Solitude as Antidote
Vessels of Connection
In July, we explore loneliness by distancing ourselves from self-blame and guilt. This letter is the second installment of the month’s series. Start with Vessels of Connection.
I’m an only child. For most of my childhood, I was regarded as an unfortunate kid. When my parents' friends visited us, there was always a veil of pity in their eyes. They equated playing alone with being lonely. It’s true that I spent most of the time by myself, engaged in solitary activities. My earliest memories are of playing alone on the living room floor, feeling a deep sense of calm and contentment. But my life was pleasantly inhabited by loving presences: numerous friends, classmates, neighbors, cousins, and other family members. I never felt the need to combat feelings of emptiness or depend on others to dissipate long hours of boredom. Despite the belief that an only child is most likely to experience isolation and loneliness, I never experienced them until my early thirties.
But in my early thirties, my life changed drastically. A distance—both physical and emotional—developed between me and the social connections I had built in different periods of my life. Initially, my aloneness continued to be nurturing and fulfilling as I was building my new life. It still felt like an exciting wonder and exploration. However, within months, an oppressive sensation began to emerge as I started to realize that my beloved solitude couldn’t be interrupted. Being my only company was not a choice anymore. It collapsed over me and buried me, making me feel anxious in the few occasions for social interactions. I gradually withdrew and became isolated.
For the first time in my life, I was experiencing a terrible sense of loneliness.
This condition created a somewhat ambivalent relationship with myself. I longed to connect and return to my old self, yet at the same time, I felt afraid and repulsed by the socially awkward new me, overtaking the once lively, funny, and confident person I used to be.
In one of his interviews, U.S. Surgeon General Dr. Vivek Murthy, author of Together: The Healing Power of Human Connection in a Sometimes Lonely World, and what Time named “the doctor of human connection,” elegantly summed up what I would otherwise messily try to explain in pages of words: "Connection to self, it turns out, is the foundation that we need to connect to other people. When we're connected to ourselves, we understand that we have self-worth. And it turns out that there are really two components to connection to self, two components, if you will, to self-acceptance. And those are self-knowledge and self-compassion."
I realized that I was actually in a deep state of grief, which worsened after my son was born. This was due to the loss of many of my other social identities and my biggest source of mental and emotional balance: my solitude. I mourned the times when I could effortlessly lose myself in my own thoughts, drift away in a solitary activity like reading and writing, or simply abandon myself to hours of idleness watching the trees or the colonies of ants in the garden.
One of the most powerful antidotes to loneliness is solitude
I know, it sounds counterintuitive. Until recently, I wasn’t even aware of their profound differences: both suggest aloneness, and for someone suffering from loneliness, it’s natural to focus mainly on the depleting side of being alone.
But again, it’s Dr. Murthy who encourages a change in perspective in simple words: “What's powerful about solitude is it gives us both the time to quieten the noise around us, but it also gives us the opportunity to reflect and to simply be. You know, there is a tension in our modern world between being and doing. We're built, as a culture, around action. […] But one of the things that I have come to understand more deeply in the process of talking to people and researching this topic of loneliness is that being precedes action. And we all know this in our own lives. We know that when we spend time getting into the right frame of mind, then often we can be much more effective in the action that we take. And so solitude is extraordinarily powerful because it allows us to focus again on being.”
Scientific research shows that spending more hours alone is linked with increased feelings of reduced stress, suggesting solitude's calming effects. A day with more time in solitude also relates to feeling free to choose and be oneself.
It turns out solitude is a form of self-care
But it’s important to note that solitude should be motivated by personal choice rather than enforced by external factors to be beneficial. We are talking about gestures of active aloneness, a state of peaceful solitude where we find comfort, not desolation—a piece of space and time for self-reflection and personal evolution.
According to Kim Samuel, the founder and chief belonging officer of the Samuel Centre for Social Connectedness and author of On Belonging: Finding Connection in an Age of Isolation, we are facing a paradox where 'solitude—a chosen state of being alone for reflection and restoration—should theoretically be more accessible in a time of more aloneness. But the opposite is true. Amidst a crisis of loneliness and isolation, we’re losing the time and space for solitary quiet reflection.'
While advocating for 'pro-solitude policies' that affirm our time for rest and renewal and for protection of our 'right to disconnect,' she makes a clarifying point that there is no one-size-fits-all optimal way to experience solitude. Samuel encourages finding our own style of solitude and that’s where the real magic of solitude lies: in the freedom to explore and to find alternatives to existing solutions that suit us better. These are the most common recommendations but don’t be afraid to unleash your awkwardness potential and enjoy the unique experience.
Mindfulness. Sure, but not necessarily as a breathing practice. Immersing oneself in deep reading is also a form of mindfulness as it puts our minds in a state of sustainable attention for prolonged periods and activates our imagination. Uninterrupted attention and imagination—what an amazing combo to spend time with.
Nature. Not only observing but tending to it, too. Caring for other forms of life can be a way to dethrone the ego, overly fixated and preoccupied with unmet needs. I dream about having a garden velvety grass, peonies, ivy and tall trees, and I’m still puzzled by this relatively recent need and desire.
Artistic hobbies. Activities like painting, writing, dancing, acting, singing, encourage self-expression. Self-expression through art can be a great catalyst for releasing accumulated tension resulting from prolonged periods of discomfort and stress (yeah, loneliness is full packed with cortisol).
Personal goals. Unpretentious, please. Learning a new skill or working on a personal project, just for the sense of purpose and the pleasure of creating.
Somewhere in 2021, my restorative process began
At first, it was difficult to disentangle the enmeshment of loneliness and solitude. It felt like an amorphous mass of discomfort that was hard to separate. Whatever I proposed to myself to engage with was categorically refused. I was in the middle of a two-year battle with Long Covid, and this terrible beast, combined with chronic loneliness, dragged me into some very dark major depressive episodes, spiced with different types of anxiety.
It all started with listening to podcasts while pacing myself through basic house chores. True crime is a very captivating genre, and in a few months, I was able to watch an entire episode of some gruesome documentary, too. Cults, serial killers, unsolved mysteries... my curiosity and motivation were coming back to life. I was able to entertain and distract myself again, not with the genres I used to, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was that I felt hopeful as I was able to memorize pieces of information again.
Then I started journaling. For a year—the most difficult one—I wrote almost daily. At the same time, I managed to read half a page of a book. I bought a small light with a clip to secure on a book’s cover, in the warmest possible tones as I suffered from debilitating insomnia (it’s amber, almost red, very softly irradiating light and it became one of the objects I would find difficult to live without) since I couldn’t manage exposure to harsh natural and artificial light for more than half an hour.
After a while, I started researching different topics that I felt compelled to, silencing the indignation of the intellectual snob in me. The pleasure of learning new things slowly restored to almost normal levels.
Today, I’m able to write five to six essays per month, in a language that still doesn’t feel mine, and that usually takes around 50 hours of reading, researching and writing. It enriches and complements me, and keeps my mental health in good condition. I enjoy these hours of solitude, as a way to consistently connect with an even newer version of myself and a world on the edge of implosion.
And while loneliness occasionally still hits me with its venom, I can say that I reclaimed my solitude. One of my priorities is to keep these two separated and avoid future toxic enmeshments.
July Conversations
If you are in the mood for some self-discovery time and inspiring exchange, head to July Conversations. You can keep the answers for your introspective self or share them with others looking for solace in relating.
July Gatherings
If you’re in the mood for good company and a journaling practice from the comfort of your armchair, join us next Tuesday at 9:30 CET. Paid subscribers will receive the meeting link the day before.