The Psychology of Loneliness
The Psychology of Loneliness
And the beauty of solitude.
Over the past week, I’ve felt alone.
Although it had something to do with temporary living arrangements at the time, this was a reaction I hadn’t expected.
I had always viewed myself as someone who loved being left alone. I prided myself on my ability to go days without the need to see anyone. The pandemic lockdown had nothing on me.
So imagine my surprise when I recently realised that it wasn’t something I entirely wanted anymore.
Who was I becoming?
I had to find out.
Once upon a pandemic.
If there’s one thing the global lockdown during the height of the pandemic taught us, it’s to take our health seriously. That and the importance of social connection.
Suddenly, truly, we were cast into the sea of minimal physical human interaction, floating for dear life, desperate for ‘precedented’ times again.
We were banned from the one thing that makes our human existence remotely bearable: fellow humans.
For introverts worldwide, however—I may or may not be a regional assistant secretary—it seemed like bliss. No more uncomfortable small talk or turning down events we didn’t want to attend but liked being invited to anyway.
But even that got old, fast.
We realised that we, too, were social creatures even when we didn’t feel like it 90% of the time. And why not?
Humans need one another.
It’s in our biological wiring, particularly at a time when our hunter-gatherer ancestors needed security, safety and human continuity. It’s no wonder the idea of being alone affects us on such a visceral and tangible level.
After all, the saying goes:
“There’s safety in numbers.”
The art of being alone.
While there’s something to be said for the joy of community—such as a reduced risk of depression, low self-esteem and cardiovascular problems—there’s a haunting beauty in regular and intentional solitude.
There, confronted by self and self alone, we begin to peel back the layers of who we are.
In this shared journey of self-awareness—through psychology and also why we’re here—solitude is a tool. Free from the gaze of others, we get to ask:
What kind of person am I when no one is there to watch? Will I actually watch reruns of Girlfriends all night if there’s no one to judge me? Do I prefer to sleep on the floor? Do I chew with my mouth open?
What really matters.
“Solitude is fine but you need someone to tell that solitude is fine.” ― Honoré de Balzac
Eventually, I did get over the feeling. One way was by being vulnerable with friends as much as possible virtually.
The other is a bit more cliché and nuanced: we’re never really alone, not in circumstance, current life challenges and certainly not geographically. Except you live in the middle of nowhere, like Courage the Cowardly Dog, then I stand corrected.
“Loneliness, I began to realise, was a populated place: a city in itself.” — Olivia Laing (The Lonely City)
Strangely, knowing that I wasn’t special enough to be the only one feeling that exact way at that very moment on the entire planet felt comforting.
Besides, I did simply just watch reruns of Girlfriends, laughing and enjoying my own company, and all was right with the world again.
🔌 Recommendation of the month
The JWST images. Duh. Perhaps we’re not so alone after all.