I made up a word—maybe it’s a little corny, but it came to me while reflecting on some of the challenges that come with community. It felt fitting for what I wanted to write about. Let me try to define it:

Alonely: A deep, amplified sense of loneliness marked by emotional weight or vulnerability—whether caused by external actions, neglect, or an internal state—where the experience of being alone feels especially heavy, personal, and hard to shake. This feeling has often been hard for me to explain, for a few reasons.

First, there’s the misunderstanding from others about how I feel.

Sometimes I’m afraid to share because people tend to minimize real emotions by labeling them as merely subjective. Situations within the church community have often amplified my sense of loneliness—especially when people intentionally created distance. I remember a time when I was a committed member of a church, and as I grew in my understanding of Scripture, that growth became a problem for some. They struggled with theology and doctrine, and viewed the pursuit of biblical knowledge as divisive or even opposed to the work of the Holy Spirit. As a result, many began to distance themselves from me—and worse, some created false narratives about who I was. When I tried to speak up about what was happening, about what people were saying and doing, my feelings were minimized. Instead of listening or trying to understand my heart—or acknowledging that the situation was real—I was left feeling dismissed, as if I was the problem. That hurt deeply and only confirmed why I was hesitant to share in the first place.

The second reason it’s hard to explain this to others is because I don’t want to come across as if I’m looking for a pity party.

Michael Scott from The Office is a character who always tries to be the center of attention. I remember an episode where he heard about the death of his former boss and didn’t really feel anything about it—until someone else expressed sympathy for his loss. Once he realized he could get attention from the situation, he spent the entire episode using the death to gain pity and stay in the spotlight. That kind of thing definitely happens in real life. But for those of us who are simply seeking understanding, it’s painful to be misunderstood—as if we’re just trying to get attention or make people pick sides. Most of the time, that’s not what we want at all.

Maybe it is partly our fault—maybe we’re too preoccupied with what others think. But that’s where many of us are. Still, that doesn’t mean our experiences should be met with assumptions about our motives. There are plenty of times when community is hard, and the feelings we have in those moments are real. What’s needed most is someone who’s willing to truly listen—someone who will take the time to understand what we’re feeling, not just analyze or dismiss it. That kind of listening can lead to helpful responses, whether it’s gently encouraging others to reflect on their actions or simply committing to pray for the person who’s hurting. Listening, more than questioning, is one of the most meaningful ways to walk with someone facing difficulty in the church.

We’re not looking for pity parties. What we truly need in those moments is understanding—along with quality listening and time. Time to hear what’s being felt. Time to listen to what’s really going on in the heart. Time to let the frustration come out, even if it’s messy and unpolished. Many of us just need the space to be ourselves—even if that means showing up with weaknesses and flaws. When we feel alone or lonely because we’ve been left out or misunderstood, what we need from the church is to listen, to seek understanding, and—when necessary—to address the issues that may have caused the pain in the first place.

There have been moments when I’ve felt a deep, amplified sense of loneliness. The emotional weight of what happens when the church struggles to truly be the church makes vulnerability hard. Whether that loneliness comes from others’ actions, neglect, or just an internal struggle, the burden can feel especially heavy. And when you’re already fighting internal battles, the last thing you need is to face external ones too. What the heart needs in those moments is for the church to respond with love and care toward those who are hurting.

The church isn’t perfect, but it can do better at listening. We’ve all fallen short in some way—and at times, we may have made others feel the very same kind of hurt we’ve experienced. But through it all, I’m grateful to the Lord—because He listens, and He knows exactly what I feel and what I’m struggling with.

A heavy, deep sense of loneliness that feels especially personal and hard to shake is something that happens—whether it’s caused by others, neglect, or internal struggles. In those moments, emotions and thoughts can come all at once, and the weight of it all can build quickly. But my hope is that, as the church, we can grow in how we listen and in how we look for opportunities to truly love one another. That means being present, spending time together, and building real fellowship and care. We’ll never do this perfectly—but we can do it authentically, with a genuine desire to see the well-being of others.