2020 — A Study In Loneliness
Understanding isolation, and how a need for solitude could be damaging my well-being.
2020 has certainly been a year that has presented a myriad of challenges, but it can also be looked at as a time when we all have had opportunities to gain a greater understanding about aspects of the human condition. Such as what happens to us when you remove component parts of social interaction that before were so commonplace that most of us will have given them little, if any, thought.
I say “components’ because even when we choose, or are compelled by forces out of our control, to be physically separate from other people, we live in an age where methods of communication are so many and varied that this fact in of itself can become a source of stress. I’m fairly sure our nomadic ancestors wouldn’t have spent much thought considering the need to “go offline” or “get away from it all”.
During the first national lockdown back in March, which both feels like yesterday and 100 years ago, I took the decision to take my boat out, anchor up on the river Lynher a few miles west of Plymouth, and engage in what I called, extreme social distancing. When asked where I was, I’d repeat the same joke, “they said 2 metres, and I thought they meant 2 miles”. I’d also use a line I’ve since heard from many that, “I was designed for this”, and, “all those years being a loner are finally paying off”. Not a great joke I’ll readily admit, and even as I said it I knew it rang a little hollow, but the fact of the matter was, I knew I was going to feel isolated, and all I was doing was choosing the manner of my isolation.
And so I come to the questions I’ve been asking myself. Did all my previous experiences with loneliness prepare me for life in Covid-land? Is my need for solitude, which sometimes feels as forceful as gasping for air after surfacing from a swim, a problem I need to address? And what have I learnt about isolation that I can use to better manage my mental health as this period of enforced isolation extends into a second year?
Hello loneliness my old friend
For me, like for many people, loneliness is so familiar that it can sometimes seem welcome, even when perhaps it shouldn’t. Growing up as the youngest of four children in an abusive and violent household, I would usually say that fear was my constant companion as a child, but loneliness was always right there alongside it. I have no, and I mean absolutely zero, memories of my mother showing any affection towards me, and it’s even hard to remember any physical contact from her, that wasn’t a shove or a blow. Even when a slap or punch wasn’t forthcoming, experiencing abuse from a young age, particularly from a primary care-giver, and especially from a mother, means you are always on high-alert. When I asked my therapist to write the foreword for my book, he explained it like this;
Someone who has lost their trust because of a bad experience can be calmed, reassured, soothed and gradually brought down from that wired, jittery, adrenalin-driven fear. Not when it is PTSD. Every word, every gesture is, potentially yet another assault. The hand extended to stroke is perceived as a hand lifted to smack. Even when the contact proves that the deed is kind, not punitive, the reaction is, “So you did not hurt me this time, but how do I know that you are not fooling me to let my guard down? How do I know that you are not just waiting until next time and then you will hurt me?”
This constant fear-state, extends to every social contact, every interaction, and the very nature of that fear is isolating. Consider how you would approach any social interaction, whether at work, with a friend, or when building a potential new relationship, if you are hard-wired at the most basic and primitive level to expect “yet another assault”.
I know, it sounds more than a little paranoid, right? But as the old joke goes, it’s not paranoia when they really are out to get you, and from a very young age, all of my life experiences had shown me, time and again, that this fear was valid, and justified.
Therefore it was quite natural that I grew up as a loner. Even though I did manage to form friendships, I wanted, even needed, my interactions to be one–to–one, or in small groups. Simply put, fewer people meant less danger. On those rare occasions where I managed to develop a modicum of trust, I latched very much on to those people, and became so emotionally invested, that having more than one or two friends felt overwhelming. If I felt those people had abandoned, betrayed, or hurt me, then it was devastating. And of course, since I was always on high-alert, I was quick to feel hurt, indeed I am sure I self-sabotaged more than one friendship, and so their betrayal became a self-fulling prophecy.
It didn’t take me long to figure out that loneliness was a preferable alternative to seeking new connections, and the pattern for my adulthood was set.
I thought I understood loneliness, but 2020 has been an education in isolation
A quick search will show you that much has been written about the nature of loneliness. A 2010 article in The University of Chicago Magazine discussing the book Loneliness, by psychologist John Cacioppo wrote this;
The need for social connection is so fundamental in humans that without it, we fall apart, down to the cellular level. Over time blood pressure climbs and gene expression falters. Cognition dulls; immune systems deteriorate. Ageing accelerates under the constant, corrosive presence of stress hormones. Loneliness, Cacioppo argued, isn’t some personality defect or sign of weakness; it’s a survival impulse like hunger or thirst, a trigger pushing us toward the nourishment of human companionship. Furthermore, he wrote, “people who get stuck in loneliness have not done anything wrong. None of us is immune to feelings of isolation, any more than we are immune to feelings of hunger or physical pain.”
In Loneliness, John Cacioppo goes on to say that, for the most part, the feeling of loneliness works;
“when you get lonely — or when you’re in pain or when you’re hungry or you’re thirsty — you do something to get out of that aversive state.”
But of course, there are exceptional circumstances where this doesn’t work as it should, and PTSD definitely qualifies. Indeed, I think it’s fair to describe many mental health maladies as the mind getting stuck in an aversive state.
Back in early March as the news worsened, I knew that a national lockdown was on the way. As luck would have it, I had only just moved out of my rented apartment in London, and moved full-time on to my boat in Plymouth. I had begun to feel increasingly uncomfortable even on the short walk to the nearby supermarket, so I had a decision to make, and not long to make it. Where did I want to spend an indeterminate amount of time in lockdown? Since there were no available options to spend lockdown living with other people, isolation was now a certainty. Spending time locked in a marina seemed like a bad idea, as they are essentially car parks for boats, so my only remaining option was to take the boat out of there, and that’s what I did.
