We feel alone in our struggles — but everyone else feels the same way

Most of our struggles are lonely. No one, apart from Hashem, can really enter the recesses of our minds or hearts to fully comprehend our experiences.

Family, friends, and trusted counselors can listen and try to relate our stories to their own. “You had a falling out with your sister-in-law? That’s rough! I have some troubles with one of mine as well.” Or, if we haven’t had troubles with a sister-in-law, then we’ll stretch a little further to recall the troubles we had with someone at some point in our life.

But honestly, even if we did have troubles with someone, what would that experience really have in common with your troubles with your sister-in-law? Did our hurt feel like your hurt? No.

Our entire life experience has been different from yours: Our developmental history, our relationship history, our school and social experiences — absolutely everything — has been different. Therefore, even if we happen to share the same broad story line, we come to those events from very different vantage points. And that’s not even taking into account our inherent personality and brain differences.

There’s no way another person can really grasp your experience, nor can you really grasp hers. And that’s when you’re sharing similar experiences. The situation is even worse when you try to convey an experience the listener has never encountered.

Inner Shattering

Some of the loneliest experiences involve an internal state of shattering. The anguish is intense, defying language that can accurately depict the panic, disorientation, and fragmentation that can occur.

And yet despite the inability to communicate, the sufferer needs help. She needs someone who can comfort, reassure, and support her through her episode of illness, but she can’t reach out of herself to let others know she is in need. She has no way to articulate her pain; there are no words that appropriately convey her loss of self. How do you explain to someone — in a way they can truly understand — that while you look the same as usual, you are crumbling inside, that you are unable to sleep or find peace, that you’re overwhelmed and hurting, that you’re not yourself?

And even if you could convey it, is it safe to do so? What will others think, or say? Will it affect your job, your friendships, or your future? Who can you trust with the information?

“I was struggling through a rough period of obsessional thinking. I have the kind of OCD that doesn’t have the ‘C’ in it, the compulsive rituals. I just have the ‘O’ part, the obsessions.

“In other words, you won’t find me washing the skin off my hands. You won’t see anything unusual at all. I look just like you. But I’m overthinking all the time. I’m ruminating, self-doubting, self-questioning, wondering if you can see what I’m thinking and feeling. I feel crazy. I have to work so hard all the time to cover it up, and I never know how I’m doing with that.

“Can you see how uncomfortable I am? How awkward I feel? My brain is hurting me so much, and I can’t make it stop. And while that’s bad, what’s even worse is the fact that I’m completely alone with this. No one knows what’s going on inside of me.”

On Our Own, Together

Millions of people experience the lonely struggle of agitated emotional states. But virtually every human being experiences the lonely struggle of life. Ultimately, we all walk our paths alone, together. The worry that one feels for her child is unique and unshareable, despite the fact that worrying about one’s child is an almost universal experience. A difficult medical diagnosis eventually affects everyone either directly or indirectly, and yet, its meaning is always unique, individual, and solitary.

Knowing that every human being is similarly on her own can, oddly enough, help break our sense of isolation. It’s not necessary for anyone to be able to understand our journey —Hashem knows all that needs to be known.

What’s necessary is for us to know that our struggle is, in fact, the shared experience of humanity. Wordlessly, we can join with every other heart that beats with joy and pain. The details may vary, but the story is the same — we’re all in over our heads, in it together.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 735)