In this series called ‘Client Share’, we make room for our clients who want to use their experiences with relationships, mental health, and their therapy journey to help others who might benefit from this client’s experiences. Names and identifying information have been changed or removed to protect the client’s identity.
The procedure was, for the most part, routine. I was placed under general anesthesia with no real thought about the outcome. When I awoke, still groggy from the anesthesia, the only thing I heard from the doctor was blockage, tumor, cancer, chemotherapy and CT scan immediately. It takes a while for those words to sink in when they come at you. Shock may be the reason for the paralysis; perhaps doubt and disbelief. But present through it all was fear. If “it” was the worst, what was I going to do? Everything runs through your head at once–kids, work, wills, living wills, medical power of attorney. Who would take care of me? How would I get to chemo treatments if that was going to be part of it? I suddenly realized just how alone I was, or at least how alone I felt.
The Loneliness Epidemic
While not a statistician, I’ve read enough stories and heard enough experts speak to the
loneliness epidemic in this country. The loneliness morphs into sadness; the sadness into depression, and, in the worst case, suicide. How could it be that we are the most connected people in history yet suffer from such loneliness? The biggest culprit that gets the most blame is social media and our reliance on devices. We no longer connect with people in the way they should be connected–in person, one-on-one. I once heard someone speak about the critical role organized religion and church attendance played for people for so many years, up until more recent times. For many people, it was the only real social interaction they received through the entire week.
Being Alone Amongst Others
Loneliness was not my issue. I have remained socially active in various organizations, attended church, interacted with church members, and belonged to numerous professional organizations. I was always around and interacting with people. But I was always alone. Few, if any, were allowed into my inner sanctuary. I was, and still am, reliant on just me. My inability to trust and be vulnerable with the many people around me was, and is, my coping mechanism. It has kept me from being emotionally hurt or from exposing my self-doubt. No one got close enough to dent the protective shield around my self-esteem. I certainly never asked for help, nor did I think anyone would want to help me. You help the people you love. In my mind, no one really cared or loved me. It was safe that way. Living my life this way always worked well. Until it didn’t.
The CT scan was scheduled for the following day. For 24 hours, I sat in this sad state of disbelief that I really did feel alone. I would run people I knew through my head, thinking “yes, they would help.” But my mind always turned to “why.” “Why would these people want to help me?” I didn’t really know them and they certainly didn’t know me. Remember, I had my protective shield in place to keep me from ever having to reveal my real self.
I arrived at the hospital early for the scan. I got out of my car and just stood there. As a person of faith, I spoke to God and said, “OK, Lord. I get it. If this is what it will take for me to allow people into my life, to pour into me in my time of need and not be alone, I will do that.” The scan did not reveal any tumor or mass; the biopsies did not reveal any cancer. Further tests I feared would be needed to determine my medical issue.
In hindsight, I don’t know what has been harder. Coping with the almost-cancer diagnosis or keeping my commitment to God to work to not be alone. How could I learn to reveal to people the “me” I am without tearing away the “me” I wanted them to see? I don’t’ want to be casual in answering that question. It has not been easy. I have had to work purposefully to let small pieces of me out from behind the shield.
Lessons of Loneliness
Like first walking up to the ocean shore and dipping your toes in the water to test the temperature, I have had to walk slowly into the water. At times, I feared being turned back by a wave or getting too far from the safety of the shoreline. The more of myself I have revealed, sometimes with confidence but often with fear or uncertainty, the easier it has become. I’ve learned several things along the way:
First, the real, exposed me, is not that bad of a person. I am someone of value. Second, the “vulnerable me” has allowed others to feel safe, and it has allowed them to tear down their own barriers in turn. Finally, it feels good to be known and not the perceived person I thought I needed to be or to protect. Is this a one and done for me? Probably not. For the type of person I am I will likely have to continue to be proactive and purposeful in my efforts, to continue to take deeper steps into the water, to continue to learn to manage the waves of fear until I am able to relax and float on the water in comfort. I am learning to take in the warmth of the sun, whose brightness has revealed the true me to others, letting me know that I am not alone.
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