Filling Voids: When the Empty Parts of Us Start Calling Out
There are parts of the human experience that don’t get talked about nearly enough. Not the pretty parts. Not the “glow up” or “healing journey” moments. But the raw, aching, hollow spaces inside of us that whisper,
Something’s missing.
Sometimes it’s loneliness.
Sometimes it’s grief.
Sometimes it’s childhood wounds we never got the chance to tend to.
Sometimes it’s trauma, heartbreak, loss, or simply a life that didn’t go the way we imagined.
And sometimes… it’s something we can’t even fully name.
So we do what humans do best when we don’t know what to do with pain: we try to fill it.
For some people, that looks loud and obvious: gambling, binge drinking, drugs, sex, reckless behavior, chasing adrenaline, constantly running toward chaos because stillness feels unbearable.
For others, it looks quieter: overworking, scrolling endlessly, emotional eating, codependent relationships, staying busy 24/7 so there’s never a moment to actually feel.
Filling the void often doesn’t start with intention. It starts with relief.
A drink that softens the ache.
A risk that sparks adrenaline and distracts from the numbness.
A cigarette to “take the edge off.”
A situationship that keeps loneliness from echoing too loudly.
A purchase that gives five minutes of dopamine.
A moment where, just for a second, we don’t feel empty.
And that’s where it gets complicated.
Because relief can feel like healing when we’re desperate.
The hard truth is, what many people call “bad habits” or “poor choices” are often survival strategies. They’re coping mechanisms. They’re communication. They’re our nervous system saying, I don’t know how to hold this pain alone.
But here’s where the struggle deepens:
We don’t just become attached to what fills the void.
We become addicted to not feeling.
We get addicted to distraction.
To chaos.
To the quick fix.
To the temporary numbing.
To whatever keeps us from sitting with the truth we don’t want to face.
And that addiction doesn’t always look like dependency on a substance. It can be emotional addiction. Addicted to dramatic relationships because peace feels unfamiliar. Addicted to productivity because rest feels threatening. Addicted to escapism because reality feels too heavy.
But eventually… the void demands to be acknowledged.
No matter how high, how drunk, how busy, how distracted, or how reckless we get, the emptiness is still there, patiently waiting underneath.
And facing that emptiness? That’s terrifying.
Because it means admitting we’re hurting.
It means acknowledging unmet needs.
It means grieving what we lost or never received.
It means confronting the parts of ourselves we avoid.
It means choosing healing instead of hiding.
Healing isn’t glamorous. It’s not linear. It’s not a perfectly curated self-care aesthetic or beautifully worded mantra. It’s uncomfortable. It’s messy. It’s slow. It asks for honesty, reflection, regulation, support, sometimes therapy, sometimes medication, sometimes huge lifestyle changes. It requires letting go of coping mechanisms that once protected us, even if they’re destroying us now.
It asks us to sit with feelings instead of escaping them. And for many people, that’s the hardest thing they will ever do.
But here’s the gentle reminder:
There is nothing wrong with you for having a void.
There is nothing shameful about trying to cope.
There is nothing weak about needing help.
You are not broken. You are human.
If you’re struggling with the emptiness, you’re not alone. If your coping has slowly turned into something that feels like dependency, you’re not alone. If you’re realizing you’ve been trying to fill a wound instead of healing it, you’re not alone.
The goal isn’t perfection.
The goal isn’t to never struggle again.
The goal is learning to tend to your pain instead of abandoning yourself to outrun it.
The goal is compassion over shame.
Support over silence.
Healing over hiding.
One step at a time. One breath at a time. One truth at a time.
You don’t have to fill the void forever.
You deserve to learn how to heal it.
A Gentle Grounding Ritual for the Moments You Feel the Void
If any part of this stirred something inside you, here’s a soft way to ground yourself. No pressure. No “fixing.” Just presence.
Find a quiet space, place a hand over your heart or on your stomach, and take a slow breath. Not a “deep breath,” just one that feels kind to your body.
Step 1: Notice You Are Here
Whisper to yourself (out loud if you can):
I am here. I am safe enough in this moment. My body is with me.
Let those words land without forcing anything to change.
Step 2: Anchor Into the Present
Gently bring awareness to your senses.
Name:
• 3 things you can see
• 2 things you can feel against your skin
• 1 sound you can hear
This helps your body remember you are in the present, not in your pain alone.
Step 3: Validate the Feeling, Not the Void
Place your hand back over your heart and say:
Something in me is hurting. Something in me needs care.
Notice how different that feels than saying “I’m broken” or “I’m empty.”
There is nothing “wrong” with you. There is simply something within you asking to be witnessed.
Step 4: Offer Yourself Gentle Reflection (Optional)
If you feel grounded enough, quietly ask yourself:
What might this void be asking for?
Connection? Rest? Grief? Support? Space?
You don’t need the full answer. Just curiosity.
Step 5: Close With Compassion
Take one more slow breath and end with a statement like:
I am learning to care for the parts of me that ache.
I don’t have to outrun myself anymore.
I am worthy of gentleness, even here.
You can repeat this ritual anytime the emptiness feels loud. It doesn’t fix everything, but it honors what’s real. And that alone is a powerful beginning.