Solitude & Connection

I hope the holidays were kind. I hope you felt all the love going out to you during the past few weeks. Holidays can be complicated for many of us, so I hope you found ways to honor where you’re at and listen to the still small voice of reason whenever you were tempted to betray yourself.

I’ve missed you. No really. I want you all to know that the connection we share in this space means so much to me. Every single time a new subscriber pops up on my notifications, or someone interacts with these posts in any way, my heart swells. Your notifications make my day; not because I need external validation. It’s nice, of course, but I learned to live without that long ago. It’s about knowing that you saw something of yourself in my words that makes you feel a little less alone. That is the reason I share the stories and observations you’re reading here.

I write so maybe survivors of trauma and shame-based environments—especially trauma experienced at the hands of people who claimed to speak on God’s behalf—might have the courage to lean into the relief that comes with understanding that God is not an abusive, power-hungry man who preys on the weak.

I write about my experiences as an undiagnosed neurodivergent woman who didn’t realize for decades why I often felt alone in a crowded room so someone else out there might see yourself with greater understanding. It took me a long time to realize that the younger me deserved so much compassion, and so does everyone with unique wiring. Neurodivergence comes with gifts that the world cannot do without, and I wish everyone knew that.

To a world that is literally dying of loneliness, I write in hopes that someone out there can know that you aren’t crazy or wrong for asking hard questions or for listening to that intuition that is divinely destined for every human being to rely on. I know how lonely it feels to be taught that one way of seeing the world is the only right way, and yet to see all the gaping holes in that narrative.

Yes, these stories give me a vulnerability hangover sometimes, but that is a small price to pay for reaching someone who might be feeling as paralyzed as I once felt. When you don’t think like neurotypicals, and when your mind is constantly connecting dots and assimilating information in ways other people aren’t seeing, it’s hard to know how to process that with anyone. But when eternal damnation is thrown into the equation, processing your thoughts and stories can send the fear into a whole new echelon.

One particular story stands out so vividly when I attempt to convey the depths of my loneliness during my early twenties. On a sunny Sunday in Northern Virginia during the winter of 1989, I started spiraling while Scott and I were driving to church—the one where we met and were married. This was the church that asked my Dad to move in the middle of my senior year a few years earlier to become their Pastor of Evangelism; the reason why I changed schools at the beginning of my senior year and graduated in January instead of May, so we could move to for the sixth time. I wouldn’t have considered not going to church for a minute. Yet on this particular Sunday, as we drove all dressed for church, I struggled to find words for what I felt.

I didn’t cry often, but I made up for lost time when I did. I would recount everything I’d been holding in for months once whenever the dam broke. So I fumbled with my words trying to explain to Scott that even though people were nice to me at church, I didn’t feel like anyone really knew me or even cared to know me, and I had no clue what to do about it. But I was afraid not to go.

I felt unseen, yet I had the sense of wanting to become totally invisible so least I could move through life without pretending to fit in. Then no one would feel sorry for me if I chose to sit quietly while everyone else socialized freely.

In the middle of pouring my heart out to Scott, I felt silly. He was trying to understand. I felt needy and confused about what was going on this particular day that caused me so much stress. But I did it. We went. And I survived. But I also have learned a lot by reflecting on that day.

I didn’t understand myself well enough then to know why I was suddenly overwhelmed with the idea of being at church. I don’t remember what it was about that day that had me so overwhelmed, but I will never forget the hollow sense of sadness and loneliness inside me that I could not verbalize to save my life.

After delving into all the idiosyncracies of how my brain operates, and after years of following Spirit instead of people, I can finally look back on that day with clarity. Gratitude, even, believe it or not. I’m glad I know how it feels to feel isolated in a crowd of people, and I’m happy that I can now feel what so many others are feeling.

There was not something wrong with me. Those feelings of disconnection were important to guide me toward a better understanding of myself, others, and everything that matters in this world. I would learn that isolation is very different from solitude.

I’m now finding solitude to be one of my most important spiritual practices. These times are like intentionally opening the windows of my soul and letting sunlight bathe each tiny corner, warming me from the inside. The most common prayer I pray these days other than “Thank You” is, “What do I need to know right now?” Often, things will spring to mind that I need to address. Sometimes a person’s name will come up and I know I need to check on them. I ask for wisdom and I’ve recently been AMAZED at what happens when I listen and do what I know I need to do. But the most profound thing about the practice of intentional solitude is how known I feel… how connected I have become to myself, which has allowed me to connect with others so much more authentically.

I can now see how fear drove so many decisions for so long. And fear is a terrible compass. And what I want to leave you with today is an invitation to see yourself just as you are, with no judgment or self-criticism. To see that your wiring and your life’s experiences are working for your highest good, never against you. And when you can really believe that and begin living out of that beautiful reality…fear dissipates.

The Source of life and love would never force us to be someone we aren’t or require us to jump through hoops to gain approval or clone someone else’s idea of what spirituality looks like. You get to be the truest version of you. I hope you will allow yourself to get still, open the windows of your soul, and let the Light flood your being. I wish for you during this new year the beautiful experience of solitude…&…connection.