Today I got scared. Yesterday I could barely eat because my stomach wasn’t cooperating. This morning I had a barium swallow test at the hospital, so I couldn’t eat either. I left home thinking I would walk there, but after a few minutes my legs started feeling weak. I felt like I was going to faint. I called my brother and asked him to stay with me.

As I stood there, trying to understand what was happening to my body, I realised something that had nothing to do with my health. The thing that frightened me the most wasn’t the possibility of fainting. It was being alone.

I’ve noticed this before. Every time I don’t feel well in London, my fear becomes much bigger than the symptom itself. My mind immediately starts racing. What if something happens? What if I can’t make it home? What if nobody is there?

But the strange thing is that I don’t feel the same way in Fauglia, the tiny village where I come from. If exactly the same thing happened there, I would still feel ill. I would still need to sit down. I would still need help. But I don’t think I would be nearly as scared.

That made me realise something I’ve never really put into words before. Fear isn’t always about what your body is doing. Sometimes it’s about whether you feel like you’re facing it alone.

People often imagine loneliness as sitting by yourself in a quiet room. I’ve learned that loneliness can feel much louder than that. Sometimes it appears in the middle of a crowded street, in one of the busiest cities in the world, when your legs stop feeling strong and all you want is for someone to be beside you.

Today reminded me that feeling safe isn’t only about hospitals, doctors or test results. Sometimes, it’s simply about knowing you’re not facing your fear on your own.