Happiness

ALONE TOGETHER: LONELINESS IN RELATIONSHIPS

“You know, Dr.D., everyone is just making relationships work for the sake of it. Very few are happy in the real sense if you ask me.”

His words stayed with me long after our session was over. Krish (name changed) had been seeing me to tackle the unhappiness stemming from his relationship with his wife.

While those words were his, I’ve heard them from several other individuals and couples who have expressed their angst, dissatisfaction, frustration, displeasure, and in more extreme cases, apathy over what they call “failed/failing relationships.”

But the one thing that commonly crops up in relationships that leads to these reactions is loneliness. When you’re single, loneliness is often perceived  as a given, something to be expected. “Of course you’re going to be lonely when you lack companionship” is a refrain you commonly hear.

But loneliness in a relationship? Ouch but true phenomenon. After all, a relationship is supposed to provide you with a sense of belonging, comfort, care, connection, meaning, and a better tomorrow. So it hits even harder if you end up lonely while being in a relationship.

Let me make an important distinction here first. Partners can seek and prefer to be in solitude as a way to recharge while being together, and find those silences together to be comforting and healing. It’s part of how they remain kindred, connected spirits and anything but lonely.

But getting back to loneliness, what is resulting in this increasing occurrence and outward expression of loneliness in relationships? It’s important to understand this because its effect is often first on the individuals in the relationship, before affecting the relationship and making it spiral down further.

When I have asked people what they mean by loneliness in relationships, I hear them talking about how they feel disconnected from their partner, feeling unloved, unheard, uncared for, dismissed, not a priority, often expressed simply as “we just don’t talk anymore and are so distant.”

A couple I have been working with spoke about how the same things that she used to say to her spouse 15 years ago and were accepted then and never became an “issue,” are now a huge trigger in their relationship which makes her feel alienated. “What changed, why can’t I reach him,” she asked?    

What changed: “Life” and what it threw at them: Increased responsibilities, especially when kids were born; tenuous relationships with extended families which become sources of conflict between the couple; kids growing up and moving away; stress in personal lives due to work or other reasons; not enough time or an inclination to even communicate, and the ineffectiveness of communication even when it happens; or when the resentments and conflicts pile up so much that they disengaged from each other, often completely.

But the more serious threats are when there is an internal shift within ourselves: how we perceive ourselves, the people we once loved and now feel differently towards, how we relate to our world; and we then begin to question the role of those relationships in our lives.

Let me elaborate on this by pointing out the effect of the specific language we use in talking about relationships.

 “What does your better half do?”
“You complete me.”
“Without you, I am lost.”
You are supposed to  make me happy.”
You have to fulfill all my needs. That’s what a relationship is about.”

How often have we been fed these beliefs about romantic relationships? And we grow up with all these notions that this is how it’s meant to be. It’s always about the other person, and what they do or don’t that bounces off us and that’s how we are supposed to evaluate our relationship.

There are other variations to this theme too.

“He doesn’t have time for me and the kids.”
“She always nags.”
“We don’t even show that we care about each other.”
“He/she doesn’t give me any appreciation for all that I do for the family.”
“He just keeps things to himself. We barely talk!”

And it constantly becomes about “you” vs. “me.”

The disgruntlement results from the onus always being on the other person and never on our own internal worlds and how we think. And this belief system becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy with such conviction that the relationship is soon seen as a burden. We change as people, our wants from our partners change, the “old” just doesn’t work anymore. The isolation, alienation, and emotional disconnect is further deepened and perpetuated. Loneliness creeps up insidiously.

Then there are couples where the partner does everything the other is wanting him/her to do but the loneliness and rifts continue. What’s happening here is that the dissatisfied partner looks to have the void in his / her life to be filled by the partner, and that may not always be possible. Because relationships are not a cure-all prescription that can fulfill all needs or fill all voids. Commonly experienced voids are those of “insecurities,” “feelings of emptiness, ” “feeling unloved,” where every effort of the partner to assuage those gaps is failing to make any difference. Because one is attempting to treat back pain with an anti-diarrheal medication (pardon that weird example, but you get the point). Those perceived gaps are internal processes and mind states that need to be worked on at an individual level, not via the relationship. The partner can help, but as a support system, not the panacea.

