Has anyone ever felt deeply lonely—even while being surrounded by friends and family?

I have. And truthfully, I still do at times.

It’s not because the people around me don’t care. In fact, I know they love me in their own ways. But there’s always been this quiet solitude within me, a feeling that no one can ever truly understand the depth of my thoughts, my emotions, or the dreams that stir inside of me. It’s a kind of aloneness that doesn’t come from lack of love—but from the deep knowing that even those closest to me can’t fully see all of me.

Sometimes, I don’t even fully understand myself.

The Inner Conflict of Emotional Intuition and Expression

There has always been this inner tug-of-war in me: I feel deeply, yet I struggle to express those feelings in real time. I’m emotionally intuitive—I can walk into a room and feel the energy shift. I can sense when someone is hurting, even behind a smile. My heart instinctively understands suffering, and I have a natural urge to comfort others, to offer them love and light.

But when it comes to expressing my own feelings—especially the messy, raw, or difficult ones—I freeze.

Even when I feel pain, hurt, or anger, my first instinct is not to express it, but to analyze it. My mind goes into overdrive: Why do I feel this way? Is it worth responding? What will happen if I react emotionally? So, instead of allowing my emotions to flow outward like most people do, I bottle them up. I tuck them away until I feel safe and calm enough to process them alone—inside my cocoon.

And while this emotional delay protects me in many ways, it also comes with a cost.

The Weight of Giving Without Receiving

For a long time, I thought this was just who I was. I believed that being strong meant never needing help. I prided myself on being independent, self-reliant, calm, and composed. I was the quiet one, the gentle one, the giver. I could pour love and care into others endlessly and ask for nothing in return—because I didn’t want to burden anyone, and because I believed I could handle it all on my own.

But slowly, without realizing it, I began to feel depleted. I was giving so much of myself—my love, my compassion, my energy—without ever allowing myself to receive it back. I had convinced myself that needing care made me weak, that asking for support somehow made me less worthy of love.

It wasn’t until I started my journey of deep introspection and emotional healing that I realized how heavy that silence had become. I had forgotten that I, too, deserve tenderness. That I, too, want to be held, to be understood, to be seen. That being soft, being sensitive, and being emotionally introverted doesn’t make me weak—it makes me human.

Redefining Strength: Embracing Softness as Power

For most of my life, I believed that to be strong, I had to be tough. I had to hide my emotions, protect myself, and never ask for help. But now, I know that true strength doesn’t lie in pretending we don’t need love—it lies in embracing our vulnerability, in allowing ourselves to receive, and in recognizing that softness is not weakness—it is power.

You can be the strongest woman in the room and still be gentle. You can be independent and still long for connection. You can be introverted and quiet, and still carry an unshakable resilience that radiates from your heart.

Strength is not measured by volume or dominance. It is measured by grace, by endurance, by how deeply you can feel and still choose to love. And love—true, compassionate love—is the most powerful force in the universe. Not fear, not pride, not ambition. Love is what moves people to change, to heal, to grow. It’s what inspires sacrifice, what fuels acts of kindness, and what binds us to one another beyond the noise of the world.

The Gift of Feeling Deeply

As I reflect on everything I’ve been through—from the moments of solitude to the countless days of self-inquiry—I feel incredibly grateful to the universe. I am grateful that I’ve never allowed myself to become hardened. That even through hurt, misunderstandings, and loneliness, I never became bitter. I never let jealousy or hate take root in my heart.

Instead, I’ve always felt love. I’ve always had compassion. And now I know—this is my greatest gift, and perhaps, my life’s quiet purpose: to love without needing recognition, to feel without needing permission, and to heal not just myself, but others, through presence, through empathy, through writing.

If you’re like me—someone who feels deeply, who doesn’t always know how to express it, who gives more than they receive—please know that your softness is not something to fix. It is something to honor. You are not weak. You are not too much. You are not behind. You are a soul in bloom, moving through life in your own gentle rhythm.

And maybe, just maybe, the world needs more of us—more soft warriors, quiet lovers, and compassionate hearts.

With love,

Seraphine Duong

Lately, I’ve been learning that it’s okay to not always have the right words or the courage to speak my truth out loud. I’ve carried so much within me—thoughts, feelings, quiet dreams—and for a long time, I thought I had to hide them to be strong. But I’m slowly realizing that true strength is not about silence or self-denial. It’s about softness, honesty, and giving myself permission to be fully human. I’m still figuring things out, still healing, still learning to express what lives inside me. But this journey—this unfolding of who I truly am—is beautiful in its own gentle, imperfect way.