I suppose it comes as no surprise that as I reflect back on this year, feelings of loneliness and isolation are top of mind. Although, maybe that does surprise those who know me because in so many ways I am not at all isolated: I am married, I have children, I’m in touch with friends through texts and Snapchats (yes, Snapchats) and masked walks outside, and I connect with people through my work. I can see how my “network” represents a lot more social connection than many people are having right now. And yet, loneliness is still there.
Before I ever became pregnant, I was well aware that a challenge many new parents experience is isolation, and one of the ways we in the mental health arena seek to ameliorate this feeling is through new parent groups. But what I didn’t realize until I had my own kids is just how constant and forever isolation can feel, the way that it nags at you, the way it causes you to question every decision you need to make - every decision you have already made. And to appreciate how isolation is not just about the number of people around you: the fact that as a new parent you are so rarely ever actually alone is somehow even more isolating than I remember being alone itself ever feeling. Sometimes the isolation pops up when you’re by yourself trying to fall asleep and sometimes it shows up in the middle of the afternoon, in a large group - maybe even that new parent support group? And in the very attempts to “fix” this problem of isolation, as we do through these groups, by telling people that being alone and feeling alone are problematic and focusing on how these can be solved - get connected! make a friend! go to a class! - we are doing a disservice to those who are suffering the most.
For me, having kids forced me to recognize loneliness in a new way, but here’s the thing: this loneliness, it’s not specific to new parents, and it’s not at all unique to parenthood. I started noticing this most recently when I read through some personality type descriptions. I’m not typically one to buy into personality tests - or, more accurately, I am very much one who takes any personality test I can get access to for free, but I’m also the person who wants to poke holes in the results, so, yes, I read all the answers. What I noticed in my recent dive into these descriptions is each personality type has some description of loneliness. It’s not always stated that plainly, but it’s there. Sometimes it looks like “you are misunderstood” and sometimes “you don’t quite fit in in any group” or sometimes “you feel the need to explain yourself to everyone” or “you are always trying to gain acceptance from others.” Even when it’s all about how “you become the center of attention in every room you walk into, the belle of the ball” there’s often the second part of, “but you never really feel connected to others.”
Upon observing this underlying theme, my first thought was it plays into our egos - that maybe it’s an American cultural thing of needing to feel somehow individually important and unique - the misunderstood artist, the before-their-time philosopher. With deeper reflection what this underlying theme actually points to is an innate and enduring sense of loneliness: in other words, being alone, feeling lonely, is part of the human condition. The irony being, of course, that we are all together in feeling all alone. (An irony that has not been lost to the marketing professionals or sidewalk chalk evangelists this year - “staying apart, together.”) And an irony that is not entirely as comforting as we might hope.
This year, 2020, we’ve all become acutely aware of loneliness and isolation, but as evidenced in the personality type descriptions, it’s not a new experience for any of us. I’d argue that what has changed this year is our willingness to talk about how lonely we feel, to actually be alone, together. What has not changed is our urgency to make the feeling of loneliness go away, to fix it. And in a time when we feel so much urgency and have very little power to do much to change things, maybe “fixing” this feeling of loneliness takes on an extra burden. Back in March and April, I sat in Zoom calls with people I hadn’t thought of in years, sometimes a decade, because suddenly, it didn’t matter that we weren’t close by, we could have virtual happy hours together! Remember those times? But those connections didn’t make me feel less lonely. Distracted, sure. Entertained, definitely. We’ve got all kinds of names for this “underwhelming” connection: Zoom fatigue, small talk, acquaintances, or the simple and pervasive socially distant. When we experience temporary relief from loneliness it’s almost as if this relief reminds us just how much pain we have. The pandemic and our isolation have pushed us to recognize the way connection is always temporary relief from a permanent condition. We could ignore it better before: now it is in our face.
My point, and it’s not a new one: the cure for loneliness does not lie solely in connection to others. Being with others is wonderful, it’s not that connection is bad. I can’t wait to be able to sit together with friends in a restaurant or get on an airplane, to practice with complete strangers in a yoga studio or (and some days this really is at the top of my list) find out what art my neighbors have on their walls. Even those parent groups - yes, I’ll join them - I’ll teach them! Talking to others by phone or FaceTime is good, too, especially with in person opportunities off the table right now. We need that level of connection. Not just because it is connection: we need it because it shows us we are not alone in feeling alone. After all, regardless of how many or how few people we see, loneliness will always be with each of us. Some days will be less lonely, some days more. Some years may feel unbearable. And yet, the more we feel this loneliness is something that can be taken away, that it can be and should be healed, that it must not exist, the lonelier we get and the farther we push ourselves from this part of our shared human experience. The parent groups - all our groups - need to be not solely about making connections, they need to be also about how normal it is to be lonely and how, without fixing it, we can start to become OK with knowing it will always be true. Acknowledging our loneliness probably won’t make us happier, and, for sure, it isn’t easy. But maybe when we do, we will start to see the loneliness in others, and perhaps sharing that will, eventually, bring us the company of mutual recognition.
Now I’ll admit, this is not much for a holiday message, but “hug your loved ones and keep them close” isn’t a great choice this year, so I’m trying something a little different. Instead, let’s practice the immediately more difficult work of connecting to our loneliness, because in connecting to our own loneliness, we will truly be more connected to others than we can imagine.