For those that don’t understand the sailing liveaboard lifestyle, this would be analogous to deciding to jump in a camper van, and go park-up in the middle of the countryside. It was truly off-the-grid living. You might be comparing this to going camping, but not many tents have lights, power, an espresso machine, wood-burning stove, a fully equipped galley (that’s kitchen for you land-lubbers), and a very comfy and cosy double-bed. If you’re curious about the liveaboard lifestyle, then follow me on Instagram @ ALutarContinuar, or take a look on YouTube at my Watchmen Sailing Channel.
Here I felt safe, comfortable, and perhaps my biggest concern wasn’t the isolation, but rather worrying whether the isolation should, or shouldn’t be getting to me. As strange as it might seem to some of you, my boat feels more like home to me than anywhere else I’ve lived my life.
Over the months I began to understand the loneliness I had thought to be familiar as an old, and trusted companion. I was still connected to people, in fact, I spoke to friends, and colleagues much more than I normally would, and those conversations were frequently more deep, and meaningful. Like I believe many of you have experienced, I also had conversations with people that I don’t think would have happened if the pandemic hadn’t turned all of our lives upside down.
Yet clearly something more was going on, which came up in one of these conversations.
In normal times it would never have crossed my mind to count the number of weeks since my last physical contact with another human being.
Loneliness as a trigger pushing us towards the nourishment of human companionship
I am nearly 50 years old, and I’ve spent the majority of my adult life, either married (or otherwise in a long-term relationship) or in a brief period of being single when, truth be told, I would go more than a little crazy. Yet I have always felt lonely, whether I was actually on my own or not, and to me, the worst form of loneliness is feeling alone in a crowded room. It is the isolation of never belonging, always the odd-one-out, and worse than that, the inescapable feeling that you are not just the spectre at the feast, but your very presence is poison to anyone near.
If, as I now come to understand, loneliness, like hunger, is an evolutionary drive that pushes us into action, to seek nourishment, then clearly I have a problem. When I feel lonely, my reaction has so often been to seek isolation on my terms. Where contact, whether physical, verbal or emotional, only happens if I want, when I want, and how I want.
I am writing this on Christmas Day. I am spending this normally festive time, alone in a remote cottage in Cornwall for reasons that, if you’re interested, you can read about in my Book Of Man article, The Most Difficult Time Of The Year. However, since being here I’ve come to understand that despite feelings of isolation, if someone I knew was to suddenly appear at my door, my reaction would not be a welcoming one. When I have been surprised in this way before, my pulse accelerates, and perhaps the best way to describe how I react would be “wired, jittery, adrenalin-driven”, just as John described above.
Understanding this, I can now see the challenges of loneliness, and social isolation in new ways. Perhaps if we all shared this new understanding, then we could also approach the solutions to one of the greatest challenges to our mental health that has been exposed by this pandemic. And this means not just hearing the words lonely, and isolated, and only thinking about them as they apply to ourselves, but rather considering several different scenarios;
- Common Social Isolation. These are the people who for one reason or another, have found themselves without the social and familial network around them, that they perhaps once enjoyed. Maybe they had to move for a job, or this is a child whose parents had to relocate, or an elderly person who has found themselves alone, because friends or loved ones have passed. These people are seeking that nourishment of human contact, and will likely welcome it if it is offered.
- Isolated when not alone. There can be many reasons why someone doesn’t fit in, doesn’t feel welcome, and can feel intensely lonely, particularly in a crowd. If they are suffering with anxiety or depression, then the well-intentioned offers for them to join in, and have fun with the group, can intensify these feelings to the point of them being overwhelmed. Imagine trying to explain to a crowd of people you’re meant to be having fun with, how lonely you feel at that moment. Because social interaction is such a fundamental part of normal life, they can feel trapped, and like there is no escape from this feeling, and it is in that moment when taking your own life can seem like the only viable option. I know I’ve been there.
- Solitude as survival. When people have been the source of your trauma and pain, then avoiding them is a natural, understandable and justifiable response. PTSD occurs when the primitive brain’s instinctive response of fight or flight, fails to protect you. The brain is then stuck in high-alert, seeing each social interaction as a threat signal, and a potential source of further harm. Forcing that person into social interactions they are not ready for, can act as a trigger for hyper-arousal, flashbacks, and potential further psychological damage. To prevent this, intensive therapy is required to rebuild the person’s ability to trust, and therefore to lower their natural defensive instincts.
- Touch starvation. Regardless of how much verbal, or emotional contact, and social interaction we may have, we have an intense physiological and psychological need for actual human contact, whether it be a touch, a stroke, or a hug. Withdraw this most basic of needs and the impacts aren’t just to our mental well-being, but also to our physical health. To understand some of the science, take a look at this article on The Science Of Touch, by Dacher Keltner. As Michelangelo said, “To touch, can be to give life”.
So far during this year I have experienced all the above modes of loneliness, and whilst it’s good to raise my understanding, this has also brought up new challenges for 2021 as the pandemic enters its second year. I have clearly been far too accepting of my nature as a loner. Sometimes, seeing isolation as a familiar and well-trodden path has had benefits. But I can’t accept this as my new-normal. I understand now that if I don’t take steps to address this, then my tendencies towards seeking out solitude will only continue to deepen.
I may have good reasons for my reaction to feelings of loneliness, but just as throughout my recovery, I have a choice whether this is who I want to be. That I know how to survive isolation can be a strength for my future, yet I refuse to continue to be defined by the residual echoes of my traumatic past. Continuing to avoid social interactions unless it’s on my terms, might keep me safer, but it robs me of the nourishment of positive human companionship.
And that will not do.
