The loneliest day of the year

A Christmas benediction

Not everyone reading this is an introvert like me, or a migraineur, or a person with an extra-sensitive nervous system and an extra-sensitive heart. Not all of you are perpetually overwhelmed by people, or sensitive to the slightest change in tone, or sad and lonely whenever you are alone even though you love being alone and have chosen it over several other options. Most of you probably have a sweet spot, a certain number of hours in the week that you like being with people and a certain number of hours that you like being alone, and though you can’t always hit that sweet spot you know it’s there, you know what you need.

Or maybe not.

Maybe it is a universal experience to always be uncomfortable, always seeking something else, something more—lonely in a crowd and lonely on your own, overwhelmed by people and overwhelmed by solitude. Maybe all of us are constantly asking ourselves, like a parent asks a sobbing toddler, “What do you want, sweetheart? What do you need? You can be with people if you are lonely, you can be alone if you want, too.” And the child within us continues to cry, continues to yearn, continues to not be able to put a name to this sorrow. Maybe that loneliness exists for all of us just below the veneer of happiness. Maybe happiness cannot exist without it.

And then there are the special days, when loneliness is nearest to the surface. The anniversary of a loved one’s death. The day that would have been your anniversary had you not divorced. Valentine’s Day, which perhaps is the holiday that makes the most people feel romantic loneliness—but having no one to kiss on New Year’s at midnight may be a close second.

And Christmas. Oh, Christmas. The loneliest-in-a-crowd of days. The most return-of-childhood-feelings-of-neglect of days. The most everyone-is-with-their-families-except-me of days. The seasonal-depressionest of days. Even those of us who have made our peace with the undercurrent of loneliness can get swept away today. Our inner child collapses on the floor in tears, and we, confused and tender parents, ask in desperation—what can stop this pain? How can we live our lives differently so that we aren’t so sad?

Perhaps this is why new years resolutions come so quickly on the heel of Christmas. We think maybe if we lost ten pounds, we wouldn’t feel so lonely. Maybe if we made new friends, or got a new job, or a new life’s philosophy. Maybe if we started going to church, or stopped going to church, or went to a different church. But the loneliness follows us to the gym, to the bar, to the gatherings, to the next Christmas, year after year.

It turns out there is no perfect life, no perfect spouse or schedule or friend group that can protect us from loneliness. Loneliness is part of the human condition, part of all of us. Maybe the best thing we can do is just hold our inner child while she weeps. Just let her be sad. Maybe loneliness exists not to be fixed, but to be acknowledged. Maybe we can say, to ourselves and each other, “I see you. Life is sad, isn’t it? There’s nothing wrong with being sad. There’s nothing wrong with you or with your life because you’re lonely.”

To those who celebrate Christmas, I wish you joy and happiness today, but even more so I wish you peace in whatever loneliness you are feeling. If loneliness is a universal human experience, then, ironically, it is that which connects us to each other. I, in my loneliness, see you in yours. Let’s keep each other company there, bear witness to the sorrow as well as the joy. Let’s hold each other in the special sadness of Christmas Day.

With all my love,
Jessica