Showing posts with label Loneliness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Loneliness. Show all posts

Tuesday, 21 September 2021

How to overcome the loneliness of youth

Loneliness in Youth 

 

 


It’s extremely common to feel lonely when you’re young. Many strategies can help, the key is finding what works for you

by Lily Verity & Pamela Qualter 

 

If you’ve come across visual portrayals of loneliness before, it is likely that you see loneliness as someone (usually a person aged over 65) sitting alone, maybe in the dark, staring wistfully into the distance or longingly out of a window. Such images are misleading, however: researchers have actually found that those who report experiencing loneliness the most are young people, and such images of solitude do not match the experience of loneliness during adolescence and young adulthood. Those years are typically spent surrounded by people: at school, at home or at work. According to the BBC’s Loneliness Experiment, which surveyed 55,000 people from across the world, 40 per cent of those aged 16-24 said that they felt loneliness often or very often.

Loneliness can be defined as a negative emotional reaction to a discrepancy between the relationships we have and those we want. This means that we might feel lonely in the company of others if we do not feel like they understand us or share common interests with us. Although loneliness is often a difficult experience – characterised by emotions such as sadness, frustration, anger and hopelessness – it can help motivate us to reconnect and to re-evaluate our relationships so that we can build on (or seek out) the ones that mean the most to us. When we are lonely, we might pay more attention to how our interactions with others make us feel in order to establish what we need to change. It is thought that this mechanism is linked to an evolved need for us to be part of a group, to protect us from being alone and vulnerable.

Imagine the following scenario – and perhaps you can relate. You have a close group of friends throughout high school, and some of those friends follow you to college. At first, you’re happy to have these high-school friends by your side. But as you all get more settled, your high-school friends start to form new friendships with people whom you don’t share interests with. You are left wondering where you fit in, and you find yourself missing the closeness that you had with your friends in high school: you start experiencing loneliness. You might respond to these feelings by making an effort to fit in with the new friend groups, trying to find common ground. Or, you might come to the conclusion that those old friendships no longer fit with who you are, so you seek new ones.

For most people, loneliness does not last long; it is temporary and will dissipate once they reconnect. But for some people, loneliness can become chronic and have a detrimental impact on their wellbeing. One reason why people get stuck in a state of chronic loneliness is the stigma associated with it. Those who experience loneliness are often characterised in negative ways: as reclusive, negative thinkers, or socially awkward, which means that people do not want to be associated with loneliness. Someone who is surrounded by others might not believe that they should qualify as lonely because it is typically portrayed as being about social isolation – a lack of contact with other people. They might see their feelings of loneliness as wrong, leading to self-judgments that prevent them from seeking support. However, research shows that loneliness is a normal experience that most people will encounter at some point in their life.

While loneliness can happen at any point during our lives, there are certain characteristics of adolescence and young adulthood that tend to give rise to loneliness. These are a few of the common experiences that young people mention as reasons for feeling lonely:

Desire for friends

Adolescence and young adulthood are times when our friendships are increasingly important in providing us with emotional support. Research indicates that young people have higher expectations of their friendships than adults do; they show a preference for larger friend groups, more intimacy and companionship, and higher frequency of contact with friends. When we consider that loneliness serves the function of keeping us safe within our social world, it makes sense that feeling like we do not ‘fit in’, as so many young people feel, gives rise to loneliness.

Identity changes

Part of adolescence and young adulthood that impacts our relationships is our developing sense of self – discovering who we are. That often involves changes to values, beliefs and aesthetic, and trying out new things. It can be challenging when your friends are going through the same process, but might not want to follow the same path as you. Perhaps you learn that your values are not compatible, or perhaps you do not feel accepted by your old friends. In some cases, you might get picked on for not fitting in. That can be an issue particularly for members of groups who experience stigma based on race or ethnicity, sexual orientation, gender or disability, or who have existing difficulties with mental health. It is important to remember that many people don’t feel as though they have found their ‘crowd’ during their teen or early adult years, but time and experience bring new opportunities to develop such relationships.

Transitions

Life events such as moving to a new school or university can be challenging. Being in an unfamiliar environment requires energy to adjust. It often involves separation from supportive friends and family. Difficulties forming new relationships can mean that, for example, students away at university for the first time perceive a lack of social support.

Difficulties at home

Young people often report feeling loneliest at school, whereas home is a comforting space. But when there are difficulties at home – such as arguments or tension with family members, the departure of supportive family members, or family mental health or substance misuse issues – these can exacerbate feelings of loneliness. Those experiencing loneliness sometimes report feeling dismissed by their parents when they try to talk about their loneliness.

Thinking patterns

Loneliness is underpinned by a hypervigilance to social threats, meaning that those experiencing loneliness tend to look out for aspects of their social world that could lead to them being rejected by others. Some young people who experience loneliness might begin to interpret their interactions with others more negatively. Often people experiencing loneliness will blame themselves for how they feel and their seeming lack of success in finding the connections they desire. That can lead to a lack of motivation to try to connect with others, because they believe it will be unsuccessful. Those experiencing loneliness are more likely than others to consider any lack in social ability as an unchangeable trait rather than a changeable behaviour. Because of that, this Guide refers to ‘those experiencing loneliness’, reiterating that it is an experience that can be overcome; we do not talk about a ‘lonely person’, which wrongly implies an unchangeable characteristic.

We have extensive experience exploring what loneliness is like for young people and, in this Guide, we’ll share what we have learned about how to get through it. Lily’s research focuses on listening to what young people have to say about loneliness to find out how they experience it and how they can cope with it. Pamela is a longtime expert in the field, having investigated youth loneliness for the past 25 years. Although loneliness is challenging, it can be overcome, and can ultimately help us to connect with the people in whose presence we feel best.

What to do

Because loneliness is a complex experience, it cannot necessarily be attributed to just one cause, and therefore might not be alleviated by just one solution. What works for one person might not work best for another. If you find yourself feeling lonely and it seems like nothing is helping, do not give up hope – it is likely that you have not yet found the strategy that works for you. Here are some practical steps you can try, starting with what you can do on your own and moving on to ways to connect with others:

Re-evaluate negative thoughts

Negative self-talk can keep us stuck in a loop of loneliness: it deters us from reaching out to others and keeps us feeling low. It can be helpful to first recognise that having a thought does not make it true. You might think, for example, that your friend is not interested in talking to you, but that does not make it true – perhaps, instead, your friend is distracted by a problem they’re having. If we assume it’s true that our friends are not interested in talking to us, it can contribute to creating distance between us and our friends, encouraging us to withdraw and reinforcing the idea that we are disconnected from them.

