The Opposite of Loneliness
“I used to think the worst thing in life is to end up all alone. It’s not. The worst thing in life is to end up with people who make you feel all alone.” Robin Williams
It’s Lonely at the Top
We’ve all heard this phrase – that as we advance in leadership statue, there are fewer confidants and those with whom we have a connection who can keep us company along the way.
Alone time, for many people, can be rejuvenating and important for performance – being alone is not the same as being lonely
Loneliness, on the other hand, the feeling desiring the company of others, but feeling connected, is not positive
As we spend increasing time in isolation with our computers and phones, there is a greater propensity for us to feel disconnected from others. To feel lonely or as though we are alone when we crave connection.
Yet, no one succeeds alone.
In our quest for advancement and development, how do we continue to feel a part of something greater than ourselves?
How do we connect to the wisdom and skills of others rather than arm wrestling our way through life, alone?
We’re Never Truly Alone
Two summers ago, in Vermont, I participated in a low ropes course for adults. For one of the activities, I stood with my arms crossed over my chest, closed my eyes, and allowed my body to list sideways. Just when I felt as though my body would most certainly topple to the ground, I was gently caught and righted by the outstretched arms of the other participants that encircled me.
I think life, if we let it, is like that.
We don’t know who will catch us when we start to pitch to one side, but when we do, we are often caught by a beautiful human safety net of compassion and protection.
This is one of the gifts of adversity: Sometimes we have to experience hard things, we have to fall, to know that there are people there to catch us.
In order to be caught, we first, have to allow ourselves to fall. At least a little bit.
When We Feel Alone
On a dark October morning, my freshman year in high school, a young man, unknown to me, stood outside of my bedroom window watched me dress for school. When I went to the window to turn off my stereo, then fully clothed, the man spoke to me, making lewd comments about my teenage body.
I called for my parents, but he ran down the driveway, crunching the fall leaves under his feet in the distance before they came to my room.
When the police came, they and my parents assured me that this was a fluke. A onetime thing. A vagrant, just passing through the neighborhood, never to be heard from again.
For many weeks, I felt rattled and scared. I had trouble concentrating at school. I startled easily. I had nightmares. I would hear his voice and crass words echoing in my head. On school mornings, a friend came to our home to walk me to the bus stop so I wouldn’t be alone.
Several months passed, and I begin to forget about the incident. The sound of his voice receded and the awfulness of his words dissipated from my mind. I could concentrate again. But I always always kept the window where he had watched me closed with the shade pulled down tight.
The following summer, alone in my room one evening, I was trying on a new bikini. My parents were out of town, and the babysitters, a young couple, staying with my brother and I were upstairs bathing their two young children.
I wanted a bit of fresh air, so I opened my other bedroom window, the one that faced our private backyard.
As I began to undress, I heard his voice again. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this.” And in that moment, it wasn’t a fluke. It wasn’t one-time thing. It was happening again.
I began calling for our babysitters, but over the din of toddler squeals that characterize the nighttime routine, they couldn’t hear me.
“They can’t hear you” he said.
“No one is going to come to help you” he said.
I knew he was right. I was terrified to face him alone. But I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me terrified.
So, I said, “We’ll see about that.”
I picked up the phone in my bedroom and dialed 9-1-1 right there with him watching me through the screen between us.
He left before the police arrived. And unfortunately, that is not the last time he came to our home when I was by myself. With each successive time, over the course of my high school career, his behavior escalated. But his continued visits are not the point of this article – perhaps I’ll tell you more about them another time.
The point of this article is how we find connection when we feel alone. And in that moment, with my sense of safety violated, and my caregivers unable to hear my cries for help, I’ve never felt more alone.
When I Feel Alone
It’s been 25 years since that incident. And yet, there are moments where I feel that exact sense of fear and desperation at being alone in my bedroom.
The circumstances may be different, but I recognize that the feelings are the same.
I am back in my bedroom, feeling frightened and alone when:
I have a monster deliverable for our organization, but I don’t have enough resources
I can’t get my point across
I need to ask for help, but I don’t know how to articulate my needs
A colleague lets me down, and I feel there are few I can depend on
I feel my experience or perspective are not valued
My opinions go unheard
I feel powerful emotions like sadness or fear, but the people with aren’t able to connect to my feelings and support me – other people aren’t able to relate
Longing for Belonging
“If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.” Mother Teresa
Most of us, thankfully, haven’t had the experience of facing off with a voyeur as a teenager.
But.
Most of us have had an experience of profound aloneness that, when we face subsequent encounters, take us right back to the place of feeling isolated.
Amiright?
In those moments that look and feel nearly identical to difficult past experiences, it’s so easy to believe we are alone.
But, we’re not.
What to do:
Assume positive intent – often we shut other people out because we assume others can’t or don’t want to help us.
Start from a place of assuming people are generally good and want to help.
Then go from there.
Be present – recognize feelings of aloneness and loneliness and what they mean for you in that moment. Is a current experience being magnified by the reminder of a past experience?
Allow yourself to be: Imperfect. Afraid. Vulnerable. Honest. Belonging occurs when we show up with others, as we truly are. Don’t wait until you’re “all better” to share your experience. Share it now. (This is a great opportunity for development for me!)
Help others. We get back what we put into the world. As John Holmes said, “There is no better exercise for the heart than reaching down and lifting people up.”
Recognize that you can create a new outcome, and write a new story. Even though I feel “alone in my room”, I can show myself that I am not, and find people to support my success and efforts.
Break the silence. Speak about your experience. It’s scary, but necessary.
That which goes unspoken, becomes unspeakable.
And then we trade our voices for silence.
Silence keeps us quiet.
But it doesn’t keep us safe.
Connection and shared understanding allow us to heal past wounds, create communities in which we belong, and impact social change. Just look at the recent #metoo and #Timesup campaigns.
Let’s work to overcome the things make us feel or believe we are separate.
The opposite of loneliness is togetherness. Connection. Belonging.
When you feel alone or isolated, what have you done to create connection?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dr. Taryn Marie Stejskal is one of the leading authorities on Resilience Leadership. Her work is resonating throughout the Fortune 500. As she describes it, "We are a world in which our human experience is defined by facing challenge, change, and complexity on an order of magnitude to which prior generations have not been exposed. The concept of resilience is built on the very ideology that we have the capacity to face hard things: trauma, loss, misfortune, and the like, and come out on the other side; not diminished, but instead, enhanced."