I also hear this a lot: “We just don’t have heart-to-heart talks anymore. There seems to be a wall between us.”

I have talked many times about how we often equate sharing our vulnerabilities as a sign of weakness, because we run the risk of being judged, or just don’t feel that our partner is available or interested enough to listen. Can it further create a dent in the communication between two people and perpetuate the cycle of estrangement when you don’t get to share personal stories, experiences, and lives anymore? Absolutely.

“We just grew apart,” say many couples who were married for as many as 30 years, and, at a minimum, for 22 years, and then got divorced. They just didn’t feel emotionally invested enough anymore to want to make things work.

So how does loneliness manifest in relationships? Some common observations are:

There is increased annoyance and irritability with the partner. Communication breakdowns happen frequently which create further misunderstandings because one tends to interpret the other based on assumptions. An increased emptiness seeps in especially when one is in the company of the partner and feels no joy in their presence. They each have their own lives which often don’t even meet at a crossroad. There’s indifference which often transforms into hostility; attraction and intimacy diminish, and the chasm deepens.

How and where does one even begin to tackle this issue?

In, perhaps, the most obvious place: oneself. It’s important to reflect on ourselves as individuals and on the relationship we are an integral part of and do some soul searching. We may not have or find all the answers all at once. But asking ourselves the tough questions would be a good place to start figuring out the answers.

Did I feel lonely before I entered this relationship? Do I feel more lonely in the presence of my partner because that is just how the relationship feels to me? Did I ever feel fulfilled and content in my relationship prior to these feelings surfacing? What changed? But most importantly, am I happy and content as an individual, keeping the context of the relationship out of this equation? How do I relate to myself? Do I have feelings of insecurities, fears of rejection & abandonment, beliefs about myself as a person that pull me away from myself? Because come to think of it, your relationship with yourself is what you see in your relationships. However difficult our partner makes it for us, it’s up to us on how we deal with the relationship with whatever it brings our way, and maintain our sense of equanimity.

We each have our own wellness and happiness quotient and I wish it to be high for all of us. While our partners may add to that and have our well of joy overflow (how lovely that would be 😊), we can help by not feeding into the age-old belief that we need someone else to “complete” us or to be our “better half,” or to make us happy.

We create a lacuna within us this way, creating a dependence on the other person to “complete” us. And when that doesn’t happen, we feel left behind and unhappy.

The Japanese (my favourite life philosophers!) may or may not have a pithy phrase for it (like ikigai or wabi-sabi), but perhaps we need to reflect more on the idea of what completes us as individuals. And whether incompleteness is such a bad thing in the first place. After all, we are all different and complete in our own individual ways.

I paused after I wrote the previous line, and had an image of a kaleidoscope pop up in my mind. In its simplest form, a kaleidoscope is a cardboard tube with a view-hole at one end and mirrors inside to reflect light from the outside on broken bits and pieces of colored glass. Our lives are touched by moments of happiness and joy, good times and bad, moments of despair, disappointment, success, failure, pain, loss, and countless other experiences. And just like with a kaleidoscope, you can take these moments, shuffle the bits together, and create a magnificently beautiful image, so in sync, well patterned and formed, with just the slightest shift in our viewing lens.

The pieces of the puzzle are with us. Loneliness and togetherness are both parts of us. How we use our understanding of our ourselves and each other is what can lead to completeness. A completeness of our own selves, however broken, yet shining, resplendent, resilient and inside us at all times is a wonderful place to start.

What's Your Ikigai?

My life changed irrevocably on December 26th 2018 when my mother passed away.

As a psychologist I knew what would follow would be an expected journey of loss, grief, and intense bereavement. But that didn’t mean I knew when the tide would turn and when I would begin to feel better. I didn’t wait.

I went back to work on the fifth day after her passing.

But something kept gnawing at me inside and I couldn’t put my finger on it. I came to that point in my own life that I have seen many times from across the table with my clients.

I started questioning the purpose of life and how I was living it. There was a decision I had been pushing away for 5-6 years now. I finally brought it to the fore and acted on it.

Which means I resigned from my job, much against well-meaning advice – that losing a parent and giving up a job are placed in the top list of stressors. And yet, there I was, diving into the unknown.