Taking inspiration from cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT), we can reappraise the situation. For example, imagine that you’re talking in a group with your friends and you say something but no one responds. If you then have the thought Nobody is interested in what I have to say so I should just stay quiet, then your regular response might be to accept the thought as truth and stay quiet. Instead, you can challenge the thought by questioning what value it has: Has believing ‘no one is interested’ helped you? Does believing that you should stay quiet make you feel more or less acknowledged by your friends? Are there other explanations for why no one responded? This can encourage you to consider alternative perspectives rather than accepting negative thoughts as absolute truths.

Embrace the benefits of alone time

Plenty of enjoyable activities that can be done when we’re alone – such as going for a walk, reading, listening to music or picking up a hobby – can provide self-fulfilment while distracting us from our emotions. By taking your mind off of how you feel when you’re alone, you are better able to let the emotions pass, as opposed to dwelling on negative thoughts and prolonging or intensifying those feelings.

Alone time has other benefits, too. Particularly when you spend a lot of time around others at school or work, it can give you the space to recharge and to reflect on events that have happened in your life. Young people report using alone time as an opportunity to relax, or to calm down when they are feeling frustrated.

Express your feelings through creative means

If you are not currently comfortable talking to someone about your feelings related to loneliness, it might help to write about how you feel. That could be in a daily diary, or as a ‘brain dump’ where you write down your thoughts as they happen. Writing down your thoughts can help you to identify what it is that you feel negatively about. You might be able to identify the pattern that your upsetting thoughts tend to follow. For example, among the random thoughts that you don’t pay much attention to, you could have an upsetting thought about an awkward interaction at school: Remember when I tried to talk to Tom in class? That was awkward. And you might notice that your response is to think additional negative thoughts about yourself: He was so blunt, he clearly didn’t want to speak to me, but I just kept talking… I bet I seem so annoying… Why do I act like that?… No one wants to speak to me… Writing down and recognising the thoughts that spark further negative thinking gives you a starting point for practising the thought re-evaluation strategies described above.

Alternatively, creating a piece of art that depicts how you feel, such as a drawing, a poem or a song, might help you to make sense of your feelings. When you don’t feel comfortable opening up, or you feel that you do not have the words to explain how you feel to someone, it could be useful to start by writing or drawing how you feel. If you then get to a point where you do feel comfortable opening up, you can use what you create as a starting point for the conversation.

Reach out and talk to someone you trust about loneliness

If you are experiencing loneliness, you might find it daunting to talk to someone about it. Perhaps you fear that the person you confide in will be burdened by what you tell them. But by reaching out, you could find that the person you talk to has experienced something similar. Receiving empathetic and accepting responses from others about our problems can help to relieve self-doubt, and in turn enhance our relationship with the person we confide in. Consider who you would feel most comfortable opening up to, whether that is someone you live with, such as a parent, sibling or other family member, or someone outside of your home, such as a friend at school or in your neighbourhood.

It might help to start by outlining why you are opening up, and what you wish to get from the conversation – such as whether you want their advice, or just a listening ear. That way you reduce the likelihood of the person responding in a way that you find unhelpful. Another way to begin is by talking about loneliness more generally, asking the person if they have any experience of feeling lonely or know anything about loneliness. And starting out with a face-to-face conversation is not the only option – you might be more comfortable opening up by talking over text or writing them a letter.

If you feel like talking to someone you already know wouldn’t be ideal for you, it could help to talk to a counsellor or psychologist instead. Sometimes, talking to a person who is not directly involved in your life and has no links to the people in it can feel more secure. Additionally, a professional can ensure that, in opening up, you remain focused on finding solutions as opposed to simply ruminating about negative events. Speaking to your doctor about finding a suitable psychologist is a good way to get started. For students, school or university counsellors are another potential resource. If you do not have face-to-face access to a professional, you could find an online counselling service such as Childline in the United Kingdom, Crisis Text Line in the United States, or Lifeline in Australia.

Arrange plans

Reaching out does not always have to mean opening up. Perhaps you have been waiting for an invite to hang out with people at your school. Instead, it might help to be the one who reaches out first; you could keep it simple by arranging to go for a coffee or a walk in the park. Of course, you might be thinking: But what if they say no? That is a risk, but by avoiding potential rejection you also avoid potential connection.

Another way to take the initiative socially is to join a group that’s focused on a hobby or activity of yours, such as reading and discussing books or playing football. Finding a club centred on what you enjoy ensures that you have at least one common interest with others who attend; it means you have something to talk about, and has the potential to lead to friendships with like-minded people.

Being more involved in your community can help create a sense of belonging. Volunteering can be a great way to get involved and to develop friendships organically by working with others towards a shared goal. Volunteering opportunities can often be found by searching ‘volunteering in [the place you live]’. If your town has a Facebook group, opportunities are likely to be advertised there.

Form online friendships

It’s important to recognise that not everyone has people they connect with at their school, and that is okay. You might find that the people who like the same things that you do and think in similar ways are not at your school. Online groups can help you identify people who share your interests. There are Facebook groups covering everything from animal rights to your favourite band. Search for those based in your area (eg, ‘K-pop fans London’) if you want the possibility of meeting people face to face. (Just make sure that you do not give out any personal information, and meet in a public space and in a group rather than one-to-one if you do decide to meet in person.) Social media is often talked about as a negative influence on young people but, when used to interact directly with friends, it can be helpful for building relationships and might reduce feelings of loneliness. Online forums can also be places to anonymously share your thoughts and feelings with people who have gone through similar experiences.

Key points

  • Loneliness stems from a difference between the relationships we have and those we want to have. It’s possible to feel lonely even if you are surrounded by other people.
  • Developing identities, life transitions and discouraging patterns of thoughts are among the factors that can make adolescence and young adulthood peak times for loneliness.
  • Re-evaluating negative thoughts about yourself and your interactions with others – which includes questioning the accuracy and value of such thoughts – is useful in overcoming loneliness. It allows you to see how things could be different and can motivate you to try reconnecting with others.
  • A positive attitude toward alone time can allow you to use that time purposefully, such as by reflecting on daily events or engaging in a hobby that you enjoy.
  • Expressing feelings through creative means, such as writing or drawing, can help you to make sense of what you are feeling and can be used as a prompt to aid you in explaining how you feel to someone you trust.
  • Opening up to others about feeling lonely can be challenging, but it can help relieve you of held-in emotions and make you feel closer to those you confide in.
  • While it’s understandable to want to be invited to socialise, it is worthwhile to try being the one who initiates plans. Even though there’s a chance that someone will decline, it creates the possibility of connection.
  • Making new friends can be easier if you start with a common interest – that’s why joining a social group, even one online, can be a good starting point.

Learn more

What to do if you know someone who’s experiencing loneliness

Whether or not you experience loneliness yourself, it is likely that someone you know will at some point. While it might be hurtful to hear that someone you care about is feeling lonely, it is important to acknowledge that there are many different reasons why someone might feel that way; it does not mean that they consider their relationship with you to be deficient.

