Why does loneliness frighten people? I am not talking about a fear that reaches consciousness. I am talking about a state that permeates our very being, a state that can even reach pathological dimensions. Why, sometimes despite saying “I love loneliness” or “loneliness is beautiful,” are our actions always aimed at escaping loneliness? Why can’t we leave a relationship that harms us? Why do we feel excluded and unhappy when we miss a get-together of a friend group we don’t feel we belong to?
At this point, I think it is necessary to explain two concepts: being alone and being lonely.
Being Alone Versus Being Lonely
Being alone is more than just an emotion or an internal judgment; it is a state that affects daily life. It is being physically alone. For example, you might be alone in a difficult situation—there is no partner, your closest friend has betrayed you, your family lives far away, or you have been out all day and finally come home alone. I repeat: you have been alone. There is a before and an after. Before being alone, you were not. You almost were, you were, and a future in which you will not be alone is possible.
Being lonely, however, is a state of being. It has no clear beginning or end—or you do not know where it starts or finishes. Being lonely can be described as a planet in the universe; if you are lonely, the universe becomes your loneliness. There is nowhere to escape. You live within your loneliness.
Have you ever been lonely? I am talking about that state where you are lonely even when you are not alone. A part of you remains intensely alive, felt in your body. Understanding that part is both easy and difficult. Before we get to the solution (?), let us describe this state a little more.
The Inner Wound Of Loneliness
That part—the proof of your loneliness—exists somewhere deep inside. No one can reach it. If you have not understood it yourself, how can others reach it? You have only felt it; you could not ignore it. Of course, you have tried to get rid of it with the help of others (a spouse, a lover, a friend, family…), but it has not worked.
Why does that part exist? That aching, unhealing wound that scabs over and then bleeds again. Let us ask it this way: why should that part not exist?
These two questions bring us to what came before. If this state of loneliness causes suffering, it means it is unresolved. But if its presence makes you feel alive, if it defines your boundaries with the outside world, if it gives you a space and a sense of belonging, if it is the creative side that reveals you, then it is telling you something about yourself.
So how do we reach that wound? How do we transform suffering into nourishment?
Suppression, Awareness, And The Lava Metaphor
The solution is both very easy and very difficult. The person who can solve it—and unfortunately, thankfully, the most important person who can prevent the solution—is the same person: you.
It lies in the thoughts and feelings you suppress when that part aches. It lies in the voice waiting to be heard at that moment, beneath the behaviors you perform automatically, simply because you have learned to do things that way.
The solution is being able to say, when that ache comes:
“What did I think, and what did I feel right now that I am experiencing this?”
But how easy it is to suppress it, isn’t it? When this inner turmoil arises, the first impulse might be watching another episode, calling a friend for coffee, or drinking alcohol. A volcano is about to erupt; it needs to release its lava. That lava needs to surface, meet its nature, find relief, and be seen.
Let us imagine that we are suppressing that mountain from its summit. Let us consider lava flows that do not erupt, that back up, deepen, and begin to damage the mountain itself. Now, think of the lava as your emotions and thoughts. Every suppressed, misunderstood emotion and every unacknowledged thought will flow inward, becoming even harder to resolve.
Therefore, it is necessary to allow that lava to flow when its time comes. Listen to that voice that speaks to you, that tells you about yourself. Listen so that, before those lava flows suddenly erupt and leave destructive effects on your nature, your environment, and yourself, they can instead enrich their surroundings through gradual release. Yes—the soil around a volcano is very fertile.
Learning To Be Alone With Yourself
To understand the state of being lonely, you need to be alone. You need to be deprived, at times, of any activity that distracts you—just standing there with yourself.
To avoid being lonely, you need to be alone. How ironic, isn’t it?
If a person is always busy, how can they be alone with themselves?
If a person cannot be alone with themselves, how can they find themselves?
If they cannot find themselves, how can they make sense of their inner processes?
If they cannot make sense of their inner processes, how can they love themselves?
If a person cannot love themselves, how can they escape the state of loneliness and exist peacefully with themselves?
In Paul Auster’s The Invention of Solitude, he writes: “All of man’s despair stems from only one thing: his inability to remain silent in his room” (Auster, 1997, p. 94).
Why is it so difficult to simply sit there? To be alone with the unknown, to confront it—because the unknown always frightens us. Until we dare to illuminate this path leading to that unknown, to our own selves.
As Zuhal Olcay says: “My loneliness, you are the togetherness that I am forced to live with.” If we are forced to live with it, then why not embark on a journey of discovery?
References
Auster, P. (1997). The invention of solitude (Trans. İ. Özdemir). Can Yayınları. (Original work published 1982)
Fiantis, D., Ginting, F. I., Gusnidar, M. N., & Minasny, B. (2019). Volcanic ash: insecurity for people but securing fertile soil for the future. Sustainability, 11(11), 3072. https://doi.org/10.3390/su11113072