I am never more lonely than during the holidays.
A quick Google search reveals I am not alone (forgive me a little foxhole humor here). Statistics on the number of people in the U.S. who report feeling lonely through the holidays range from AARP’s 31% to the National Alliance for the Mentally Ill’s 66%. There is a wealth of information on this very common experience. Which honestly doesn’t make me feel all that much better, but at least I know I’m in good company when I feel alone. While some of you are earnestly enjoying spending time with your big, complicated-but-loving families, and others of you are dreading the family gatherings and carefully orchestrating ways to cope and make it through – some with the help of substances and some desperately hanging onto your commitment not to – another whole bunch of us are simply alone. Alone-alone, or alone amongst others. I’ve spent many holidays alone in crowds – in rehabs, homeless shelters, jail cells, or using drugs with others. I’ve also spent many alone-alone, mostly in the last ten years, at home in my pajamas with my pets and my books, or catching up on work. In typical fashion, today, Thanksgiving, I sit alone and write. I like the writing thing. It makes me feel a little less lonely to feel like you’re listening. I won’t be alone all day. I have a partner in my life who lives elsewhere and after a ton of plan-changing and negotiating finding pet sitters (and then canceling them, several times), we finally orchestrated him coming over. He is alone on holidays, too. HIs family raised him here in the States then promptly moved back to their home country 30 years ago when he was in college, leaving him alone with no family except a few distant relatives that never call. A divorce a few years ago left him feeling even more adrift on the holidays. It felt like blasting dynamite through mountains to make this singular arrangement for one day after another plan fell through in a devastating way, leaving me in puddles of tears and an ocean of regret at how I’ve lived my life these last ten years, that it could come to a situation and a feeling of such deep rejection by a family member I love so dearly and want to spend time with. What the fuck happened, I ask myself. When the first plan was canceled three days ago my partner and I agreed to just savor the day of no work and no obligations, each in our own separate homes 90 miles apart, because of the hours of driving, and the awkward intervals and complicated schedule for holiday time with his son. The conversation: It will be nice, he says, to spend the day at home not doing anything. (The floor in my belly drops) But I’m home alone every day, I say back, but only in my head. I don’t want to feel needy, or burdensome. He spends 40+ hours a week in an office with his team running a non-profit, has his ten-year-old son part-time, and stays busy outside of the house a lot more than I do. I can go days without leaving my yard or talking to anyone in real life, a week or sometimes two at a time with no social events. I understand his desire to do nothing alone. He understands my often-desperate need to be with people to assuage my constant loneliness. Perhaps you are alone, too. Or you feel alone in your crowd of family or familiars, or un-familiars. Maybe it comes from years of addiction and broken bonds; or from trauma or abuse you’re no longer willing to put up with – a choice you’ve made that’s been good for you, despite the loneliness. Perhaps it’s grief: profound, compounded, heart-stopping grief, grief that no one else understands so you carry it alone. Or perhaps you have wrapped yourself in a self-protective cocoon after years of unfathomable hurt you can’t handle, a life in which trusting others is an ephemeral notion you can’t quite grasp. Maybe that cocoon isn’t even a choice anymore and you’re just trapped inside it whether you like it or not. Perhaps, like me, it is some of all of these things. Or something else. Loneliness is universal. It’s just part of being human. Maybe I don’t have anything hopeful to offer here like you might expect. If done properly I suppose this should be the part where I offer resolution to the story of loneliness through the holidays, where there’s a lovely “denouement” (a fancy storytelling word for the descending cadence of a story after the crescendo) in which the main character or the collective “we” get what we want or make peace with a different outcome. This denouement is supposed to be offered to you, the audience, so everyone can walk away feeling reassured that life makes sense and suffering has meaning. Inconveniently, I am not currently experiencing a resolution to this problem of loneliness, and so I offer you nothing in that regard. Perhaps I’ll stumble on something in the final paragraphs to satisfy the very universal human need of a good ending to the story. We’re almost there… The suspense is killing me… Early in my recovery I was taught that I should be grateful just to be upright and breathing, and once upon a time, that was enough for me. I survived decades of injection heroin and cocaine use and overdoses before naloxone was available, guns to my head in beefs with gang members, almost being choked to death by a partner, and all that kind of life-threatening addiction nonsense. I’m mostly not sure why I’m still here. But I figure if I made it through that shit-heap of horrible stuff (like you probably did, too), I’m going to live the f@*% out of what remains. At least, to the best of my ability. Because I don’t want to settle today for upright and breathing. I believe that life has much more to offer than that, and it can be indescribably good and fulfilling and beautiful and crowded with people who love me in ways that are safe and wonderful. Even when it seems awfully mysterious as to how I am supposed to get all of those things. I can still believe. Maybe it’s essential for me to believe. And maybe for you today, upright and breathing is enough, and that is ample reason to celebrate. If this is you, I see you, and I’m so glad you’re here. I still have those days too. And other days, like today, I know I have so many beautiful, indescribably good things in my life that make it feel so worth living, so worth celebrating, but I still feel sad and lonely. Confoundingly, both can be true. If this is you, I see you too. (dramatic sigh) Sometimes, the resolution we need never comes, or it comes so late we don’t need it anymore. So what are we supposed to do we do in the meantime? We tell stories.* We tell the truth about ourselves and bear witness for each other’s truth. Because that’s what binds us together. We find ourselves in each other’s truths. And that makes everything feel a little less lonely, doesn’t it? Happy Holidays? Meh. Love to you all anyways. *Happy endings not required. Want some tips on supporting yourself when you’re feeling lonely? See if any of these resonate with you (or at least are worth trying): 1) Look at old photos – reminiscing about happier times reminds us that life was good and can be good again. 2) Spend special time with your pets, if you have them – showing love and kindness to other beings reminds us of our innate goodness. Plants work, too. 3) Do something loving for yourself, maybe even something you wish someone else would do for you, to remind yourself that you are lovable and valuable and deserve tender, loving care
4) Lose yourself in a good book or show – engaging with the universal truths that make us human and connecting with characters you see yourself in can connect you to the larger world 5) Write something. Anything. Tell yourself a story. Connect with yourself or to a real or imagined audience through written or even spoken word. Remember: Your body has its own wisdom, as does your spirit. See if you can take advantage of what you’re feeling today and in the coming days to tune inward and honor what you hear. We hold everything we need inside of us to both fulfill our own needs, and deeply connect with others. We just need to listen. |