Because loneliness is complicated, it can be difficult to know how to help someone overcome it, particularly if you have not personally experienced it. This section of the Guide will focus on meeting that challenge.

What to look out for

The stigma attached to loneliness means that young people are often reluctant to seek help for it. Knowing the signs and triggers of loneliness can help you to look out for friends and family members who are feeling lonely but are afraid to say so.

  • Negative self-talk. Someone who is feeling lonely might talk about themselves in a critical manner, particularly in terms of their social skills.
  • Friendship difficulties. They might talk about having frequent arguments with friends or not feeling accepted or understood by friends. In particular, someone who begins to withdraw from their friends and family, cancel plans and spend more time on their own might be feeling lonely.
  • Anxious disposition. In interviews, young people experiencing loneliness often seemed shy and uncomfortable. Interviewers were quite complimentary of them, though, describing them most commonly as ‘bright’, ‘friendly’ and ‘nice’.
  • A disruptive life event. Bereavements, moving schools or to a new place, and relationship breakups can be significant life events that disrupt our relationships and might give rise to loneliness. If someone you know has experienced a change in their life, check in with them about how they’re feeling about it.

Provide emotional support and comfort

It is important for those experiencing loneliness to know that there are people around them who care and are willing to support them if they need it. If you are a friend, you can help by trying to be open and approachable if someone wishes to confide in you, and by ensuring that what they tell you is not shared with your other friends. Try to listen, and offer advice only if it is asked for; focus on letting your friend be heard.

If you are a parent or other caregiver, it is particularly important that you are careful not to dismiss a young person who comes to you about feeling lonely. While it might be true that what they are going through is a common experience in youth, it is important for them to know that their feelings are valid because, for them, it could be a painful experience regardless of whether it is temporary. If you do not feel like you have the tools to help them with how they are feeling, it might be beneficial to help them find support from a professional.

Organise social activities

If you know or suspect that someone is feeling lonely, it might help to organise a social activity that includes them. If someone feels singled out, it might contribute to stigmatising loneliness, so it is best to focus on activities that will help everyone to feel included. For example, at a homework club, the focus of the event is not on the person experiencing loneliness, and socialising can happen naturally. If you are a friend of someone experiencing loneliness, it can help to ensure that they are included in the social plans you make, even if you assume that they won’t want to attend – inviting them along will help them to know they aren’t being overlooked. For those experiencing loneliness, a little can go a long way; small gestures such as a text to let them know that you’re thinking about them don’t take much effort, but show that you value them.

Links & books

The results of the BBC’s Loneliness Experiment, a survey of 55,000 people over the age of 16 years, give us insight into who feels lonely, why, and how to help.

Tell Me About Loneliness reports the findings of in-depth interviews that asked young people (8-12 years) in Belgium and Italy about what they think loneliness is, and what strategies young people and those around them can use to help alleviate loneliness.

The loneliness researcher Gerine Lodder’s TEDx Talk covers some of the misconceptions about loneliness, such as the idea that phones and social media are the primary causes of loneliness in young people.

Claudia Hammond of the BBC Loneliness Experiment spoke to three people about their personal experiences of loneliness.

The book Loneliness: Human Nature and the Need for Social Connection (2008), by the social neuroscientist John T Cacioppo and the writer William Patrick, explores the evolutionary roots of loneliness and what science reveals about its consequences for mental and physical health.

Experts in the UK (including us) produced a one-page guide on how to help young people overcome loneliness, which examines research on youth loneliness during COVID-19 lockdowns.

Friday, 6 August 2021

The Surprising Benefits of Talking to Strangers

Talking to Strangers 

 

So many of us have been raised to see strangers as dangerous and scary. What would happen if we instead saw them as potential sources of comfort and belonging?

By Joe Keohane
 

Nic spent most of her childhood avoiding people. She was raised by a volatile father and a mother who transferred much of the trauma she’d experienced onto her daughter. The combination left Nic fearful and isolated. “My primitive brain was programmed to be afraid of everybody, because everybody’s evil and they’re gonna hurt you,” she told me. (Nic asked to be referred to by only her first name to protect her privacy.)

Nic’s fear isn’t uncommon in a country where valid lessons about “stranger danger” can cast all people you don’t know as threats to be feared, but she recognized it was unhealthy, so she took steps to engage with the world. As she grew older, she began to travel to seek new people out. At 17, Nic visited Europe for 10 days with her high-school classmates and noticed that people began starting conversations with her. “If people in Europe randomly talked to me, then maybe I’m not so bad,” she figured. “Maybe I’m not gonna die if I randomly talk to them.” So she took more trips and connected with more people. She was anxious about these encounters, wired for fear and expecting the worst, but they always went well. She found that, contrary to what she’d been raised to believe, these strangers weren’t dangerous or scary. They were actually sources of comfort and belonging. They expanded her world.

Today, Nic has a name for these types of conversations: “Greyhound Therapy.” As she uses it, the term literally refers to talking with your seatmate on a long-haul bus but can apply to talking with strangers anywhere—at a restaurant, at a bus stop, in a grocery store. This form of connection changed her life. When times got hard, she found herself turning to strangers for comfort and “to stave off the loneliness,” she told me.

“And it worked?” I asked.

“Oh God, yes,” she said. “I would go home with some amazing stories—granted, nobody to share them with—but I still had the stories. They were mine.”

Nic’s experience is telling. A hefty body of research has found that an overwhelmingly strong predictor of happiness and well-being is the quality of a person’s social relationships. But most of those studies have looked at only close ties: family, friends, co-workers. In the past decade and a half, professors have begun to wonder if interacting with strangers could be good for us too: not as a replacement for close relationships, but as a complement to them. The results of that research have been striking. Again and again, studies have shown that talking with strangers can make us happier, more connected to our communities, mentally sharper, healthier, less lonely, and more trustful and optimistic. Yet, like Nic, many of us are wary of those interactions, especially after the coronavirus pandemic limited our social lives so severely.

These days, Nic is a successful nurse with an uncanny gift for connecting with her patients, and is happily married to a kind and sociable man. She still loves to travel, and on her trips, she’ll size up her seatmate, or someone sitting alone at a table or the bar. If they have headphones on or appear uninterested, she’ll leave them alone. But if they seem receptive, she’ll say, “Hi, I’m Nic,” and see where it goes. She’s not reckless or naive, and she knows how to read people and detect trouble. But the conversations tend to go well, reassuring her that there is goodness in the world, and the possibility of belonging. She tells me that these experiences have taught her something invaluable: “Never underestimate the power of even the most minute positive connection.”