What had rocked the boat for me? I LOVED my job, I think I am good at it (from what people have told me). Everything was looking up for me on the job: in terms of recognition, the reach I had, and the kind of work I was doing. So I knew it wasn’t a knee jerk reaction because the decision had been simmering within for a while.

But I guess a jolt like the one I’d received is what made me take a good look at myself. With Mom’s passing, and having been by her side through these years, I questioned everything; and I felt rudderless, directionless, as if life had lost its essence, even if I knew it was temporary.

Am I living authentically? Am I living a life with meaning and purpose? Am I chasing the elusive concept called happiness? What does happiness even mean?

It’s in our nature to search for meaning and purpose especially in the middle of life’s chaos, and I too set about doing that. On that journey of self-discovery, I chanced upon Ikigai, which means our “reason for being.”

Ikigai, I found, balances the spiritual with the practical aspects.

Ikigai.png

There are four components: what you love, what you are good at, what the world needs, and what the world is willing to pay you for. And at the intersection, where all four meet, is your ikigai, your raison de’tre, your reason to jump out of bed every day. It’s about finding meaning, purpose, joy, fulfillment, satisfaction, and balance in the daily routine of life.

I was experiencing an existential vacuum – the perfect state to go in search of ikigai, I guess. I wasn’t eating and sleeping well, running (my main stress buster) had left me to my own devices, and I was just miserable within. It took monumental effort to be there for others, helping them wade through life as well.

What was wrong?

I’d lost the most precious thing in my life. What more could I lose? I don’t know, but maybe that’s where that fearlessness had come in from, where the need to step out of the comfort zone, to not play safe anymore reared itself.

Therein started the dissection of my life.

My passions and first loves were my family and my work as a psychologist. I also wanted to earn well to meet my needs, be financially independent, travel and have a lifestyle that I enjoyed (which only translates to travel, travel, and more travel 😉)

My frustration, it seemed, was arising from conflicting wants. Of wanting to live a life of meaning and service to others in need, including family, being there for them whenever they needed me, but also catering to the whims of a well-paying, secure job, albeit one where my absence from work to be there for family was starting to be seen as an inconvenience.

Was I focusing on money as the main outcome and was unhappy as a result? What about the things I truly cared about which I have always prioritized but were now being questioned because it came in the way of my “job?” Like taking care of my parents (and my aging dog), spending time with them, being their daughter in every possible way. And of also being there for people as a psychologist in my own time and space.

I loved what I did, I was good at it, the world needed me, but I didn’t need a job to pay me if I chose to go out on my own. That last thing there, that was the missing piece earlier. I didn’t need a job to pay me if I chose to go out on my own.

I would be my own boss and could structure my life to fit in all that was important to me, including being there for my own self, on my own terms.

Ikigai 2.png

I had always maintained that you can’t box life into categories: Job, family, passions, self, others. They aren’t unrelated or aren’t distinct from each other if you have to experience synchronization. Nothing is siloed, and everything is linked.

That one decision helped things fall into place.

I found it possible to still be passionate about my work, and actually do better at it because I had found my centre of gravity and was happier as a result. I could choose what all I wanted to do, on my own time. I could live a life of meaning and purpose by being there for my Dad when he needs family around the most, come home early to the sight of the wagging tail of my dog at the end to a productive day at work, and not when the clock chimes 5:30. And be there for myself, the self that I had lost in chasing things that neither brought joy nor meaning.

That day, I knew I had a different story to tell. I could edit, change, modify the script of my life as I pleased keeping in mind that I could hold close what was important, discard the irrelevant, and make space for what I wanted to do with my time as well.

At the intersection of all this, I found my ikigai and along with it peace, happiness, meaning, purpose, a little less of something else, but a lot more of what mattered.

What helped attain it were keeping true to my passion and purpose and finding a medium to express it;  do and be, rather than think and overthink; seek support from friends and family who know you inside out; and accept that setbacks are normal, that the cards may not stack up perfectly, things may not go as planned, and that you are chasing your purpose for the right reasons. And if life throws you a curveball even after all that, c’est la vie.

What, after all, is life if there is no heartbreak, no adventure, and nothing which tests your true grit and spirit? Indeed, it is in these circumstances that your ikigai holds you aloft, keeps you afloat, and takes you to new horizons.

So, what’s your ikigai?