The Struggle of Lonely Kindness

I’m writing a raw post today. More of a vent than a polished blog. I even came up with the title before writing, which I never do. Somehow it feels fitting.

As time passes, I feel myself becoming more at peace with who I am. But loneliness is still a struggle. I’ve said before I don’t want loneliness to define me, but it does in certain ways. When I’m lonely, I can’t help but think about what could have been in life, mostly in friendships and relationships. I won’t deny it—I’m happier around people. I do a lot alone, and even if loneliness follows me, it doesn’t get to decide how I live. But I always wished someone was there alongside me.

I believe I’m a kind soul. Friends have told me this many times. For me, kindness isn’t something special—it’s my baseline, my normal. Yet it often feels like being kind makes me lonely, maybe because I haven’t met many people who are the same. Or maybe I’m too blind to see them.

But kindness has also cost me friendships.
I’ve written before about Claire and the falling out we had. Her exact words were: “My door is firmly shut.” And yet, even after all that, I can’t hate her. I still care. I can’t live with anger, resentment, or bitterness. The voices that tell me I should feel that way don’t last. The love I carry is stronger than hate.

That’s why the title feels right—because being kind sometimes makes me feel lonely. If I see a stranger cry, I’ll ask if they’re okay. I’ll sit with them in silence just so they don’t feel alone. I’ve done this many times, sometimes with people noticing, but often with no one ever knowing. That’s fine. I don’t do it to be seen. I do it because I want to leave this world a little better than I found it. Still, the reality is: it can be lonely.

I think I’m kind because I know how much life hurts.

Long before I got depressed, I understood how much people suffer in all kinds of ways. It keeps me up at night sometimes, imagining how others feel. Empathy comes to me without trying—it’s just there. But it’s far from a gift. Most of the time, it’s heavy. You carry other people’s pain and put their happiness before your own. I don’t do it because it feels good—I do it because it feels right.

I don’t even know what the point of this post is, except that I needed to let it out. Maybe I’m just venting. But if there’s one truth in all this, it’s this: kindness comes easy to me, but the cost is often loneliness. If that’s the price, so be it. I’d rather be lonely and kind than resentful and bitter.