Left: Matthew and Jeromy 2011, OH. Right: Rayqa & Annalee 2012, CA
Left: Matthew and Jeromy 2011, Ohio. Right: Rayqa & Annalee 2012, California. (Renaldi)

In psychology, the sorts of exchanges Nic is talking about are known as “minimal social interactions.” The psychologist Gillian Sandstrom had a similar epiphany about them about a decade ago.

She was raised in Canada by extroverts who loved talking with strangers. One day, Sandstrom, who had always considered herself an introvert, realized that she always looked down when she walked along the street. “I thought, Well, that’s dumb,” she says. So she started holding eye contact with people and found that it actually felt pretty good. Before long, she was talking with strangers too. She was surprised at how easy and fun it was. Once, on the subway, she saw a woman holding a box of elaborately decorated cupcakes and asked about them. “I don’t know how the conversation got there, but she taught me that humans can ride ostriches,” Sandstrom says. “I was sold. That was just a delightful conversation. I wanted to do it again.” Later, during a stressful period in grad school, Sandstrom took solace in an even smaller routine interaction: waving and smiling at a woman running a hot-dog cart, whom she passed every day. “I realized that when I saw her, and when she acknowledged me, it made me feel good. I felt like, Yeah, I belong here.”

Sandstrom decided to study this phenomenon. She and her Ph.D. supervisor at the University of British Columbia asked a group of adults to chat with the barista when they got their morning coffee. They had the idea that by not engaging with counter workers—by essentially treating them as insensate service modules and not, say, actual humans—we may be denying ourselves a potential “hidden source of belonging and happiness.” As it turns out, they were right. The participants who talked with their barista reported feeling a stronger sense of community and an improved mood, as well as greater satisfaction with their overall coffee-buying experience.

Other researchers have come to similar conclusions. In a different experiment devised by the University of Chicago psychologist Nicholas Epley and his then-student Juliana Schroeder, a group of people instructed to speak with strangers on mass transit reported a significantly more positive, enjoyable commute than a group of those who didn’t. On average, conversations lasted a whopping 14.2 minutes, and the talkers overwhelmingly liked the strangers they’d spoken with. People of all personality types had a good time.

By now, skeptics among us are thinking the same thing I was when I first read these studies: Sure, talking with strangers might be enjoyable if you’re the one who started the conversation. But is the other person enjoying it? After all, every one of us has at one time or another been trapped in an enclosed space by a talker who proved agonizingly impervious to social cues that you’re not in the mood. So to test whether both parties were enjoying these interactions, Epley and Schroeder created another experiment. Between tasks unrelated to the research at hand, participants took breaks in a waiting room. Some of these subjects were told to talk with the other person in the room and others were told not to talk; the people they were with were given no instructions. The ones who talked—both the people who started the conversation and the people they talked with—reported having a significantly better experience than those who did not.

If talking with strangers is so pleasant—and so good for us—why don’t people do it more often? That’s a big question, informed by issues of race, class and gender, culture, population density, and decades of (sometimes valid) “stranger danger” messaging. But the core answer seems to be twofold: We don’t expect strangers to like us, and we don’t expect to like them either.



Sunday, 16 May 2021

Some people feel so utterly alone it’s as if they don’t exist

Loneliness 

Let's hope this article sheds some light on the loneliness some people feel and how to change that feeling.

 

Some people feel so utterly alone it’s as if they don’t exist | Psyche


Photo by David Clarke/Unsplash

To be so intensely alone that you can hardly find the words to describe how you feel. To doubt your every word and action, even your sense of who you are. To have never experienced feeling truly known by another person. To fear others, yet long to connect with them. To yearn for the courage to take up space and speak out; to trust yourself and others enough to make your presence felt. This is what people diagnosed with ‘avoidant personality disorder’ – one of the more common personality disorders recognised by modern psychiatry – have told us it feels like to be them. One interviewee said:

I feel like me as a person is not present. I feel like I do not know myself … I do not feel like I know who I am. That is kind of what I would like to know.

Many quiet people are there, but prefer to stay in the shadows. The girl in class who never raises her hand; the colleague who keeps to himself; the student who seems to never find his place in a group of friends. Shy but polite, perhaps seeming awkward or uncomfortable in social settings. Some of these people are perhaps doing fine and are naturally introverts; however, a minority suffer with anxieties and depressive moods. They might seek help through therapists and in various clinical services. An even smaller number will be diagnosed with avoidant personality disorder. As well as craving connection with others, they feel inadequate and fear being ridiculed and rejected. They’re sensitive to negative evaluation and criticism, feel incompetent, personally unappealing and inferior to others, as well as reluctant to risk engaging in new activities.

For someone to be diagnosed with this condition, these patterns of thinking and feeling towards themselves and others, and the social inhibition and withdrawal that follow, should be relatively stable across time and situations. These patterns must also be considered different from what the average person experiences in the relevant cultural context, and give rise to psychological suffering, including preventing the person from living his or her life the way he or she wishes.

The diagnosis of avoidant personality disorder was first introduced into the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM), psychiatry’s principal diagnostic text, in 1980. Recently, there’s been debate over whether it’s simply a more severe form of social phobia. However, it seems that avoidant personality disorder concerns more specifically problems with a personal sense of self, and of intimacy and openness in relationships, rather than with mere social avoidance.

The stories featured first a child, then a youth, and eventually a young adult who became increasingly alone, unhappy and bereft of comfort

Despite the many descriptions of avoidant personality disorder that exist, and the various psychological theories of why and how people come to struggle with these issues, we realised a short time ago that we didn’t really understand what it was like for people to live with avoidant personality disorder. One reason is that, when people with avoidant personality disorder go into therapy, the very challenges for which they seek help become hindrances for the therapy itself. They struggle to articulate their experiences, and likewise fear hurtful reactions if they make themselves known. As a result, the therapist typically remains unaware of what’s taken place between herself and her client, believing that the client was satisfied with the therapy or, on the contrary, has given up on change. The therapists themselves might become impatient or dissatisfied with therapeutic techniques that became stuck while their clients’ suffering continued.

As therapists ourselves, we’re writing partly from experience. It’s why – together with co-researchers with first-hand experience with avoidant personality disorder – we embarked recently on a research project to better understand clients with avoidant personality disorder from their perspective. What are their lives like, we wondered, and what is their avoidance really about?

We interviewed nine women and six men diagnosed with avoidant personality disorder about their personal histories and their everyday lives. Their ages ranged from 20 to 51 years, and they’d had various experiences with treatment. Some had completed education and been employed. However, none were working at the time of the interviews; all received some form of social welfare.

