Loneliness binds us together, said Dr John Cacioppo.
Right now, I am not lonely. Two infuriating children keep calling me from writing to build a cubby house. I submit to their demands and we share purpose in blankets, chairs and cardboard. My nervous system regulates to their laughter. I am grounded in this moment, my coffee nearly still hot, an enormous cubby house of which I am very proud, and the words of John Cacioppo on the page.
I will feel lonely again. That’s okay. I was lonely and frightened two nights ago. That’s okay.
Loneliness, said Johann Hari, is feeling you don’t share something meaningful with other people. (I would suggest it can be other lifeforms, not just people.) I have worked hard to create meaningful social networks. I have times of loneliness, but overall, I feel strongly connected to people with whom I share common values.
This pandemic will pass. I do what I can by isolating. Sometimes I struggle with the physical isolation, but I can ride through without clinging to the feeling.
I have resources – brief regular interjections of activities that reduce cortisol and release serotonin – incompetent dancing, star jumps, drawing, playing music. I practise sensorimotor regulation where I alternate patting my left shoulder with my right hand, and my right shoulder with my left hand. I can do it to an external beat. About 60 beats per minute mimics a resting adult human heart rate. I mindfully track my feelings. I notice irritability and anxiety, the uplift of joy like a bird taking flight in the skies beyond my window. My feelings are visitors that I allow to come and go.
Much of my joy comes from connection with others. I am neurotypical and extroverted, and I respect that it is not the same for everyone. But to whatever degree suits our own personhood, we need connection, some sense of shared meaning and purpose.
Coronavirus reveals that to us so clearly.
Loneliness is an important piece of communication from your body that you need to tend to with loving kindness.
While we might be physically isolated, there are many ways to connect socially and emotionally. Loneliness is telling you that you need to connect. You need to care for someone else, you need to care for yourself.
So pick up your phone. Text or call. Go online and video chat. Work through your contacts list. This is no time to worry about being a nuisance or looking silly. Offer connection and someone will accept.
The internet is awash with opportunities for connection. Join a Mutual Aid group. Follow the Kindness Pandemic on Facebook and read until you weep. Make comments that strengthen others. Place a teddy in your window to cheer up children. In the UK, people are drawing rainbows and putting them in windows. Call a hospital café and pay for coffees for hospital staff. Donate to Food Bank. When you shop, get a treat for the cashier. The joyful anticipation will sustain you in a stressful queue. The offering will soothe some of the hurt felt by supermarket staff facing the cruelty that fear can engender.
Accept help from people who offer. They will feel good and you will feel relieved. I felt lonely and frightened on Friday night after I said no to someone who offered to help.
If you don’t have family and friends to call upon for help, ask strangers. One of the most beautiful books I have ever read is The Kindness of Strangers, a reminder of altruism.
My six-year-old just interrupted me, again. “Pretend you’re my neighbour,” he said, holding out a lumpy Christmas hat. “Pretend you’re my neighbour and stuck at home. I got you this shopping.”
A pandemic is providing lessons on what it means to be human: To offer and accept connection.
Article by Ruth Nelson. Ruth Nelson is a clinical psychologist who works on Darug land. She is passionate about human rights and eco-justice.
Photo by Alexander Dummer on Unsplash