Slipping and Falling

You can get up. Rise!!!

Loneliness has a way of slipping into the room without knocking. It sits in the corner like quiet smoke, unnoticed until you feel it in your chest. For Black Americans—so often taught to armor up, to endure without blinking, to be both the hero and the cleanup crew—loneliness can feel like part of the job description. But that’s the trap. That’s the sleight-of-hand life plays on us. We start believing solitude is strength, and then we confuse strength with isolation.

Plenty of us have grown up hearing: “Stand on your own.” “Handle your business.” “Don’t let nobody see you sweat.” And being self-sufficient is beautiful. It’s a badge earned through history, through survival, through the thousand ways we’ve kept going when the world wagered against it. But self-sufficiency has a shadow side, and that shadow is the quiet ache that comes from pretending you don’t need anyone.

Loneliness is not just a feeling; it’s a slow leak in the soul. It’s what happens when unhappiness goes unresolved, when you’re dealing with the rumble inside your own mind—your talents you shrink, your imperfections you magnify, your gifts you overlook because someone once told you that you weren’t enough. Sometimes the world’s ugliness plants itself in us so deeply that we can’t see our own light through the roots.

And then comes the phrase so many of us have used like a shield: “I’m good by myself.” At first it’s harmless. A declaration of independence. A little victory chant after breaking free from something toxic. But when it turns into “I don’t need anybody,” that’s where the road bends toward trouble. Because whether we like it or not, human beings are communal creatures. Our spirits are wired for connection. We are born into a rhythm of voices, hands, laughter, and presence. Being alone is healthy. Being lonely is lethal.

Here’s the fun twist in all this: the antidote to loneliness isn’t to become more impressive, more flawless, more polished. It’s to lighten up. To unclench the jaw. To laugh at your own quirks like you’re watching bloopers of your life. Life doesn’t require intensity 24/7. Nobody wins a medal for being grim. A little softness can save you. A little silliness can heal you. And the moment you stop taking your own seriousness so seriously, you make room for people—real, life-giving people—to step in.

Many of us have walked this path. Many of us have been the quiet warrior who forgot they deserved rest. The one who believed “I got it” until the weight became an entire weather system. And admitting you need others doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human. It makes you wise. It’s a sign that you’re ready for the life you say you want.

You can enjoy your own company. You should. But there’s something almost sacred about sharing space with someone who gets you—someone who amplifies your peace rather than disturbing it. Community doesn’t have to be loud. Sometimes it’s just a presence, a warmth, a laugh across the room that reminds you the world hasn’t gone cold.

This is the truth many of us avoid: you don’t have to do this alone. Not this year, not next year, not ever. You deserve connection. You deserve arms that help carry the load. You deserve voices that remind you of the brilliance you forgot you had.

And if 2025 taught you how to enjoy your solitude, let 2026 and beyond teach you how to enjoy your togetherness. Life widens when you let people in. Joy expands when it’s shared. Healing deepens when someone else bears witness.

Choosing not to do life alone isn’t a weakness. It’s a doorway. And once you step through, the whole world feels bigger.