Since the bushfire in January, I have spent a lot of time alone and also lonely. And there is a bloody big difference between the two.
Choosing to spend time alone has been one of the most challenging and unexpectedly peaceful decisions I have made since my world changed. After losing so much, I discovered that silence has been safer than noise. My own company became a place where I didn’t have to explain myself, justify my feelings or pretend that everything was okay. I could simply be.
And after the chaos, devastation and relentless emotional exhaustion that followed the bushfire, simply being was more than enough. But being alone by choice is very different from feeling abandoned. That distinction has been one of the hardest lessons of my life.
There is a particular kind of loneliness that comes from being ignored, dismissed, invalidated or marginalised when you are already struggling to find your feet after a natural disaster strikes. It is the loneliness of discovering that some of the people you believed would walk alongside you are nowhere to be found when the road becomes rocky. You can survive a devastating event and still be shocked by the behaviour of people afterwards. Perhaps the greatest surprise has been how lonely it can feel to be surrounded by people. I have stood in crowded rooms and felt completely alone. Stood on my own property watching recovery crews, trades, neighbours and friends’ and felt totally alienated.
I have had conversations with people who genuinely tried to understand but simply couldn’t comprehend the enormity of what had happened. And why would they? Most people have never lived through a bushfire. They haven’t watched their lives burn in a matter of minutes. They haven’t experienced the strange combination of shock, grief, trauma, exhaustion and disorientation that follows. And that’s perfectly okay – I certainly don’t expect anyone to understand it that hasn’t lived through it.
There is often a gap between someone’s empathy and their ability to truly understand your experience. Sometimes that gap feels like a canyon. And when you are standing on one side of that canyon, desperately hoping someone will meet you there, loneliness can become deafening. My Psych said to me some months’ ago that he reported similar stories from the Bondi Beach tragedy survivors. The feelings of abandonment from the very people they thought would walk alongside of them through this dark time in their lives. I did find that both sobering and comforting. Knowing that I wasn’t completely alone in feeling the way I have felt.
Yet somewhere in the midst of all of this, I discovered something rather wonderful. I actually enjoy my own company. I enjoy the quiet. I enjoy making decisions without needing a committee meeting. I enjoy doing what I want, when I want, without having to explain myself or accommodate people who drain more energy than they bring.
Solitude has become a sanctuary. In fact, just yesterday I returned from Sydney to compete in a tennis tournament and for the very first time since January, I can now actually and finally say – I feel great. The time alone was liberating. The river walks. Meditating. Baths. Reading. Dining alone. It was soul nourishment.
It has also made me far more selective about who I allow into my life. These days, I choose my people carefully. Not because I have become bitter or closed off, but because I have learned that proximity is not the same as connection. And no matter how long someone has been in your life, doesn’t mean they need to continue being in your life. Maybe, just maybe this singular event has driven a deep cavern between us. I can forgive those people for not standing beside me. But I can also choose to release them with great love.
A crowded social calendar is not the same as belonging. And having hundreds of people around you means absolutely nothing if you cannot be yourself with any of them and if those people are so preoccupied with their own ‘stuff’ that they aren’t particularly interested in what you are going through.
However, there is an important distinction here. Choosing solitude should not become a way of permanently avoiding connection. When we have been hurt, abandoned, ignored, dismissed or disappointed, isolating ourselves can feel like protection. We tell ourselves that we don’t need anyone. That people are unreliable. That it is easier to stay home, keep our distance and avoid the possibility of being hurt again. And I’ve definitely been there.
But isolation and solitude are not the same thing. Humans are wired for connection. We need it. We thrive on it. Meaningful relationships support our wellbeing, help us regulate our emotions and remind us that we are part of something bigger than our own pain. And it’s okay to sometimes feel as though those we thought had our back, actually didn’t. It’s okay to recognize that and to ‘clean house’. And feel all of the feels that come with doing that. It’s never easy – particularly with people we have known and considered friends for most of our lives.
Because the goal isn’t to surround yourself with more people. It is to surround yourself with the right people – the carefully curated ones. The ones who voluntarily listen without needing to fix you or judge what you are going through. The ones who don’t dismiss your experience because it makes them uncomfortable or because they prioritise their ‘stuff’. The ones who may not completely understand your story but are willing to sit beside you while you tell it.
Back in January, all I asked of those I thought were closest to me was to sit with me while I wept for what I lost. They all refused – for varying reasons. And that hurt. Deeply.
Since the bushfire, I have learned to cherish my own company. But I have also learned that independence does not mean emotional isolation. There is power in being able to sit alone, feel and question everything without feeling lonely.
And there is courage in continuing to seek connection after discovering that some people you trusted were never going to walk the whole road with you. Perhaps that is the real lesson. Being alone can be peaceful. Being abandoned, ignored, invalidated and dismissed is devastating. No question.
Knowing the difference between being lonely and being alone gives you the power to choose who gets a seat at your table from now on. Even if sometimes, it’s only you. Just be sure, it isn’t for too long.
Image: ChatGPT