when love has nowhere to go

Reflections on loneliness, grief, and the quiet art of coming home to yourself

I had a realization recently.

Over the past few years, I’ve gone through moments of deep loneliness of a kind that grew louder during burnout. It was a strange ache, a sadness without a clear reason.
In truth, I wasn’t alone. I had good friends. I had support. My family, though halfway across the world, was always in touch. And yet, something still felt missing. And no one could really point out what was going on – and no, it was not depression!

As I moved through those months and finally found a new home where healing began, through rest, reflection, and slow healing, the loneliness faded. But the sadness lingered, quietly. It took me a while to understand what it truly was.

If grief is love with nowhere to go, then maybe that’s what I was feeling.

Because when I look closely, my life is full of love. I love my family. I love my friends. I love my work. I love where I live. I love my hobbies. I love life!
But sometimes, I wonder if I simply have too much love — a heart that runs over, searching for places to pour it into.

And when that love has no direction, when it can’t find its match, its mirror, its space to land, then it turns inward. It becomes grief. A quiet kind of sadness that asks to be acknowledged.

I’ve also been single for most of my life. I’ve been in relationships, yes, but never with someone who could truly hold space for me, not by dimming my light, but by shining beside it. I think that’s something many of us long for - a connection that doesn’t shrink us, but allows us to glow brighter together. When we haven’t yet found that kind of love that is authentic, mutual, and expansive, it can leave a residue. A longing that feels like loneliness, but is really love waiting for a home.

I’ve come to believe that many of us aren’t fully living the lives we’re meant to live. Not because we lack anything, but because we forget how simple joy can be. We chase the next best thing, the next success, the next milestone, and we overlook the quiet, ordinary moments that actually fill us.

That neglect leaves a void. A space full of unspent celebration and unexpressed love.

I don’t have all the answers. But I do know this - in acknowledging the grief that comes from love unplaced, something began to shift. I found a new calm. I began creating space for myself without waiting for someone else to offer it. I still have hope and that door is not closed, and I just hope for it to open on a day-to-day basis.

And in doing so, I started healing a part of me that simply wanted to be seen and loved by me!

If this resonates with you, if you’ve felt that quiet sadness you can’t quite name, know that you’re not alone. Sometimes, our healing begins the moment we recognize where the ache comes from.

You can reach out. Let’s talk. Perhaps I can walk part of that journey with you.