Dear Lonely One,
I can’t stop thinking about you.
When you shared – your big eyes brimming so brave, about how lonely you feel, about how you wish you actually had invitations to say yes or no to, about wondering where your friends are, about the confusion at why you don’t have a packed calendar- it broke my heart.
And my first instinct was to make your lonely aches disappear. To find you a friend, or connect you with opportunities galore, or help you feel surrounded and loved and… then I realized.
You, friend, who are feeling so dang alone, you are in a beautiful space.
And I know because I’ve been there.
I’ve been alone, my heart desperately wanting connection, purposeful activities, wondering where and with whom to invest my time, knowing, I’m not just a mom. And it’s in those panicky desires to fill that I’ve come to learn this truth: just because I am alone doesn’t mean I’m lonely.
It’s during transition when our fears are most triggered, amiright? When we moved to a new town, I didn’t know a soul and everyone else seemed like they had their crew, their “in.” When we had our first babe, I transtitioned from managing events to quieter days as a stay-at-home mom, and had no idea what I was doing, or how to navigate the unchartered waters of mom-ness, and playdates, and baby talk. When my kids went back to school, time opened like a floodgate, and I about crazy-panicked trying to figure out how I was supposed to use my “free” time.
Lonely transitions ask scary questions and then invite a sacred identity.
These solitary seasons teach us our truest selves, and although petrifying and question-inducing with wonderings like: Who am I? Who are my people? Now what? I promise this solitary season is offering quiet space to find answers to those questions that otherwise get pushed deep down when we really just want to fill fill fill.
Being alone, friend, is an invitation to solidify dependent faith and appreciate solitude.
Solitude creates confidence so you can walk in a room and know whether surrounded or alone, you are already filled and more than enough.
Solitude grows your roots deep into a God who whispers your value over and over, especially when you feel worn and tired and invisible and says, I enjoy you.
Solitude perks your ears outward and inward, but first upward.
Solitude draws your questions and fears to the surface, and even when it echoes like crickets, those quiet moments are actually gifts to figure out who you really are when no one else is around.
What do you love? How do you feel alive? Where do you want to invest your work and time and energy?
Solitude provides un-rushed space to find those answers, when perhaps we’d otherwise occupy or pour or go go go.
Solitude centers a knowing assurance that when life gets frantic, we respond instead of anxiously reacting.
Lonely friend, I know you’re experiencing pain and feeling isolated, but I’m wondering if this is an opportunity to cement your identity in who.you.are before people and packed calendars and busyness come bustling around the bend. Even though your heart feels it, we know fulfillment can’t be given by a spouse or friend or job or achievement.
You are going to be okay. This season is temporary. Solitude is essential to building who you are from here.on.out.
So when the next transition comes and you find yourself alone, you’ll know peace, not panic. You’ll look around, smile, and tell yourself, I’ve been here before. I know who I am. I’m going to be okay. This rooting season is pulling me back to depend on Someone who’s got this all dialed in.
Hugs as you journey,