The Loneliness That Lives Inside Love.
There’s something I’ve been holding in for a while now. It’s not easy to talk about, mostly because it doesn’t come with a clear villain or some explosive ending. It’s quiet. It’s steady. It’s the kind of pain that hides behind smiles and “I’m fine.”
It’s the slow ache of being in a marriage where love exists, but effort doesn’t.
My husband is kind. He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t hit. He’s gentle and respectful. On paper, he’s everything a woman is supposed to want. And yet, there’s this ache that sits in my chest every time I realize how little effort he actually puts into us.
We share goals. We talk about the life we want to build. We agree on where we’re going — but I always feel like I’m the only one walking toward it. He’s standing still, and I’m exhausted from trying to pull him along.
It’s a strange kind of pain to love someone who does just enough to keep things steady, but never enough to make you feel seen or desired. He’s not cruel. He’s not unfaithful. He just… isn’t there in the way I need him to be.
Some days, I convince myself I should be grateful. After all, there are people in worse marriages. But then there are nights when I lie beside him and feel like a stranger. We’re inches apart, yet miles away. The silence between us is louder than any argument we’ve ever had.
He tells me he loves me, and I believe him. But it’s not the kind of love that fills me. It’s not the kind that reaches inside and reminds me I matter. It’s more of a quiet obligation — something said out of habit, not passion.
I don’t feel seen.
I don’t feel heard.
I don’t feel loved.
I feel tolerated. Forgotten. A shell of a person standing beside the one who’s supposed to make me feel special.
There’s a certain kind of loneliness that only exists inside a marriage. It’s not the loneliness of being alone — it’s the loneliness of being unseen by the person who promised to know you best. You start to fade in your own home. You start to question what you did wrong. You start to wonder why loving you became a chore.
I used to think love was enough. That if I gave more, showed up harder, proved myself again and again, he’d meet me halfway. But effort cannot live on one side of a marriage. You can’t build a life with someone who only holds the blueprint while you do the work.
And it hurts — realizing that no matter how many times you have his back, he might never have yours. That no matter how many bridges you’d burn for him, he wouldn’t block a single flame from reaching you.
Sometimes I feel like a burden. Like my needs are too heavy. Like my emotions are an inconvenience. I tiptoe around my own feelings, afraid that wanting more makes me ungrateful. But I’m not ungrateful. I’m just empty.
I’m learning that you can love someone deeply and still feel alone beside them. You can appreciate who they are and still crave the version of them that once made you feel alive.
If this feels familiar, please know this:
You are not broken for wanting to be loved the way you love.
You are not asking for too much.
You just want to feel loved fully, intentionally, and without hesitation.
Maybe one day he’ll realize what it feels like to lose the woman who only ever asked him to care. Or maybe he won’t. But either way, I’m learning that I can’t keep waiting to feel loved by someone who doesn’t see what’s standing right in front of him.
Because love shouldn’t make you feel small.
Love shouldn’t make you question your worth.
Love should feel like coming home — not like begging to be let inside.