The stories we heard all gave a sense of becoming forlorn and of permeating aloneness. The interviewees recalled how their troubles developed when they were little. The stories had in common that they featured first a child, then a youth, and eventually a young adult who became increasingly alone, lost, unhappy and bereft of comfort. One of our participants recalled:

There was no one there to take care of me, to talk to, to ask about things, or to help me become confident in anything.

Although some participants believed that their personality traits or genetics could have contributed to their troubles, they all spoke about how they were shaped by various life events, such as growing up with parents who had their own troubles, or being bullied and rejected by peers. Another interviewee told us:

They had their fun bullying me. In addition, the girls … you know, there was room for everyone, and then there was no room for me. I was not invited.

They yearned to belong to the fellowship of others, yet they feared others’ opinions, motives and agendas

Whatever the causes, our participants described a sense of having to succumb to their fates, of having to keep quiet and persevere with life. Resonating through their stories was a sense of being emotionally and/or relationally distant from their family of origin and from peers. Even when there were stories of good familial relations, the interviewees hadn’t considered sharing their troubles while growing up. It was only with hindsight that they realised there seemed to have been a family norm of not discussing personal concerns:

My father died when I was 10. We never talked about it. I remember the pastor asking me how I was, and I just told him that I was OK. That was it.

Key transitions in life made everything worse, the interviewees said, increasing their forlornness:

The worst thing I ever experienced was finishing secondary school and starting high school. It started becoming a bit safe at secondary school. I knew who most people were and where to go. There were some safe places. Then, I was supposed to go somewhere new with completely new people. I could not handle it. I just cried and cried. It was so scary. I lost all control.

As new contexts demanded more of them, the interviewees said they became ever more lost as to how to be, act, or manage in social and intimate settings, as well as in situations of performance such as school or work:

When I finished school, I found it very hard to write a job application. I thought, I have my degree, but nobody will hire me, and I cannot make it through an interview. I did get an internship and I did my job well, but the social part did not go well. I got an offer to work there, and the job was good. But I said no to it because I felt like I made a fool out of myself.

A few participants did describe some good relations with others, such as a best friend, a grandmother or a sibling. Some also found that a change of setting, such as a new school, provided a new beginning. However, their troubles always re-emerged with additional changes or when having to face the experience of disconnection in other family, peer or romantic relationships.

It is in the interviewees’ descriptions of their day-to-day adult lives that a striking common theme emerged, of the struggle to be a person – to be a functional, relational person within a lifeworld of isolation. Their lives became coloured by a conflicting stance of both fearing and longing for connection, as well as for solitude. They yearned to belong to the fellowship of others, yet they feared others’ opinions, motives and agendas. The closer they got to others, the more vulnerable they felt:

There comes heaviness, like ‘now you are alone again little man, and you will never manage this; you will die alone’.

One way the participants said that they tried to find acceptance was through trying to fit in, and they did that by feigning being as normal, secure and competent as they perceived others to be:

I notice that you spend incredible amounts of energy. You just spend your entire consciousness in just not … trying not to make a fool out of yourself and appear normal.

Some described a sense of connection with small children and animals, whom they considered genuine and true in their displays of love and dependency

When this strategy of feigning being normal was impossible or failed, the interviewees said that they made themselves invisible or retreated to their homes for rejuvenation. There they would spend much time both scrutinising and shunning their experiences. Doing this created yet more distance from their sense of self, as if they had lost contact with their own will and their wishes.

Thankfully there were some glimmers of hope in our interviewees’ stories of their lives. Some of them spoke of finding comfort in arts, crafts, music and physical activity, of positive absorption and a sense of development, free of worry and rumination. Some described a sense of connection with small children and animals, whom they considered genuine and true in their displays of love and dependency. Lastly, for many participants, outdoor life provided an experience of freedom, competence and presence.

How can these stories help us to understand what it’s like to have a diagnosis of avoidant personality disorder, to struggle for a lifetime to be a person? Most of all, we believe that our findings underline how the way we humans come to be ourselves is always relational, and it’s a process that requires social and interpersonal skills that many of us take for granted. We grow and develop our sense of self in interplay with others; through acting, reacting, talking, telling, and listening. For those who struggle to participate in these exchanges, the self that doesn’t become shared can become unknown, unnamed and hidden, frightful and considered as something that can’t be accepted or trusted. For our interviewees, aloneness was more than loneliness. They longed for something never experienced: the felt sense of being yourself through another person.

Conducting these interviews has changed our understanding of what it’s like to live with avoidant personality disorder. It’s given us new words and a voice to describe their experiences. We hope that this will help us be better therapists. When, in therapy, we ask a client diagnosed with avoidant personality disorder what they need help with, why they struggle and what they fear, they will often answer ‘I don’t know,’ and they usually really mean it. The most important thing, therefore, is to work with them, to start discovering answers to these questions together. It’s our hope that the findings from this research will provide a starting point for other people struggling with a life of avoidance, helping them to recognise their own experiences and to tell their own stories.


Saturday, 13 February 2021

4 Steps to Walk Away From Loneliness

4 Steps to Walk Away From Loneliness: 

 I have shared articles about loneliness here before.  It is a topic that is most relevant in these trying times.

Loneliness can impact our mental and physical health—so how can we loosen its grip?

 

 


 Photo by Oladimeji Odunsi on Unsplash

 

There are plenty of times where we may be alone—working remotely, commuting solo, or even living by ourselves. Just because we’re by ourselves doesn’t mean we feel lonely. Sometimes we thrive in this “alone time,” allowing us to do activities we enjoy on our own.

But many of us don’t like to admit we all feel lonely from time to time.

According to a 2018 survey by Cigna, nearly half of Americans reported sometimes or always feeling alone, and one in five people reported never feeling close to people.

The American Psychological Association (APA) defines loneliness as “…discomfort or uneasiness from being or perceiving oneself to be alone….” The APA cites various reasons for loneliness, such as a lack of companionship or a lack of desired closeness in relationships.

Certain situations, such as moving to a new city, or a major life change, such as divorce, can contribute to feelings of loneliness. Any events that may negatively impact your social circles may make you feel lonely.

Mental health conditions can also play a factor. Someone with social anxiety may struggle to interact with others, even though they may crave human connection.

“Humans need social connections,” explained Lisa W. Coyne, PhD, psychologist and senior clinical consultant at the Child and Adolescent OCD Institute (OCDI Jr.) at McLean Hospital. “When we don’t have them, it’s harder for us to handle things on our own. There are some issues and problems in this world that are best dealt with as a community.”

We can even feel alone when we’re surrounded by other people. For example, you may feel alone if traveling to a country where the language is unfamiliar to you. Often, teens who feel misunderstood by their parents and siblings may feel lonely at home.

“Some of us are introverts,” Coyne said, “but at the same time, we have a herd mentality. We need connections to survive.”


