Loneliness
July 31st, 2018
I started this blog a long time ago. When I say I started it, I mean I picked the name and signed up for the website and then promptly wrote absolutely nothing. I called it “Amidst Mountains” because I wanted it to be a place where I could share my journey navigating the many different metaphorical ‘mountains’ I would be sure to encounter throughout my days.
I don’t know if it’s been a lack of time or a lack of interest that has kept me from writing but I think it’s time that I start now.
I’m going through a breakup, and am sort of grasping at straws, trying to find something that might make me feel a little bit normal again.
A little bit like myself.
I miss myself.
I hope she shows up soon.
I like to think that I’m a pretty even blend of introvert and extrovert. I genuinely love being around close friends and family. My heart is never more full than during a Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner, where everyone is together and laughing and smiling and loving. But I also intensely crave isolation. I crave quiet. The battery that keeps me going and smiling and laughing around all of those people needs to be charged quite regularly. And when I’m in need of a charge, I need to do it alone. I pride myself on being someone who doesn’t need to be around others constantly, and who is more than happy to do things on my own. But I think I need to stop doing that.
It turns out, that I’m only okay with being alone when it’s on my terms. If I’ve decided that I need a quiet day to myself and I take one, things are peachy. But if all of a sudden I’m by myself when I really didn’t want to be, more often than not I turn into a confused and lonely ball of tears.
A lot of self-help gurus talk about taking time for yourself, and learning to be happy on your own. As soon as I hear or read those words, my mind transports me. There I am in dreamland, doing all of these things that I think mean I’m happy to be by myself. Hiking on my own and feeling one with nature. Grocery shopping by myself, slowly traipsing up and down the aisles. Getting a coffee alone and quietly reading a book at a café. These glamorous ideas of what being alone means have really messed with my head (yes, I just referred to grocery shopping alone as glamorous. I don’t get out much, okay?).
I think I had forgotten that being alone also means going to bed alone. It means waking up alone. It means making tough decisions on your own. It means having to comfort yourself when every part of you just wants to be wrapped up in someone else’s giant hug. It’s not always fun or blissful or easy. Sometimes it really, REALLY sucks.
But I know I can learn to be okay with going to bed alone. And waking up alone. And making decisions alone. And giving myself a hug (I’m talking about more of an emotional hug here – I’m just not sure that me physically attempting to hug myself would make me feel any better about this whole situation).
My point is, I’ll get there. I’m not there right now. I’m not anywhere close. But I think a big step is realizing that I’m not where I thought I was. Right now, I’m between two mountains, feeling lost and really wishing I had a hiking partner, and it’s going to take me a little while to remember that I know the way out.
I don’t know if it’s been a lack of time or a lack of interest that has kept me from writing but I think it’s time that I start now.
I’m going through a breakup, and am sort of grasping at straws, trying to find something that might make me feel a little bit normal again.
A little bit like myself.
I miss myself.
I hope she shows up soon.
I like to think that I’m a pretty even blend of introvert and extrovert. I genuinely love being around close friends and family. My heart is never more full than during a Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner, where everyone is together and laughing and smiling and loving. But I also intensely crave isolation. I crave quiet. The battery that keeps me going and smiling and laughing around all of those people needs to be charged quite regularly. And when I’m in need of a charge, I need to do it alone. I pride myself on being someone who doesn’t need to be around others constantly, and who is more than happy to do things on my own. But I think I need to stop doing that.
It turns out, that I’m only okay with being alone when it’s on my terms. If I’ve decided that I need a quiet day to myself and I take one, things are peachy. But if all of a sudden I’m by myself when I really didn’t want to be, more often than not I turn into a confused and lonely ball of tears.
A lot of self-help gurus talk about taking time for yourself, and learning to be happy on your own. As soon as I hear or read those words, my mind transports me. There I am in dreamland, doing all of these things that I think mean I’m happy to be by myself. Hiking on my own and feeling one with nature. Grocery shopping by myself, slowly traipsing up and down the aisles. Getting a coffee alone and quietly reading a book at a café. These glamorous ideas of what being alone means have really messed with my head (yes, I just referred to grocery shopping alone as glamorous. I don’t get out much, okay?).
I think I had forgotten that being alone also means going to bed alone. It means waking up alone. It means making tough decisions on your own. It means having to comfort yourself when every part of you just wants to be wrapped up in someone else’s giant hug. It’s not always fun or blissful or easy. Sometimes it really, REALLY sucks.
But I know I can learn to be okay with going to bed alone. And waking up alone. And making decisions alone. And giving myself a hug (I’m talking about more of an emotional hug here – I’m just not sure that me physically attempting to hug myself would make me feel any better about this whole situation).
My point is, I’ll get there. I’m not there right now. I’m not anywhere close. But I think a big step is realizing that I’m not where I thought I was. Right now, I’m between two mountains, feeling lost and really wishing I had a hiking partner, and it’s going to take me a little while to remember that I know the way out.
