There is a particular kind of loneliness that comes with being understood. Not because it hurts, but because it happens so rarely.
I met up with a friend for dinner the other day. We got to speaking about the challenges of relationships, and she mentioned that a major reason her marriage ended in divorce was that they never truly understood each other. To which I asked, ‘From the onset?’ So what then made you decide to want to spend the rest of your lives together? Were you two at the very least compatible you would say? She answered that they were young and in love.
It immediately took me back to eight-year-old me, arguing with my auntie as she insisted she understood me like the back of her hand and was fully aware of what I was capable of. At the time, the very young me did not have the words to express myself clearly, but I remember telling her that if she understood me so well, then we wouldn’t fight so much. And by “fight,” I mean me getting my behind whooped at every slight provocation. I acknowledge she did know me completely and most probably knew all I was capable of at the time, but knowing someone well does not equate or automatically translate into understanding them.
And now that I think of it, I can say that in my whole life, only a handful of people have truly understood me. With them, I did not have to perform or explain myself. I could be whole, incomplete, soft, crass, complicated, and even wrong, but still felt safe. There was no judgement, no translation, just presence.
But that kind of understanding is rare and does not come often. Early on in my life, I used to think it was just me, and perhaps I was just too complicated or difficult to understand. But having travelled, lived, studied, worked, and interacted with many people from various cultures, backgrounds and walks of life, I have come to realize it is a phenomenon that is rather common. And with that in mind, I would argue that the disconnect is not from people being inherently difficult, but from emotional intelligence not being widely nurtured until very recently.
For me, understanding someone would mean holding space for their vulnerability without needing them to explain everything. It would mean interpreting their silence, tone, or their change in mood, not by guessing, but by knowing what it tends to mean for them specifically.
To me, in a healthy relationship, understanding should be the fuel for emotional closeness, while compatibility would be the pillar for long-term harmony. But in the absence of both, I cannot understand why people would make a life-altering decision as wanting to marry someone else. I may never understand that, but I do know this: that a large part of why many people struggle to build long, successful relationships is because interpersonal intelligence has often been undervalued even though it is one of the most essential foundations for meaningful human connection.
Personally, I also believe that if a person with high interpersonal intelligence were to choose a partner they were compatible, and both were given the gift of time, then their chances of building a long-lasting relationship would be significantly higher.
Nevertheless, I don’t think people go about deliberately not wanting to understand the other person. It just seems as though most people are simply reflecting what the world taught them to notice or lack thereof. Real understanding takes emotional effort, one not everyone knows how to give.
Understanding is rare, and it is in that rarity that loneliness deepens. But for the lucky few who find it, it feels like home.
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