This seems like such an obvious statement, right? When you’re alone, you may begin to experience feelings of loneliness. It makes perfect sense. Grieving alone can feel … well, lonely.

First, let me acknowledge that this isn’t the case for every person who grieves. And of course, experiencing seasons of alone-ness as we grieve is perfectly normal and I would argue, necessary.

Here I want to explore the feeling of loneliness that can sometimes creep into the alone times.

But first, let me define ‘loneliness’ and distinguish it from being alone. Loneliness is defined in many different ways, with the resounding feature being a feeling of isolation or disconnectedness from others. Believe it or not, entire studies explore the concept of loneliness, with one in particular examining whether it’s a disease. Don’t believe me? Read more here: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3890922/.

Being alone, on the other hand, doesn’t necessarily imply emotional isolation. It may simply involve spending time with oneself for various reasons.

As far back as I can recall, I’ve enjoyed my own company. Occasionally, I reflect on memories of my dolls lined up on my bed, with me serving as their teacher. Blame it on a six-year age gap between me and my older brother, my temperament, or military family upbringing, I’ve always felt content entertaining myself.

It wasn’t until two years after my mom died that I realized that grieving alone can feel … well, lonely.

Though it’s possible that loneliness had settled in throughout the first two years, I was too busy to notice. Determined to ‘keep it moving’ and ‘be strong,’ I forged my way ahead alone. My grief avoidance manifested in the form of workaholism, people pleasing, and other forms of escapism.

Immediate family and close friends showed up for me, though I realized at the end of the day, grieving is a solitary experience on so many levels. In the most random of moments, and often times when no one else was readily available, grief always seemed to rears its head. Go figure!

While I knew I wasn’t alone, in terms of folks interacting with me, I also quickly learned that the work of grief is something that can only be done by me.

So I did what I did best. I kept going. Kept quiet. Kept ignoring the pain.

That is, until I found myself wandering along the shore in Venice Beach in the middle of the night. I felt the rawness of my grief as I fumbled through the shell-filled sand. In search of connection, I desperately attempted to call those closest to me. I needed to be heard and experience my grief witnessed. However, my pain was met with voice mail after voice mail. No one answered the phone that night.

First, who answers the phone in the wee hours of the night? (Duh, they’re sleeping!) Second, this wasn’t my norm. Friends and family knew me as the person who listened to other’s problems vs. them listening to mine. Third, I’d busied myself so much that I didn’t really create space for deep connection, especially with regard to my grief.

So it was just me and God. Face to face with the moon staring back at me, lighting up the ocean. I’d never experienced that degree of emotional isolation and disconnection in life. It was as if I were the only person on the shore, with everything blurry and intangible in the distance.

Did I mention that grieving alone can feel lonely?

I cried out to God in that tender moment. And He sat with me until I looked up and saw the sun rising against the water. While still alone, the feeling of loneliness began to fade. I realized that yes, grieving alone can feel lonely, though it doesn’t necessarily have to be.

Friend, whether you believe in God or not, have a huge circle of friends or not, or live in a large or small community, you can take steps to help prevent loneliness.

How, you might ask?

Well let me remind you that in the early years of my grief journey, I simply kept going. I kept quiet. And I ignored the pain. You don’t need to travel the same road I did as you grieve. While you may be alone — even by choice, be mindful of things you might do to avoid loneliness.

• In a nutshell, don’t just ‘keep on keepin’ on’ as they say. Take time to truly ask yourself: ‘How am I feeling emotionally, physically, and spiritually?’ Create space to listen to the answers to this question. Then respond accordingly. Not only is it OK for you to prioritize yourself as you grieve, but it’s also necessary. If I haven’t learned anything along my grief journey, I know that I’ll never be able to outrun grief. And neither will you. No matter how full the schedule looks on paper, grief has a way of seeping into the cracks of our lives. So make time to sit with it. Crazy as it may sound, I intentionally set aside time to check-in with myself and build other activities around me. My mantra: God, me, then others.

• Open your mouth and share how you’re feeling. The world may not be able to hear it, but you can share with one person. A co-worker. A close friend. Even a neighbor. The point here is to relieve yourself of the emotional tension that grief often erupts on the inside. With every emotional uprising, take steps to release. These days, I look back at the moments when I could’ve spoken up about my grief and feelings of loneliness. Maybe you’re afraid of disappointing people like I was or feel concerned that your vulnerability will be met with silence. Trust me, I get it. However, I now realize that against the backdrop of fear, my openness is often met with kindness. And when folks don’t know exactly how to respond to my declarations, they simply listen. Sometimes, that’s more than enough.

• Lean into the pain, knowing that it’s inevitable throughout the grief process. (Yes, this part sucks!) It doesn’t make sense to brown or white knuckle your way through life with a grieving and bleeding heart. I wrote an entire book about how I finally surrendered to grief, Relaxing Into the Pain: My Journey Into Grief & Beyond. You can order a copy here: https://www.amazon.com/Relaxing-Into-Pain-Journey-Beyond/dp/1512747084. A quote by William Booth comes to mind: “The greatness of a man’s power is the measure of his surrender.” Relaxing into the pain of grief is a yielding to its inevitable presence along the journey. Surrender, then, is simply a reminder of the incredible power that resides with you.

Friend, grieving alone can feel lonely. But it doesn’t have to be.

I’d love to hear your thoughts.

XOXO,

M.

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