When Isolation Hurts

Reflections on loneliness, gratitude and the people who make life feel lighter.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve started a small morning ritual. For five or ten minutes, I sit quietly and do a simple meditation on gratitude. No lists, no big intentions: just breathing, noticing, and letting myself feel grateful.

And almost every morning, one feeling gently rises:

I’m grateful that I am not alone.

I’ve been re-reading The Painful Truth by Dr. Lyman, and one passage stayed with me. He writes:

“What if I told you that there was a disease that can’t be found in medical textbooks, yet is worse for one’s physical health than smoking, causes depression and suicide, is contagious and affects a large and growing proportion of society? This condition is called loneliness. Social isolation ruins lives and prematurely ends them.”

Those words landed hard because they reflected moments I’ve lived through.

The Invisible Distance

I grew up in a very small village in the Champagne region of France. At thirteen, I was the youngest person in the whole place. It was quiet and beautiful, yes, but sometimes too quiet. I often felt alone in a way that made the world feel far away.

Later, when I was diagnosed with MS, that feeling returned. Illness can build invisible walls between you and others. Even when people are physically near, you can feel unreachable. And that kind of loneliness is its own kind of ache.

I think a lot of people understand this more deeply since the lockdowns. Even people who had never struggled with isolation suddenly got a taste of what it feels like to be cut off. Those long, strange months taught us that connection is not optional: it’s a basic need.

Solitude Is Not Loneliness

I want to be clear about something: I love being on my own. I need quiet time, and it nourishes me.

But enjoying solitude is completely different from feeling lonely. Solitude is peaceful. Loneliness is painful. One fills you; the other empties you.

And this brings me back to my morning meditation. Because I feel a kind of connection now that I didn’t always have.

I have my husband, my friends and family, my pets..
And I also have the Taming the Walrus community: a place where messages, comments, and gentle check-ins remind me that I am part of something larger than myself.

I broke my wrist on November 10th, and got an operation last Saturday. I am taking a week off teaching yoga and breathwork to recover and received lots of wonderful messages from my small community.

Every message, every small gesture, every “thinking of you” means more than people probably realise. I’m grateful for all of it: for everyone who has taken a moment to reach out, to encourage, or simply to say hello.

Photo credit @yogamatters2024

A Few Quiet Minutes Each Morning

Those few minutes each morning help me notice what’s good. When I let myself feel grateful for the people in my life, something inside me relaxes (like a deep sigh). Something that once felt bit more tight and defensive.

So if you’ve ever felt that painful kind of alone, whether in childhood, through illness, or during lockdown, I hope this reminds you that:

Connection matters.
Kindness matters.
And even the smallest moments of reaching out can make someone feel less alone.

If you’re here, reading this, you’re already part of the connection I am grateful for.

Thank you

Veronique