On Loneliness

And Belonging

Last night, I sat around a table with a group of moms as we planned a graduation party for our boys. We discussed food and how to set up the venue. When to start and whether or not we should include an end-time on the invitations. I got a little choked up thinking about my baby graduating from high school while we were discussing cake or cupcakes for dessert. (Weird timing, I know.) And then, we turned our attention to the guest list.

One by one we all threw out the number of guests we thought would come to celebrate our sons. Grandparents, aunts and uncles, family friends, neighbors. When it was my turn, I froze. “Twenty-five?” I guessed, knowing the number is probably closer to fifteen. Our whole world summed up in a few digits.

Don’t get me wrong. We have a rich community around us and feel connected, loved, and supported. It’s just not a big community.

There is something lonely about gathering up your people and holding them in the palm of your hand. About knowing that circumstance, schedules, and distance can conspire to ensure that on one of life’s most important days, you may find your circle small enough to count on your fingers.

I’ve wanted to write about loneliness for a while now. But I didn’t know what to say or where to start because loneliness can feel like an abyss, deep and bottomless. Who doesn’t know what it feels like to be alone? And who wants to talk about it? There’s shame inherent in loneliness, a sense that something I did or said (or even worse, something I am) is the cause of the isolation I’m experiencing.

Loneliness walks hand-in-hand with “What’s wrong with me?”

I’m sure you’ve seen the stats. According to a Meta-Gallup poll (which birthed the Global State of Social Connections Report on November 1, 2023), the world is a lonely place. Sure, it’s teeming with nearly eight billion people, but it seems a good quarter of us feel disconnected. These numbers are higher among young people, and male loneliness is on the rise. An American Perspectives Survey discloses that 12% of Americans report having no friends at all.

The numbers are staggering. And represent so much more than just a feeling. Loneliness is deadly. According to the CDC, social isolation and a sense of loneliness have been linked to everything from heart disease and stroke, to addiction, self-harm, and suicide. Loneliness increases your chances for dementia by a whopping 50%. And it’s estimated that loneliness costs the US economy over $400 billion dollars a year.

I suppose I could write an entire series of articles on ways to try and shift those numbers. I could sing the praises of putting down our cell phones, becoming a joiner, and finding ways to grow our self-esteem. And I have no doubt these things help. In fact, we tell our children that they must choose a way to get involved at school. Belonging to a team, choir, or group of any kind accomplishes all three of these goals (disconnecting from devices, becoming a part of a something, and increasing confidence) in one fell swoop. But I don’t need to reinvent the wheel; there are dozens (hundreds? thousands?) of excellent articles about how to combat loneliness. If you’re feeling lonely, I encourage you to read a few.

Instead, I want to leave you with a story and a question.

Nearly fifteen years ago, when my husband was the senior pastor of a small church plant, a family left our congregation. On the last day they worshipped with us, the matriarch of the family came up to me after the service. “I wanted you to know,” she told me, “that we’re leaving because of you. I really needed a friend, and you never reached out to me. You didn’t even notice me.”

Her words came as a complete shock. She was right: I had no idea she was lonely. I didn’t notice the pain and isolation she clearly felt. I mumbled an apology and left, my heart in my throat.

It wasn’t until much later that I could articulate why her words cut so deep. Yes, there’s a lot to unpack here about the unspoken role of a pastor’s wife and how I was supposed to have my finger on the pulse of the congregation along with my husband (I didn’t), but what I wish I could have said to her in that moment was: “Me, too.”

I also really needed a friend and no one reached out to me. People didn’t notice that I was drowning with several small children of my own, a husband who was on call twenty-four/seven, a growing nonprofit, and a brand-new book contract. I spent many of those days desperately lonely—not shocking considering one British survey found that 90% of new mothers reported feelings of loneliness. And I suffered through four miscarriages during that time in almost complete silence. I felt so broken, so unworthy and unlovable, that the thought of reaching out to someone else while I was drowning was far beyond me. I looked around and thought, “No one else feels this way. No one else is struggling.” Clearly, I was wrong.

If I had a do-over, I wish that I could take my late twenty-something self in hand and say, “Look around. You don’t have to be alone. Chances are, she feels the same way you do.”

Maybe we’re lonely, not because people don’t reach out to us, but because we don’t dare to reach out to them.

We’re siloed in our own little worlds, assuming that the people around us are swimming in friends, happy and connected with no room at all for us. And so we stay put, trapped in our misperception that we are alone because we deserve to be, because everyone else is blissfully attached and disinterested in widening their circle.

I think that’s a lie.

I think everyone longs to widen their circle.

It takes incredible courage to be the one to put yourself out there. To lift your head from the weight of your own problems and fears and insecurities and invite someone else in. I know. I’ve been there. And I’ll be honest and share that while sometimes my invitations have been well received, sometimes they have not. Maybe that’s okay. Maybe a rejection deepens our empathy and makes us that much more sensitive to the hurt around us—and that much more willing to make space for those who are just waiting (longing!) for an outstretched hand.

If you’re lonely (and maybe especially if you’re not), I’d love for you to consider this question: Who can I reach out to? I get it, life is busy and the fear of rejection is real, but maybe the connection that we’re looking for is a single text away. Maybe expanding our circles is more than just a nice thing to do, it’s a life-giving, community-building, world-growing experiment that has the potential to change everything.

And maybe I need to expand our graduation invitation list.

Thanks for reading. xo - Nicole

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