The Loneliness That No One Sees

Hi friends, I hope the day has been gentle with you. I wanted to talk about something that has become a quiet theme in my life recently. It is not dramatic or loud, just persistent. A kind of loneliness that comes from living at a different pace to the people around me.

When all you want is a calm game after work

Today after work, I really wanted to relax with the one hobby that has always brought me comfort. Video games. I thought about loading up Enshrouded, partly because it is cosy and partly because it lets me switch off from the world. Like most survival games though, it is better with friends. It is built for shared adventures, little moments of teamwork, and that steady sense of companionship you get from building something together.

My friends, who I care about a lot, usually start playing at eight in the evening or later. That used to be fine. It is not fine anymore. My body gives up long before the group is ready to start. And it is strange how much that simple timing difference creates a feeling of distance. They still move at a fast, late night, high energy speed. I now move at a slower, earlier, careful speed. Those speeds do not line up, no matter how badly I wish they did.

When I ask if anyone wants to play something calmer or earlier, I feel like I am asking for a huge favour, even though I know it should not be. People suggest shooters or high intensity games that need quick reflexes and long sessions. Games I simply cannot keep up with anymore. I do not blame anyone for liking what they like. I just wish there was space for me too. I miss feeling included in something that used to be our shared escape.

Living life on different speeds

The gaming example is just one piece of a much bigger pattern. When you live with disability or chronic illness, your entire life shifts into a different rhythm. You start measuring everything in energy, pain, fatigue, recovery, pacing, and timing. Meanwhile, the people you care about keep moving at the speed that healthy bodies allow. Both speeds are valid. Both speeds are real. They just do not always intersect anymore.

This difference shows up everywhere. Friends make spontaneous plans that I cannot join. They stay out late on nights where I need to be home much earlier. They can switch activities without thinking, where I need to plan things around symptoms and recovery. They talk about busy weeks with ten commitments, where I might only manage one or two. They sprint through life. I move through it carefully, trying not to trip a flare up.

None of this is anyone’s fault. It is simply what happens when bodies do not cooperate in the same way. But the distance it creates can feel very real, even if no one intends it to.

The hidden isolation of slow paced living

One of the hardest parts of living at a slower pace is that friendships often rely on momentum. When you cannot keep up, that momentum fades. People are still kind. People still care. But they move on with their days, their nights, their hobbies, their plans. And I am still here, moving at the speed my body allows. That difference can create a quiet loneliness that is difficult to explain. You feel present but out of sync. Included but drifting. Surrounded but still slightly apart.

I am not angry about this. I do not want anyone to feel accused. What I want is simply connection in ways I can still manage. A game that starts earlier. A slower paced evening. A bit of flexibility here and there. A reminder that even if I cannot match your speed, I am still trying to be part of your world.

Why making new friends feels impossible sometimes

People often think online friendships are easier to form when you are disabled, and sometimes that is true. However, even online spaces can move fast. Group chats race ahead. Gaming communities schedule late night sessions. Friendships require consistency that my health does not always let me give. I cannot appear in voice chat at ten at night. I cannot promise I will be well enough to join something big. I cannot join events that run for hours.

Those limitations make finding new friends feel much harder than people assume. I do not have the freedom to pop in and out of communities. I do not have the stamina to keep up with big active groups. I do not have the energy to spend hours at a time getting to know people. So when existing friends drift or become busy, that gap is not easily filled. The result is that a person can be surrounded by thousands of online players and still feel entirely alone.

A gentle reminder for the people who care about me

If you are reading this as someone in my life, please know I am not pointing fingers. I am not saying anyone has done something wrong. I am saying that living on a different speed to the people you care about can be deeply isolating. Sometimes all it takes to make a difference is a bit of awareness. A message a little earlier. A low effort game. A slower night. A moment of thought that says you are still part of this and we want you here.

I do not expect big changes. Just small ones that help me keep the friendships I value so much.

Does it get better?

I think connection is still possible, even with limitations. It just sometimes looks different to the version I imagined years ago. Maybe it is about finding people who move at my pace. Maybe it is about friends learning to meet me in the middle now and again. Maybe it is about accepting that even slow paced lives can be full of companionship if people understand the challenges that come with them.

If any of this feels familiar to you, please know that you are not alone in it. There are many of us trying to build meaningful lives in bodies that do not cooperate. Many of us moving through the world at a gentler speed, hoping others will walk beside us when they can. If you relate to this, I would truly love to hear your experiences in the comments. Share what helps you, what you struggle with, or even just say hi. Sometimes the smallest bit of connection can make the biggest difference.

TL:DR

I wanted to play games with friends tonight, but the time and pace they play at are no longer possible for me. That difference in speed shows up in many parts of my life and creates a loneliness that is difficult to talk about. I do not blame anyone. I just wish people understood how much even small bits of flexibility can help someone who moves through the world more slowly. Making new friends is harder when disability limits energy and availability, so losing connection hits harder than people think.