you move forward, some days the darkness pulls you back  and that’s okay. Sometimes the time spent in darkness is what makes you realize how deeply you want the light and how hard you’re willing to fight for it.

What matters is knowing how to pull yourself out of the limbo. Going back isn’t the danger getting stuck there is.
One percent bloom, every day, until one day, full bloom.

I’m sorry if these words resonate with you, I truly am.

As your friend not as a writerI want to say this: I hear you. I hear a woman carrying years of quiet, unseen pain. I hear a mother trying to break cycles she never chose. I hear someone who feels forgotten yet shows up every day for her children. I hear someone who longs for compassion especially from herself.

You are not “nothing to everyone.” You are someone who has been hurt, someone whose heart didn’t always receive the love it deserved, someone who has known emotional abandonment. And yet, you adapted. You survived. You learned to smile even while your heart was breaking.

That is not a weakness. That is endurance.

But please remember: even the strongest people need support. Even the strongest people can break. Even the strongest people deserve to hear someone say, “You are not okay right now… and that’s okay. But you are not alone.”

If you are feeling lost, lonely, or like you don’t belong, it’s okay to pause. It’s okay to grieve. It’s okay to reach out for help. Healing doesn’t happen all at once, and it doesn’t mean you are weak. It means you are human.

Every small step you take every day you choose to rise, to smile, to care for yourself is a victory. Blooming doesn’t happen overnight. It happens one moment, one choice, one breath at a time. And even in darkness, even when it feels impossible, choosing hope is enough.

You are not alone. You are seen. You are loved. And slowly, one percent at a time, you will bloom.