“The hours we spend with ourselves are the foundation of every true friendship; solitude is not absence, but preparation.” – May Sarton

We are living in a culture of loneliness. In fact, it is now referred to as the epidemic of loneliness experienced by approximately 80% of Americans. The number is staggering. Apparently, this began in the 2010’s and was certainly exacerbated by the isolation created by COVID-19. Even our Surgeon General has warned that loneliness can affect physical, mental and societal health. Gen Z is considered the loneliest of generations due to an increased reliance on social media. I deplore social media in some respects due to its propensity for competition for a better life, the proclivity for dis/misinformation, online bullying, and the breeding of an inability to communicate and connect. But that’s probably another blog. However, the response to loneliness seems to be an immersion in social media which ironically creates a false sense of kinship while avoiding true connection or as an attempt to resolve the feeling of loneliness. Another result of the access to social media either creates or rectifies an inability to be alone with oneself. The ability to be with one’s own company proves challenging, whether it’s in a doctor’s waiting room, public transportation, having a meal (sometimes even when with another person) or being at home. Just pick up your phone.

I consider myself to have the freedom to be alone and range from enjoying it, soliciting it, embracing it, or on some days, tolerating it. How about you? Do you seek it out? Do you actively enjoy it or simply accept it? Does it make you depressed? Do you need to be active most of the time? Do you want to be engaged with others most of the time? Perhaps there is a difference as to when it feels like a choice vs. imposed (ie: no one is available). When the latter occurs, I work towards accepting it and leaning into it.

One-night last week I was pleasantly aware of just how much I was enjoying some alone time in a way I may not have experienced before. What created this, I wondered? I craved it. After an extremely busy, non-stop period of work and personal obligations which rendered me both exhausted and surrounded by people all the time, I decided to take the East River ferry in Manhattan during daylight and return from the seaport at nighttime with city lights abound. The breeze on the ferry was delightful. I took a walk along the river and found myself seated on a wooden lounge chair, next to a couple. Only they didn’t seem like a couple. The woman had on an engagement ring, though the vibe between them was undetectable; it could have been a first date, a deep friendship, a looming marriage – somehow I couldn’t capture it. I was having fun trying to figure it out. They were happy to engage in conversation with me when I lightheartedly asked them about the nature of their relationship. Bold? Perhaps. Intrusive? Maybe. But I tend to have a style that works, she said in defense.  I pride myself on my ability as a therapist to read people well, but something was amiss. Was it me? Was it them? It turned out that they were good friends who were completing their final semester of their MBA. We engaged in conversation and after a short while, the man left to attend a social event. The woman and I talked easily for another two hours. She was half my age, but we had much in common: the same humor, an immediate comfort, and an ease with reflection and sharing personal thoughts with depth.

Was I truly alone that night? I took a one-hour ferry ride each way. I sat by myself for a short while before engaging. But perhaps the “moral” of the story is 1)Being confident about being alone makes the time more enjoyable; 2) Enjoying one’s own company is essential to meeting others (how can others like us if we don’t like ourselves? If we’re anxious or sad, what are we projecting to others? If your internal voice is not kind, start replacing your voice with the kinder voice of others; 3) Being confident unconsciously attracts others. We all know the idea that we get what we put out. If we choose to remain anonymous, we will remain alone (whether at that moment in time, or as a general state); 4) Being alone allows opportunity. If I were with someone I knew, would I have made the effort to engage with someone else; someone new?

What steps can you take to address loneliness?

• Know when you’re ready to “put yourself out there”
• Take a risk: reach out to someone you would like to spend time with but hasn’t called you.
• This takes accepting vulnerability.
• Say yes to invites even if you’re not in the mood.
• Limit social media use.
• Consider what you like about yourself; if you’re stuck, ask friends.
• Find an organization or group with whom you have a shared interest.
• Join a support group.

If you’re really feeling stuck, have difficulty mobilizing towards efforts that may shift your feelings, and potential situation, reach out to a mental health professional. Loneliness makes people feel that they are flawed; and there is a lot of shame attached to it. That’s social media; that’s our society. You are NOT inadequate. You’re not a failure. You’re not unlikeable. And you’re certainly not alone in your loneliness (remember loneliness is experienced by 80% of Americans!). If you feel alone in your feeling of loneliness, consider that others may just be very good at concealing it, maybe even overcompensating by posting on social media. Work on shifting your perception of yourself. Take charge. Be tender to yourself. And know that you deserve to feel better.

Maria’s Response to “On Loneliness”

Amy’s recent blog on loneliness brought up more for me than I expected. Not in a dramatic way — more like a quiet recognition. A familiar tension I’ve been carrying lately without fully naming: the push and pull between craving connection and wanting to be alone.

For weeks now, I’ve felt this growing urge to connect. To be around people. To have conversations that don’t feel rushed or shallow. And I’ve been putting in the effort. I’ve been reaching out, saying yes, showing up. But the more I try, the more drained I feel. It’s confusing — doing the very thing I say I want, and still feeling like I need to retreat afterward. Like I’m overextending just to meet the baseline of connection.

And I think what I’m realizing is… connection takes energy. It’s not effortless, even when it’s good. And when you’ve spent years giving — to friends, to partners, to work, to family — you start to feel that cost more acutely. You become more careful. You start asking yourself: how do I keep showing up for others without disappearing in the process?

Over time, I’ve learned how to protect my peace. Not in a walled-off, “never let anyone in” kind of way — more like an internal recalibration. I know what it feels like to be around people and still feel lonely. I know what it feels like to keep giving until there’s nothing left. And now, I’m a little more selective. I listen for how I feel around people — if I’m energized or exhausted after. That tells me a lot.

Recently, I spent the day at the beach with a friend. It was simple — we swam, ate, talked, did nothing, did everything. And suddenly it was hours later. I didn’t check my phone once. I didn’t feel like I had to. I felt safe, present, unguarded. And it made me realize how rare that feeling has become.

We talked about how certain relationships — friendships, dating, family — have taken a toll. About how some people are takers, knowingly or not. And how we’ve both had to learn, sometimes painfully, to notice when we’re giving too much. At one point, I shared something I’d once heard: that life is like riding a train — people get on and off at different stops, but you’re searching for the ones who stay with you to your destination. It’s not always about who leaves, but about learning not to chase after the ones who weren’t meant to stay.

Amy’s reflections made me think about how we often glorify solitude — and I do think there’s power in being alone, in liking your own company. I’ve worked hard to get to that place. But sometimes I wonder… When does solitude become self-protection? When does it shift from restorative to isolating? And how do we know the difference?

That’s the space I’m in right now. Wanting connection, needing solitude. Trying not to swing too far in either direction. Still learning how to give without overgiving. Still learning that not every quiet spell is loneliness — and not every connection is worth the cost.

So if you’re in that in-between space too — not quite isolated, but not deeply connected either — I hope you know you’re not doing it wrong. It just means you’re being careful with your energy. It means you’ve probably been through enough to know what it feels like to be emptied out, and you’re trying not to let that happen again.