Loneliness after abuse is a room without doors,
a silence that hums beneath your skin.
You might think you deserve it,
that love is something you were built to repel.
But I promise, loneliness isn’t a verdict.
Start small.
Sit with it.
Don’t flinch from its sharpness—
let it pass through you.
It hurts, but it doesn’t define you.
Write the ache down.
Speak it into the air, even if no one is there to listen.
Find solace in the ordinary:
the rhythm of your breath,
the weight of sunlight on your face.
Be kind to the body that carried you here,
even when it feels heavy with history.
Let others in, even if it terrifies you.
Start with someone who feels safe—
a friend, a therapist, even a stranger.
You don’t have to tell them everything,
just let them stand near your pain.
And when the loneliness feels unbearable,
remember this:
you survived something unspeakable.
That survival means there is still a part of you
that wants to live,
that deserves to be loved,
even by yourself.
B🤍
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