This Holiday Season, I Felt Extremely Lonely for the First Time

This holiday season, I felt extremely lonely for the first time in my life.
And strangely, this is why I think it’s a good thing.

For most of my life, I never felt lonely during holidays, not because I spent them with family or friends. Quite the opposite. I actively tried to create circumstances where I could spend holidays alone.

At some point, I developed a tradition of taking a week off around my birthday, Christmas, and New Year’s. During that week, I would leave town. I avoided calls. I avoided birthday messages. I wanted to be unreachable.

Christmas, especially, was perfect for this. For a long time in Ukraine, Catholic Christmas wasn’t widely celebrated, which meant it stayed quiet and private. No expectations. No noise. No obligations. It gave me uninterrupted time with myself.

Eventually, I managed to find reasons to spend New Year’s alone, too.

After my grandmother and father passed away, I learned that what I actually enjoyed for my birthday wasn’t solitude at any cost, nor was it a planned family ritual. I wanted to spend it with one close person (if I had them in my life). Just one. Not necessarily a family, but my choice. No special plans. Maybe a meal. An ordinary day. No celebrations. No attention.

Then the war started, and I moved to Canada.

Here, everyone celebrates Christmas. But my birthday became almost invisible. Most people didn’t know about it. And I was fine with that. I celebrated it alone, and I genuinely enjoyed it.

For the first few years, everything felt stable. I worked through the holidays. I didn’t prepare anything. I trained, exercised, and lived my life. I didn’t feel sadness. I didn’t feel longing. I felt nothing around holidays, and that felt normal.

But this year, something changed.

Before my birthday, I went through a very heavy week. And in that weight, I finally noticed patterns in my life, specifically in my relationship with people and with family.

Growing up, my family felt like a trap.

Not because I didn’t love them. I did. Deeply. But that love came with rigidity, with restriction, with a lack of freedom in my choices. Not legal freedom, not physical distance, but freedom in how I could exist, choose, and relate.

That freedom was never available to me.

So I learned something early. Closeness was dangerous.

Even though I wanted love, care, intimacy, and connection, like everyone else, I never allowed myself to get close to people. And I never allowed people to get close to me.

I chose distant people intentionally. That felt safe.

And the moment someone wanted closeness, I ended the relationship. Quickly. That part was non-negotiable.

Even after leaving home at 21, I remained emotionally attached to my grandmother. I loved her more than life. And in my heart, I never really left. I felt chained to something I couldn’t change, something too heavy to carry.

That attachment shaped everything that followed.

Holidays are family time. So my relationship with holidays reflected my relationship with family. Distance became protection.

For years, it never touched me.
It never felt like something I wanted.

More than that, it felt like something I would never want.

That belief brought a lot of confusion and pain. I genuinely thought there was something fundamental about me that made me incapable of wanting shared moments. I believed I was someone who didn’t need gathering, celebration, or togetherness.

Still, I carried one quiet hope.

I imagined meeting someone who would share silent moments with me, watching a sunset, walking in nature, observing trees together. Always one-on-one. Always contained.

I could never imagine friends joining us.
I could never imagine his family.

That was too much for my nervous system to process.

And then this year, everything shifted.

For the first time, I felt deeply lonely during the holidays. Not the familiar neutrality. Not avoidance. But real loneliness. A new kind of discomfort.

I envied people who gathered.
Who celebrated.
Who exchanged gifts.
Who laughed together.

I realized I didn’t actually care what they were doing. I wanted to feel this togetherness. I finally got it.

It’s not about dinners or traditions.
It’s about shared presence.
Common time.
Common experience.

For most of my life, I didn’t want that. I didn’t care if I ever had it.
More than that, I preferred not to have it.

And I didn’t.

But this is the first time in my life that I realized I want it.

I’m strangely grateful there are only three holidays a year. One of them is my birthday, and I was lucky enough to spend it with a friend. And now, I feel like I have time.

I have a year to figure this out.
A year to find my humans.
A year to build real connections.
A year to create these moments, because now I truly want them.

And this is the magic.

This is the magic of how the past can shield us from new experiences. And how awareness allows us to step away from what no longer belongs to us.

We don’t have to carry old patterns forever.
We don’t have to drag them through our lives.

We can leave them exactly where they belong.

And sometimes, deep sadness, loneliness, longing, and heartache can be the most beautiful things to experience, especially when you never allowed yourself to want what they point to.

And now, I do.

This is the magic of life.
And I’m looking forward to this journey.