More than just "Lonely"

It was late at night when I looked at my watch. It read 2:37 a.m. Another night where sleep had quietly drifted off. But it wasn’t some thought that kept me awake. It was actually the absence of one. I call this state of mind The Void. A space where I’m not thinking about anything in particular, yet something still manages to poke at me. Not loud enough to name, but present enough to feel.

I’m not someone who clings to my phone, but to shake off the weight of that stillness, I opened Instagram (because why not? 😛). It wasn’t some itch to scroll endlessly through reels. (It was more intentional than that✋) I just wanted to check my inbox.

That’s when I realised something quietly unsettling. Over time, I had stopped really spending time with people. Instead, I had started watching them. Through stories, through curated posts and through forwarded reels that barely scratched the surface of real connection. Hidden between them were old conversations that had ended without meaning to. Ones where either I left or they did. Messages that got buried under a pile of reels and replies.

I think that night was more than just a bout of insomnia. It felt like a quiet brush with loneliness… not the kind that demands attention (if such a thing even exists?!) but the kind that quietly settles beneath what appears to be a full and functioning life. The kind The Void usually leads me to eventually, right before I wear myself out trying to decode patterns in my thoughts or chase sleep that keeps slipping through. But that night, I did something to break the pattern. And I’m proud that it led me to a series of realisations that had always been right in front of me, though it had been far too convenient to slide them under the carpet and move on.

I’ve always been a bit of a psychological self-help geek, and over the years, I’ve dug through countless articles (yes!! I even keep a well-organised list of my favourites ✌️) to remind myself of tools I once found powerful enough to make note of. That night, I was taken back to a journal entry I had written for my future self (which, by the way, I’m officially living now 🙂). One tool I had meant to keep handy, but somehow lost track of along the way, was Emotional Granularity.

It is the ability to name exactly what one is feeling, instead of just defaulting to vague labels like “fine” or “off.” It sounds simple, but it changed everything. I started paying closer attention to the texture of my emotions. Was it really sadness, or was it disappointment? Was I anxious, or just uncertain and mentally overstimulated? The more precise I became with naming what I felt, the less overwhelmed I was by it. It was like finally speaking the language of my own mind.

If I were to revisit that night now, with all the emotional vocabulary I’ve picked up along the way, I think what I felt was something more layered than just loneliness. Yes, loneliness was there, but wrapped inside it was a strange kind of emotional weight I couldn’t name at the time (to be very honest, I still don’t really have a name for it 🙂). But I’m sure I can put a label of Disconnection on it. Perhaps even a quiet ache for significance… for someone to notice I was still awake at 2:37 a.m. and ask why (not that I would have had a profound answer, but you get what I mean!). Naming it… or more precisely, being able to label it gave me something hopeful. It gave me a choice: whether I wanted to sit with the silence that disconnection brings after a chaotic day, or work a little more on my ability to reach out and check in on people to keep a meaningful connection going.

People who know me often say I’m a great listener. And truthfully, I do take quiet pride in that. So the very next morning, after all those thoughts had settled somewhere in me, the question that lingered was simple. How can I get better at something I already care so deeply about? That’s when I returned to the psychological tools I’ve collected over time, the ones I usually experiment with on myself before gently offering to others. And one tool that stood out more than ever was something called Invisible Support.

It is such a subtle form of care that most people don’t even realise they’ve received it. It isn’t loud. It doesn’t declare itself. But it works quietly in the background, protecting something deeply important… our self-esteem. The beauty of invisible support lies in the way it allows someone to feel helped without feeling dependent. It offers reassurance without spotlighting the struggle. Because sometimes, when we try to help people too directly, especially when they haven't asked for it, we unintentionally remind them of their vulnerabilities. But invisible support? It respects boundaries. It holds space without filling it.

I’ve come to realise that this kind of support strikes a rare balance. It sits at the intersection of emotional and cognitive care. On one hand, it meets people emotionally, making them feel seen without putting pressure on them to react or open up immediately. On the other hand, it encourages resilience and independent problem-solving, which taps into the cognitive side. It’s the kind of support that says, "I'm here with you," without needing to say much at all.

Maybe that's the thing about becoming more emotionally aware. It's not about having all the answers or being endlessly available. It’s about noticing. About tuning into the quiet spaces (both in ourselves and in others!) and responding with care that doesn’t demand recognition. I know now that connection doesn’t always need to be loud or obvious to be meaningful. Sometimes, it's in the soft check-ins, the pauses before we reply, or the way we simply stay present without rushing to fix. I’m still learning how to be that kind of person. Still fumbling my way through silence and presence. But if there’s one thing I’m certain of now, it’s that the smallest and most invisible forms of support often end up leaving the deepest impact. I’d love to keep showing up for that!

(The last two sentences rhymed! Didn’t they? 😎)

And if you are someone who wakes up at odd hours with The Void sitting quietly beside you, know this… you are MUCH more than just “Lonely”.

And if you’ve made it this far into this little letter of mine, thank you. Truly. Take one more step and tell me what you thought of this article. Whether it’s a single line or a long message… I’d love to know. When you reach out to someone who’s poured their heart into creating something, it can mean the world. So yes, your response matters deeply to me.

Find me on Instagram at @ankeshkprasad or drop me an email at [email protected]. I try to read and respond to every message because your words matter to me more than you know.

If you haven’t already, please do check out my debut novel, They Would Die For You! Available now in both Paperback and Kindle editions.