There is a quiet kind of loneliness that does not announce itself loudly. It settles in slowly, in the spaces between plans and messages, in the moments when something good happens and you instinctively reach for your phone, then pause, unsure who to text. It shows up on free Saturdays, in late night scrolling, in the ache that comes from wanting connection without knowing where to find it.

That feeling has been close to me lately.

I moved to my new city for reasons that made sense. Family, safety, stability. After years of being far from home, after a relationship that left me shaken, and after an injury that forced me to slow down and sit with how alone I felt, I wanted to be closer to the people who know me best. I wanted to feel grounded again.

What I did not expect was how hard it would be to build connection once I got here.

I knew making friends would not be easy. It never really has been for me. Even growing up, friendship felt like something other people understood intuitively, while I was always trying to catch up. As an adult, it feels even more complicated. People already seem to have their people, their routines, their history. There is no obvious doorway in, just polite conversations that rarely turn into anything more.

My work life has not created many natural openings either. I have had jobs where I worked alone or in small environments where everyone else was older or technically in charge of me. I hoped beauty school would be different, imagined shared experiences and easy bonding, but it ended up feeling strangely familiar in the worst way. Competitive, messy, and emotionally draining. I almost regretted how much I tried to put myself out there.

Now, as a hairstylist, I feel like I float somewhere in between. My first salon felt tense and judgmental. My current one is kind, but distant. Everyone is friendly, and everyone mostly keeps to themselves. I keep trying to find connection in other places. Apps, classes, ideas. I even started a meetup group for women in my area, something I would never have been brave enough to do a few years ago. Ending it over safety concerns before the first event felt like both a failure and an act of self protection.

What has surprised me most is how out of practice I feel socially. I overthink how friendships grow, when to ask someone to hang out again, how to move past surface level conversation. These questions sit with me more than I expected they would.

I have been here for a few years now, and in many ways my life feels fuller and steadier. I am more comfortable being on my own. I know how to take myself places and fill my time. But comfort is not the same as connection. I still miss having someone to dance with after a hard week, someone to make brunch plans with, someone to lean on without wondering if I am asking for too much.

There are moments when the loneliness softens. For a while in beauty school, during sporting events where cheering alongside strangers feels like belonging, or at church where familiarity grows slowly and quietly. Those moments remind me that connection does not always have to look like a tight knit group to be real.

Other times, I try to do things alone that I wish I could share. Pottery classes, coffee shops, small outings. Instead of feeling empowered, I notice the laughter at other tables and the ease between people who have history. Social media adds another layer, presenting friendship as constant and abundant, full of trips, matching outfits, and perfectly lined up bridal parties. I know it is curated. I know it is incomplete. And still, it gets to me.

The smallest moments are often the hardest. Realizing there is a group chat I am not in. Seeing people I thought were friends together without me. Wondering why I always seem to sit just outside the circle. Those moments shake my confidence and bring up old questions about my worth.

I work hard to meet those thoughts gently. I remind myself that I have long distance friendships that have lasted for years. People do not stay that long if you are unworthy of love. I remind myself that being a good friend takes intention, and that I am learning how to show up better too.

I am learning how to be my own best friend in a real way, not the aesthetic version of independence. The honest version, where I can enjoy my own company and still want more. Where I can be okay on my own without pretending I do not crave connection.

Many people in their twenties and thirties feel lonelier now than they expected to. Frequent moves, shifting careers, and digital connection replacing physical presence have quietly reshaped how friendships form. Knowing this does not fix everything, but it helps me breathe. It reminds me this is not a personal failure, but a shared human season.

I do not have this figured out. I do not have neat advice or a perfect ending. What I know is that it is okay to grieve the friendships you do not have yet. It is okay to want more while still being proud of how far you have come. It is okay to keep trying, even when it feels discouraging.

I hope my future friendships are healthy, supportive, and fun. I hope they are adventurous and rooted in mutual effort. I hope they find me when the timing is right.

For now, I am here. Learning, longing, becoming. Trusting quietly that the right people will find their way into my life.