Why does loneliness feel so embarrassing?

We got sick and I got emo

Last week I wrote about the virus my son came down with on our trip to New York and the misery that is watching your child suffer. No sooner than I pressed “publish” did my legs start to ache, signaling the not-so-subtle start of my own fever. Thus began another week of canceled plans, copious amounts of Tylenol, and cursing the germs that contaminated us. 

Being sick and taking care of a baby at the same time is an interesting exercise in resilience. Adam and I slept in shifts, and my parents helped tremendously. When it was my turn to rest, I fell into the kind of deep sleep reserved for teenagers and the child-free, void of baby monitors and phantom cries. Despite how crummy I felt, it was kind of nice to only have to think about taking care of myself for a few hours at a time. 

Our sickness coincided with Leo turning six months, and the combination stirred up some anxiety. Half a year felt like a significant marker, and my brain seized the opportunity to assess my progress as a parent. Were we going to enough classes and doing enough activities? Was he supposed to have more baby friends by now? Was he getting enough intellectual stimulation? Did he see me on my phone too much? Was he eating the “right” mix of solid foods? And was I supposed to be fitting into my old clothes again? At the heart of it all, sick in bed and overanalyzing every part of my life, I felt lonely. But admitting it felt shameful. I envisioned an ugly cloud of desperation appearing above my head when I said the word out loud, like I was thirsty for companionship. It also felt like an illogical admission; how could I be lonely when I had a husband, a beautiful son, close relationships with my family, and meaningful friendships? Was I allowed to be lonely without really being alone?

This elusive sense of loneliness is something I’ve experienced at different points in my life. It can be so frustrating to be surrounded by people and still feel like something is missing. Throughout my teens and early twenties, I drank and camouflaged parts of my personality to fit in and help feel like I wasn’t alone. In my book, Drinking Games, I wrote about how getting sober helped me forge the kinds of authentic connections I had been searching for in every drink.

For a while, the sheen of early sobriety transcended everything else. But over the last six years, I have become a new version of myself over and over again (wife, author, mom) and each iteration has different needs and growing pains. This version of me feels lonely sometimes, and I’m still working on finding a new equilibrium.

In recovery, people often talk about the importance of taking action. They say you can't think your way into right action, but you can act your way into right thinking. While I love therapy and journaling, it’s not always enough to articulate my thoughts and feelings; I also have to identify and take the necessary opposite actions in order to make changes and feel relief. In this case, I’m committing to seeking out new connections with other moms, prioritizing quality time with my husband, and doing activities that bring me joy (like hiking and reading). I’ll let you know how it goes.

Do you ever feel lonely in your current season of life? Maybe your friends are all on different timelines, your relationships require more effort than before, or you spend your days with a little human who can’t talk yet. Leave a comment if you can relate, and maybe share a tip or two about what actions help you feel better. ❤️

recuperating from two bouts of the same sickness with plenty of contact naps

Until next time,

Sarah