Confronting Loneliness

Regardless of the reason, loneliness is painful. Even worse, it can lead to mental health issues, such as depression and Alzheimer’s disease, and physical conditions, including heart disease and cancer.

We can take steps, however, to cope with loneliness and even change our state of mind.

Step 1: Practice Gratitude

Studies have shown that acts of gratitude can help us feel more positive and have stronger relationships.

Think of the people in your life you appreciate. They may include someone from the past who had a major impact on your life, such as a mentor in your youth. Or they could be someone you see more frequently, such as the friend who recently helped you move.

Consider sending this person a handwritten card or letter, reaching out by email, or calling to express your appreciation. Not only will you likely brighten someone’s day with your action, but you will make yourself happier by fostering the connection and being kind.

Even silently recognizing a good person or situation in your life can develop a sense of gratitude.

Keeping a gratitude journal, in which you write about what you feel grateful for, can improve your mental health. Gratitude journaling helps us realize what we have in our lives as opposed to what we lack.

For a more targeted approach to gratitude journaling, follow the Three Good Things exercise in which you write about three good things (large or small) that happened throughout your day. Try the practice daily for a set period of time, such as one week, and note if your sense of loneliness has shifted.


Love and Isolation in the Time of COVID

Drs. Jacqueline Olds and Richard Schwartz help us understand how the COVID-19 pandemic is causing an increase in feelings of loneliness, while simultaneously creating difficulties in couples’ relationships from too much closeness.

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Step 2: Participate in Meaningful Activities

By pursuing your passions, your mind and spirit are engaged, decreasing feelings of loneliness. By joining a recreational sports team, library book club, volunteer effort, or other activities you enjoy, you are also more likely to meet others who have shared interests.

If you find that you don’t see your friends as often as you’d like, consider setting up a recurring virtual gathering. Having a date and time planned in your calendar (for example, 2pm every other Tuesday) will encourage everyone to meet automatically and make it easy to maintain your connections with each other.

Step 3: Remember That You Are Unique

Feeling “less than” can contribute to feelings of loneliness.

Try to avoid comparing yourself to others. It is only human to look at someone else and feel sad when their surface-level feelings or apparent situation seem happier than our own.

“We have pretty critical minds,” said Coyne. “Our mind has evolved to be our threat detector. And our brain is going to be keeping an eye on things like: Are you doing all the things to connect? Are you keeping up with the Joneses?”

With these questions, she explained, some information can be useful—and some is not. “The only way to really tell is to defuse—step back and notice—that my mind is having a field day with my social interactions,” Coyne said. “And that gives me the liberty to ask: Is this helping me? Or can I organize my thoughts and mental energy in another way?”

Sometimes, if we get hooked on negative social evaluations, we can get stuck in organizing our behavior around avoidance. “As a result, you might not behave in a way that benefits you the most and instead you’re feeding negative personal judgment,” Coyne explained.

Woman on couch in quiet reflection yoga pose
Alone and lonely are not the same; finding moments of solitude is healthy for the mind and body

Such comparisons can create a sense of distance from others. However, that increases our sense of isolation. It’s important to realize we never know what is going on in someone else’s life.

We all have good times as well as challenging periods in our lives—and keeping this universal truth in mind can help us feel connected. On the other hand, remember that you are unique: There is no one else on earth like you. It can be satisfying to recognize that you are doing what you can with what you have.

Step 4: Connect With Yourself

Solitude is different from loneliness because it is the state of being alone without necessarily feeling lonely. The word often implies there is an opportunity for reflection or doing things we enjoy.

While there are various ways you can reduce loneliness through connecting to others, consider the relationship you have with yourself and how you can enrich it. If you can do this, you may feel less isolated.

“Change your criteria for success,” said Coyne. “Don’t ask: Am I keeping up with whoever is in my social circles? Am I keeping up in a way that my mind says is comparable to others? Instead, ask yourself: Am I being true to myself today? Have I been kind or a good friend? Did I do things that are consistent with what I value?” Engaging in small mental choices and small habitual changes over time can give you a sense of self-efficacy, esteem, and comfort with yourself.

Set aside a period of time each day to check in with yourself. You could meditate, pray, practice yoga, or read a couple of pages of a spiritual text. This practice can be done in as little as five minutes, but it’s helpful to do it every day so it becomes a healthy habit.

Connecting with yourself doesn’t mean turning inward and calling it a day. We’ve all heard it before, but it’s so important to exercise and eat a balanced diet with plenty of fruits and vegetables. What we eat directly affects our body and mind.

If you are experiencing anxiety or depression, consider cutting back on alcohol because it can make you feel worse. Additionally, getting enough sleep—7-9 hours per night for adults—is one of the most important things we can do for our health.


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Even if You Feel Lonely—You Are Not Alone!

If you are feeling lonely, reach out to an understanding loved one. If your feelings of loneliness don’t go away or feel unbearable, or if you are feeling anxious or depressed, contact a mental health professional.

“How do you know if you’re taking care of yourself and your social relationships in a way that’s vital to you?” asked Coyne. “A good way to look at it is to ask yourself some of these questions: Are you avoiding doing things? How’s your mood? Do you feel disconnected? Do you feel guilty for not talking to friends, or are you talking yourself into social situations?” All of these can be signs that you need to take steps toward developing good, intimate, and authentic relationships.

Consider taking the step of making connections through a support group. Support groups address a variety of issues, from specific mental health conditions to various challenges, including grief and physical illness. Many groups are free and available online.


Monday, 1 February 2021

Lost touch: how a year without hugs affects our mental health

Hugging 

 


Photo by Avi Naim on Unsplash

 

Humans are designed to touch and be touched – which is why so many who live on their own have suffered during the pandemic. Will we ever fully recover?

Last modified on Fri 29 Jan 2021 18.46 GMT

There’s only so much a dog can do, even if that is a lot. I live alone with my staffy, and by week eight of the first lockdown she was rolling her eyes at my ever-tightening clutch. I had been sofa-bound with Covid and its after-effects before lockdown was announced, then spring and summer passed without any meaningful touch from another person. I missed the smell of my friends’ clothes and my nephew’s hair, but, more than anything, I missed the groundedness only another human body can bring. The ache in my solar plexus that married these thoughts often caught me off guard.

The need for touch exists below the horizon of consciousness. Before birth, when the amniotic fluid in the womb swirls around us and the foetal nervous system can distinguish our own body from our mother’s, our entire concept of self is rooted in touch. “The human body has built all its models based on touch received from caregivers,” says Dr Katerina Fotopoulou, a professor of psychodynamic neuroscience at University College London. “We’re utterly reliant on the caregiver to satisfy the body’s core needs. Little can be done without touch.”

