Tom Hardy once said, “Being alone for a while is dangerous. It’s addicting. Once you see how peaceful it is, you don’t want to deal with people anymore.”
After living alone for the last two years and spending most of the past year by myself, I’ve realized: yeah…he was absolutely right. Being alone for a while is dangerous, because it’s addicting. And now I have very little patience and empathy for people whose presence feels heavy to me. Even the ones I love, like my Mom. Which is why I wrote this post.
Mother’s Day in Salt Lake City
I lost my Dad suddenly and unexpectedly at the beginning of this year. It hit me hard, but it hit my Mom the hardest.
About a month ago, my sister and I thought it might be good for my Mom to get away from the house for a bit. Get some fresh air and a change of scenery you know? So we invited her out to Salt Lake City for Mother’s Day. She was hesitant at first, but eventually she said yes.
Right before the trip, I started feeling more anxious than excited. I really wasn’t in the mood to go anymore. I knew my Mom would be bringing some emotional baggage, and deep down, I just didn’t want to deal with it.
And sure enough, my fears came true.
My mom brought some documents for me to look at related my Dad’s passing because she needed help reading them. When I told her I would do it later, she asked me to do it at that moment. She wasn’t exactly demanding, but it was one of those “Can you just do it now?” from your parents. I could feel myself getting irritated.
We started arguing about what needed to be filled out. She got upset, saying I didn’t care about helping her. I snapped back, saying that she wasn’t clear about what she needed help with. I kept pushing and pointing out all her mistakes just to prove a point. I only stopped when I noticed that she was about to cry. That’s when I realized I had gone too far.
Slippery slope of solitude
The peace I had found from living alone for so long taught me how to protect myself, but not how to hold space for others. When I was arguing with her, I knew deep down that I was just being ruthless to my Mom. And I felt disgusted.
Solitude gave me clarity, but cost me my compassion in motion. Time alone also taught me how to find peace of mind, but stole my stamina for connection.
I didn’t want to make space for other people’s chaos. I didn’t want to be emotionally responsible for someone else’s grief, even if that person was my Mom.
I’m still calling my Mom whenever I can, but now I’m reminding myself to be more patient and open when I listen to her.
The Lonely Chapter
I still believe that it’s important to know how to be alone. There’s definitely a balance to it. It’s good to surround yourself with good people, but being alone fosters self-awareness and allows time for introspection.
I admit that I’m in a lonely chapter of my life where I’m tearing out old beliefs and mindsets and trying to rebuild parts of my foundation. I know this process requires space, but as you’ve read, being alone in that space for too long can be rough.
A Note to My Mom
You’re the strongest woman I know.
I know you’re going through so much right now. I want you to know that your children love you a lot. I’ll keep calling, and I’ll keep listening. If you need any help, I’ll do my best to show up with patience and care.
Thank you for all that you’ve done for me and our family.
Love,
Jerry
