Thoughts on Loneliness As a Widow

Loneliness. 

It's a hard word to say out loud. As someone who has been allergic to pity throughout my entire grief experience, I dislike exploring this word immensely - as I know its use will inevitably lead to at least some some pity being thrown my way. Oh well. 

And so, today, I want to share some words on my dance with loneliness, within the context of my grief. 

Every griever is going to have a different relationship with loneliness - but I think it’s fair to say, we will all be asked to wrestle with this uncomfortable human feeling in at least some way.

So much of how this manifests will be related to who we were going into our loss. 

In the earlier years after I became a widow, I found social interaction profoundly difficult. As an extremely highly sensitive introvert - my pain was just too great, my wounds too raw. Triggers would send me into spirals that I sometimes just couldn’t afford to be pulled into as a solo mom. And ultimately, all of this rose to the top as louder than my desire for accompaniment. 

And so it was almost as if there was a sense of agency in my loneliness, if that makes sense. Being alone was often my choice - even though I resented the need for it deeply. 

I’ve always been good at being alone. I’ve never been one to jump into shallow relationships, always hated small talk, never had superficial friendships, don’t easily feel boredom…and on and on. 

I missed Brian passionately, viscerally, in every single moment of every single day - but “loneliness” just seemed so much lesser than what I was experiencing. I was engulfed by grief. Loneliness didn’t even really register. 

In all honesty, I didn’t crave other people that much because they didn’t/couldn't understand & often being around others was more painful for me than being alone. (Hence moving to the country without a second thought, lol.)

But as time moved on and I inevitably began to emerge from my grief cocoon and crave connection & life more again - I started to look around & realize that I had created a very safe, peaceful life without a ton of daily social connection.

As a city girl, I had always had this fantasy about moving to the country and being closer to nature. I'm not sure I ever would have if Brian hadn't died (I guess we'll never know) but what I have learned now, is that the country is a place where people are generally more insular.

It isn't that they are cold or unfriendly. Actually, it's quite the contrary. We have met the kindest, most generous community. People have time to help me out as a solo mom. It's lovely. But there is generally a slower pace, less to do, and people are happier staying home & spending time with those closest to them. 

For so long, this is exactly what I wanted, what I needed. But as time moved on, I found that this began to shift. 

The other thing about the country is that it is generally a place where people have stronger family units, which is a beautiful thing - except I guess when you are a young widow & you've lost what used to be your "family unit".

Sometimes I find it absolutely staggering that in the wake of Brian's death, I would choose to move to a place where the life I have lost is mirrored back to me so thoroughly. If Brian were here, this simple, sweet country life would be perfect & we’d fit right in with all the other families. And this sometimes makes it all hurt more.

As a side note, there are zero opportunities to meet someone here. So sometimes I wonder, what have I done? What was I thinking? 

But I just continually come back to trust. Choosing to build a life here, in the quiet, is truly what healed my nervous system. It is what gave me the strength & the peace to begin to dream - something I do not take for granted. 

My life here is beautiful. Nature has been the most healing element of my entire grief experience. And luckily, frequent trips back to the city keep me connected to my life there too. ;)

It's easy to look back & wonder why we made the decisions we did earlier on in our grief. I have asked myself many, many times - What was I thinking? But I try to continually remind myself that I wouldn't be where I am today, if I hadn't made the decisions that I made. 

It was only years & years down the line - when the fire had turned to ash and when the raw wounds had become deep scars…that was when the loneliness began to call.

I share this all not because it is the way this will necessarily feel for anyone else - we are all unique in our experience of loss…

But more so, just to share that there are so many paths this grief can take. 

Loneliness for me now takes shape in quiet moments where I yearn to share this new life I’ve built - a life that is actually really quite beautiful & full - with another adult who I love. 

I care more deeply for my friends now than I did when Brian was alive & I really do appreciate that element of widowhood - but we’re not sharing a life & at the end of the day, I know that someone else is their number one.

How about you? How has loneliness called within your grief?