Nina Smith is 40, and lives alone in south London. She experienced a protracted recovery after a spinal injury in 2018, requiring long periods of bed rest. People visited, but her pain levels meant that being touched was difficult. She felt she had good foresight for how to prepare for the first lockdown. “I thought I knew how it would play out,” she says over Zoom. “For example, I knew how strict I had to be about the routine of going for walks; you always feel slightly better having taken in different surroundings.” But after six weeks, her resolve started to crumble. “The isolation I’d already experienced made me more vulnerable than I’d realised. I tried to keep myself in a routine but …” she begins to cry. “At some point, not being able to have a hug was genuinely torturous. I don’t believe the government considered the impact of the first lockdown on people living alone.”

As adults, we may not comprehend the importance of touch even when it disappears. “We might begin to realise that something is missing, but we won’t always know that it’s touch,” says Prof Francis McGlone, a neuroscientist based at Liverpool John Moores University and a leader in the field of affective touch. “But when we talk about the problem of loneliness, we often ignore the obvious: what lonely people aren’t getting is touch.”

Touch has a huge impact on our psychological and physical wellbeing, says Prof Robin Dunbar, an evolutionary psychologist at the University of Oxford. “With our close friends and family, we touch each other more than we realise,” he says. As adults, Dunbar’s research has found, we have a core set of, on average, five friends who we can call on as a shoulder to cry on. “We see exactly the same thing in primates,” he says. “Even in much bigger primate societies, groups of five best friends appear at every layer, who do all their grooming together – their form of social touch. In primates and humans, these intense coalitions act as a buffer; they keep the world off your back.” It is unsurprising, then, that of the 40,000 people from 112 countries who took part in a 2020 BBC and Wellcome Collection survey, the three most common words used to describe touch were: “comforting”, “warm” and “love”.

As the pandemic continues, many of us will be trying to cope with profound stress without the comfort of touch. We all have different needs and boundaries (McGlone says “not everyone suffers from a lack of touch; I don’t really like being cuddled, and drive my poor wife nuts”), but the total absence of touch, particularly when emotions are high, contravenes the hardwiring that regulates us from our preverbal years.

“Touch is a modulator that can temper the effects of stress and pain, physical and emotional. We have seen in our research that a lack of touch is associated with greater anxiety,” says Fotopoulou. “In times of high stress – the loss of a job, or a bereavement, for example – having more touch from others helps us cope better, particularly in calming the effects of [the stress hormone] cortisol.” Even if we’re used to not being touched a lot, after a while the need can feel very physical – sometimes described as “skin hunger” or “touch hunger”.

While I can empathise with the exhausting monotony my friends with young families have described to me (and I know that the grass is always greener), I have felt the lack of belonging to a pack acutely. Claire Birke, a teacher from Edinburgh, has felt it, too: “I’m 37, and most of my friends are living with partners or children,” she says. “I have never felt more aware of my single status, nor the lack of intimate bodily contact, in my life.”

The number of people in the UK living on their own went up by 16% to 7.7 million between 1997 and 2017. The sliver of sociability that came with social bubbles being announced has felt life-saving. Smith has been “bubbling” with a couple who live together and says it has helped with her mood. But the days are long, and her friends “are not particularly tactile”.

“I realise how much I touch people without thinking,” she says. “I feel like I am holding all this emotion in my body with nowhere to put it.”

In high-stress states, it can feel as if our bodies can barely contain our emotion if there’s no one there to hold us. “Lots of studies support the theory that touch gives the brain a signal that it can delegate its resources for coping because someone else is there to bear the brunt. This relaxes the body, going some way to restoring the stress budget, if you like,” says Fotopoulou. But touch is not a single sense. The two square metres of skin that contain us are teeming with nerve fibres that recognise temperature, texture and itch, etc. One set of fibres exists purely to register gentle, stroking touch: the C tactile afferents (CTs). McGlone has been studying this since 1995, when it was discovered in humans. “These neurons, in the skin of all social mammals, transmit slow electrical signals to the emotional processing parts of the brain. They play a critical role in developing the social brain and our ability to withstand stress.”

The highest density of CTs across the body are in the parts we can’t “groom” ourselves, such as the shoulders and back. “If you love having your back rubbed it’s because there are more CTs there,” says McGlone. “Stimulation of these neurons releases oxytocin and dopamine, and has a direct impact on cortisol levels, which regulates our mood.” In 2017, Fotopoulou’s team published a study that showed even gentle, slow stroking from a stranger can reduce feelings of social exclusion. But in our normal lives, we’re not going round stroking each other all the time. “No, you don’t need that touch all day,” McGlone says. “We only need this gentle kind of touch intermittently.”

In these times of touch deprivation there is no real substitute for what we get from other humans, but there are ways to soothe ourselves. Fotopoulou’s lab will soon publish a study conducted during the pandemic that builds on the theory that, in the same way we think we can feel others’ pain, we may be able to experience touch vicariously, too. Researchers have found that seeing touch (on TV or in films, for example) – particularly social, affective or pet touch – can give us some of the benefits of feeling touch. “This is called ‘vicarious touch’,” says Fotopoulou. “The brain codes multisensory experiences in multiple ways. We can also ‘feel’ the pain and pleasures of others just by ‘seeing’ them,” she says. “This is not a permanent or complete substitute, but a partial one.”

Products such as weighted blankets can help. Smith says that laying one across her chest and shoulders makes her feel “much calmer” – speaking, perhaps, to an instinctive need to stimulate the CTs. Interacting with animals is also settling. “My neighbour’s cat has decided to live with me half the time and having her sat on my chest, purring, is so soothing.”

This resonated: the warmth of my dog’s back under my hand has been the most grounding thing for me over the last 12 months. I know this feels good, but why? “When you’re stroking your dog, you’re engaging systems that would be activated if the dog was stroking you,” says McGlone.

A hunger for touch is a signal that a primitive need is not being met. But evolution is on our side. Every scientist I spoke to was hopeful that, once we can come together again, we will adjust quickly. “It will differ between people, probably based on the duration people have been alone, and there may be a period of clumsiness and renegotiation,” says Dunbar. “But we have evolved to adapt.”


Monday, 18 January 2021

“I Felt As If I’d Moved To The Moon”: What 7 Years Of Isolation Taught One Woman About Being Alone

Loneliness 

 

When Anthea Rowan moved to a remote outpost in Africa, she was overcome with loneliness – but, slowly, she learnt how to be alone.

 


 Photo by Miguel Ángel Hernández on Unsplash

This is what I knew. Loneliness can descend in cities bursting at the seams. It isn’t salved by company. Sylvia Plath knew that. “Life is loneliness,” she said, “despite all the opiates, despite the shrill tinsel gaiety of ‘parties’ with no purpose.”

No, loneliness is not soothed by company; you do not need to be on your own to feel lonely. And you cannot – by definition – be alone in a marriage. But you can be lonely in one. 

