Breaking the silence about being lonely

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 27/11/2024 (630 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

When I offered some observations on loneliness in a column last month, a reader from Winnipeg wrote to tell me what it really feels like.

I am calling her “Celia” to spare her the stigma and vulnerability that might attach themselves if I used her real name in this context.

Celia is an avid traveller who’s had an interesting career and is still valued for her expertise. She volunteers for several arts organizations, is outgoing and independent. She has her own home and still drives.

So, she isn’t socially isolated. And yet for all the interactions she has as she goes about her busy life, none of them has offered the kind of fulfilling connection she’s longing for — not necessarily romance, but the kind of friendship that goes beyond the superficial.

“Every day is just a day of ‘What’s the point for my existence?’” she writes via email.

“How can I know thousands of people in this city, and not one of them gives a thought to me? What’s the meaning of life if you live it alone?”

It’s a daunting question.

Celia has spent most of her life in Winnipeg. While she’s had romantic relationships, she’s never married or had children of her own.

Solitude has often been compared to a state of rich and fulfilled existence; loneliness to poverty of the spirit, and pain. She knows all too well the difference between the two.

Loneliness is something Celia’s written and thought deeply about. At the end of the day, it’s the only thing she knows will be waiting for her.

“I’m very good at socializing and talking to people, yet I am overwhelmed with loneliness,” she said.

She sends me a piece she’s written on the subject. It is eloquent, impassioned and permeated with pain.

“Loneliness is living like an island … No one to reminisce with, ever. Having no one to share sadness with, or joy or special moments. No one to care … No one to ever verify that I have been and actually am in this world.”

Her words made me think of poet Anne Carson’s lines from The Glass Essay: “I feel I am turning into Emily Brontë / my lonely life around me like a moor…”

Celia’s family ties have unravelled, and not all of her past relationships ended amicably. But she still yearns for connection.

I call her and we talk for an hour about her life, how she awoke one day to find herself 80 years old and alone. We talk about loneliness in general, and why it is endemic in many countries, particularly at a time when technology allows us to be more connected than ever.

“The word ‘lonely’ has such a taboo,” she says, “which is ironic in such a plugged-in time. But online life seems all about me-me-me — how wonderful I am. We’ve lost that ability to care and share with other people. Why should anyone have to be lonely?”

She is candid and quick-witted, the kind of person you can imagine keeping a crowd enthralled at a party, yet she despairs at returning alone each day to a home that echoes with her own thoughts.

The World Health Organization has likened the detrimental effect of loneliness on human health to risk factors such as smoking, obesity and physical inactivity.

Celia says she has done everything she can to avoid being lonely and yet still feels a debilitating emptiness. She told me she once tried to explain it to an acquaintance who quickly changed the subject and instead shared an anecdote about something her dog had done.

I ask Celia if she thinks that meeting a lonely person is like confronting grief or physical suffering — the kind of raw pain that can make other people feel uncomfortable.

Why aren’t we more willing to let lonely people into our lives? Is it because their loneliness demands something of us?

Celia figures people are too caught up in their own lives and routines to let someone else into their circle. She wishes someone would go beyond polite greetings to actually ask how she is faring in life.

“Maybe people see me and think, she’s still alive so she must be doing OK. But being alive is not the same as living,” she says.

Celia and I muse about what would happen if people took to street corners and park benches holding signs saying, “I’m lonely.”

Would such unvarnished honesty make people approach or turn away?

Ask yourself.

Pam Frampton is a freelance writer and editor who lives in St. John’s.

Email pamelajframpton@gmail.com X: pam_frampton | Bluesky: @pamframpton.bsky.social