I have had so many conversations with so many women recently about loneliness. I’d venture, even, to say that it’s probably not a phenomenon unique to women, it’s just that I tend to have women around me more often and *gross generalization warning* they are not as afraid to say words like “feeling.”
Anyway it’s that time of year for sure- where the weather is thinking about turning but not quite sure if it’s ready to commit, and the snow melts achingly slow and as it does, it reveals a dirty desert of road salt and garbage and for us, a hundred thousand dog poops that we neglected picking up because it was cold and we are delicate (read: lazy.)
And it’s the political climate too. It’s tough knowing that half of the world kind of hates you at worst and at best at least vehemently disagrees with your base convictions and is ready to argue with you about it to the death in a heated cage match, preferably at a family event.
But it’s also deeper than those things, at least for some of us. There’s an achey loneliness right now, an ironic one too if–like me–you are constantly surrounded by people who you really love but also desperately want to get away from sometimes. And then you get those blissful moments of solitude and instead of exhaling that breath you’ve been holding since you put away the Christmas decorations, you realize you are sad and you miss your people.
Maybe it’s just me. Or maybe you’re with me here, sitting on your couch so much these past weeks that there is a Homer Simpson-esque butt dent starting to form and if we are being honest, it’s a little bigger than you’d like because you stopped exercising as soon as the frost hit the windows. See also: the eating of feelings.
And maybe you, in a revelation that never fails to amaze you, have people who love you in spite of yourself and you kind of want them to come and sit next to you for a little while and pat your hand and kindly not mention your unbrushed hair or the pile of crumbs settled in your butt dent. (The couch! Not my actual butt.)
Anyway, if you’re still here, I want you to know you’re not alone. Not even when you feel like you are. Actually, in our second ironic twist, your loneliness by very essence means you are in some very, very good company, judging by the amazing women who I’ve heard are sitting there with you in that place.
And together we will get through it, and out of it, and the light will come back and the salt will wash away and things will start to grow again and maybe I’ll even vacuum the butt dent (again, the couch.) It’s already happening, I think, slower than I would care for but that’s the way I know it’s for real.
Soldier on, sisters in arms. See you on the other side.