You can lie in bed with a partner and feel lonely despite nearness to another human being, one who lies so close that you can feel the warmth radiate from their back. Touch here should be instinctive, as you spoon bodies in what feels like a fit; time has carved out the right shape in the other. But to steal an arm across the iciness of sheets now, when you have gone to bed angry, seems an imposition. So, you lie rigid as blades in a cutlery drawer, safely distanced, sharp edged.

This is what I didn’t know. Not until afterwards. Just as you don’t have to be alone to feel lonely, you don’t have to feel lonely when you’re alone. 

Indeed, the word – alone – packs a punch. It sounds strident, straight-backed; there is something autonomous in it. Nobody says, “I want to be lonely.” Plenty announce, “I’d like to be alone.”  

I had never intended to live where we ended up living: a remote outpost in Africa which sprawled through the savannah until it was strangled by wait-a-bit thorn and disappeared in the dust. I had moved from a busy city 500 miles away. Africa wasn’t new to me; remote living was. Not even an asphalt road served as a reassuring link to the rest of the world. I felt as if I’d moved to the moon. 

I only ended up there – with the wait-a-bit, the dust and the terrifying surplus of space and time – because my husband’s job took him – us – there. Whilst it was not my choice to live there, it was my choice to live with him. I do, I’d promised. So I was. There. 

Paradoxically, against the silence of my new life, the one I’d left behind grew shrill. I was compelled to reach out to reconnect, a technological version of pinching myself. I could not believe my old life was still there but I was here.  

Daily, I would dial a number.

“Hi there, it’s me.” Again. 

“Oh hi, just dashing to town.” 

“Oh. Is this a bad time?”

“Um. No.” (I can hear yes in the plumpness of her pause.) “But I can’t chat long.” 

“Oh. Ok.” 

Silence. 

“Um... how are you? Busy? How are the kids?”

“Fine, very busy, never a spare moment, had visitors last weekend, going to an art exhibition and drinks on Saturday and got to host a birthday thing for James. Manic.”  

“Right.” I want to be able to reciprocate. I want to be able deliver a sympathetic rejoinder: God, me too. I’m rushed off my feet, no time for anything.

“How are you?” she says, as I imagine her gesturing towards the phone in her hand and rolling her eyes at somebody beside her, it’s her again.

“Oh, you know… Bearing up. Bit lonely.” 

“Oh, it can’t be that bad,” she snorts. “Anyway, sorry, I must run – I’ve got a meeting and then I’m off to get my hair done. I’m meeting Caro for supper… I’ll tell her hi from you?” 

Cow. 

“Oh. Ok. Well. Talk soon.”

A week later her Instagram spills pictures; her plans glued to the screen of my phone as insulting evidence of a life lived. I trailed through them all miserably, disorientated by a place with no connection, no friends. Living in a void means living without reassuring tether. I risked becoming unhinged. 

“Get busy,” urged my husband. Easy for him to say; he was running a huge agricultural operation for American corporates. His day was anchored by meetings, his time endorsed by a title, a regular salary.

“Busy. With what?”

My children have outgrown needing me; the necessary demand of a nine-to-five wasn’t there. He looked pensive for a moment and then said, tentatively: “Make jam?”

Make jam? 

Whilst my husband may have meant, in the that moment, that I literally stew fruit and sugar and spoon it, breathy with bubbles, into jars (jam? jam!), I was careful not to react with the indignation I immediately tasted (it’d be unwise to alienate my only company). Instead I retreated to consider his words: the figurative art of bottling preserves to save myself. 

I learned that to keep busy in Africa, I needed to look keenly into a small life in a big place in order that I might see, really see, the minutiae, and dissect time into bite-sized pieces so that I didn’t choke on it.

So, I saw a pair of storks from my verandah. I watched them through my binoculars; they hunkered, long limbs, broad wings, folded into a nest atop a tree. My patient vigil was rewarded weeks later with the arrival of chicks; they greeted offerings of food with open beaks and impatient squawks. And briefly I was stung by the reminder of the needy clutches of small children.

When the dry weather cracked and the storms came, I sat with my back against a wall still warm from hot afternoon glare and waited, tense with the anticipation with which I might watch the curtain rise on a West End production. The thunder rolled as an orchestra, shards of lightning illuminated the sky as a stage in strobes, an iron cast of cloud gathered and the rain clattered applause. I soaked up every second of that drama. After the rain, I noticed the greening rows of the vegetable garden: lacy parsley burst enthusiastically from its bed, tickling my bare ankles as I passed. Beans hung as beads from the throat of a trellis, and fire engine birds eyed chillies blinked red from beneath dense foliage.   

And in the careful observation of the empty space I found myself lost in, I learned to keep company with sound, too. You know you’re listening to silence when you can pluck separate strains from it; they don’t blur as white noise. I heard crows. They descended to steal the dogs’ food. When I swam, with my ears full of water, I heard the splash of my limbs, the comforting rhythm of my breathing. In. Out. In. Out. The sound of “keeping going”. I heard a plane overhead, it dragged a ribbon of jet stream behind it. I tipped my head and shielded my eyes from the sun with a palm. I wondered where it was going. I didn’t care. I would have liked to be aboard it. I would have liked to have been anywhere but there.

Many days I woke and felt intimidated at the day ahead, at elastic hours which stretched far longer than I needed. Two would have done. Twenty-four were terrifying. Some days, I wanted to scream. Some days, I did: I screamed into the depths of the pool where I learned an interesting phenomenon. You can’t cry underwater.

Some days I was fearful I would go mad. “Be not solitary, be not idle,” warned Robert Burton in his Anatomy of Melancholy. “I’m going to run through this outpost naked. And spitting,” I shouted at the dogs who ducked for cover and the cat who skittered away from her sunbathing spot to collect herself further away and regard me with feline disdain.

I plodded from tiny task to tiny task – stepping stones across a day that seemed too wide, too deep, with no safety net other than the one I wove, loosely, of the occupation I knitted for myself: writing, reading, swimming, walking, watching, waiting. I got better at the isolation. I read more, and became a stronger swimmer. My stamina sustained me for almost a mile a day, ploughing up and down. Time to think. Time not to. I wrote more, much more, and began to blog with a fury. My words drew commissions but, more importantly, they generated a conversation in the ether, with readers; my invisible, imaginary friends.

As time passed, as the months collected and morphed as years ­– seven, in the end – I discovered, with surprise, that I was better company. Mostly, better company to myself. 

And in my kitchen one hot afternoon as flies tapped the windows in disorientated confusion because they were drunk with heat and stolen sweetness, I filled a pan with a glut of fruit harvested from the garden and African cane sugar the colour of sand. And I made jam.

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