My name is Morgan and back in 2022, I moved to West Wales to be closer to my partner and because I fell in love with the wild nature there.
When I moved, I had many friends dotted all around the country and the world, and a partner of five years. I would speak to these old friends regularly on WhatsApp, and probably see them in person maybe 1–3 times a year.
But working alone from home and seeing no one but my partner and the supermarket staff from week to week, I often felt a genuine loss and hunger for connection. This led to an emotional flatness, often followed by feelings of low mood.
Even though I’m an introvert on the autistic spectrum who cherishes solo time, guards it fiercely and prefers to recharge my batteries alone, I still needed meaningful, deeper, face-to-face connections.
For six months, I didn’t make a single new friend in the area. Yes, I had a handful of people I could say hi to, who I’d bump into from time to time, but I often felt clueless as to how to progress these casual acquaintances into friendships.
Yet, at the same time, I also felt that I had no right to claim loneliness. After all, back then, I had a partner, and that should be enough, right?
I often saw single people enjoying lives with meaningful work that engaged them with others, nourished by a satisfying circle of friends. In comparison, I felt incomplete.
I found an explanation for the “moving target” nature of my social needs in the form of Vivek Murthy’s book, Together: Loneliness, Health and What Happens When We Find Connection.
Murthy, the US Surgeon General, explained that we have a need for:
So whilst we can have one or more of these needs satisfied, loneliness can arise when any of these types of connections are not met.
There are dating sites to meet partners, but the tricky thing is how you go about finding these wider community connections in today’s modern world, or even build close platonic friendships.
If you’ve ever told someone you’re feeling lonely or Googled the topic of loneliness, you might have received this common-sense advice: join a club, go to events, and meet people.
However, for me as a neuro-divergent person, sensory overwhelm and social anxiety can make large group events challenging, like many of us who are autistic or have ADHD.
These environments can be noisy, and I’d find I often ended up “morphing” at social events —carefully putting everything I do and say through a social appropriateness filter (and occasionally still ending up getting it wrong).
Whilst I am a skilled “camouflager”, the effort can be exhausting, as I long to be able to just be myself.
Worse than that, the “post-mortem” aftermath can be brutal. After I’ve attended a social event with many people, particularly folks I don’t know, I can spend hours analysing the way I spoke, reacted, and behaved in that environment.
As someone living with the fluctuating symptoms of chronic fatigue and back pain, this has been an issue for me on many occasions, having to cancel last minute or just miss out.
And then there’s the financial cost. I often found that social events came at a very high cost, and being on a low income due to working part-time because of disability, my ability to participate was limited.
Indeed, it sometimes feels as though community has been turned into a commodity, rather than being a feature of everyday life accessible to all, as it once used to be and, perhaps, should be.
Meanwhile, I believe that the commodification of social relationships, in which social connections and relationships can be bought and sold, only further fosters disconnection and loneliness.
This period of living with my solitude wasn’t without its gifts. It forced me to find my flow, discovering what brings me joy and learning to be less afraid of loneliness.
Murthy talks about the importance of finding our own inner compass before we can connect meaningfully with others. In other words, knowing who we are, what we want, and what direction we’re headed in.
And this journey helped me learn what specific forms of connection will be nourishing to me — small doses of company, with deep and meaningful conversation.
Having learned what I was looking for, I started going to donation-based women’s circles created by another local woman, as well as weekly dance classes and choir practice where there was opportunity to talk to others afterwards.
Whilst it has taken persistent effort and time, some of these opportunities have evolved into closer connections.
It has been slow growth, and many times, I have almost given up and moved again, but it’s been worth the patience.
Alongside this, to help tackle my own feelings of loneliness, I also took the advice that if something is missing, create it yourself.
And so last year, I forged a collaboration with a local dance teacher to lead some socials centred around dance and singing. Together, we have run several successful events since, including a beach trip.
I’ve also set up a WhatsApp chat for women with ADHD featuring mutual support, with regular virtual co-working sessions.
Through these communities and groups, I’ve found a sense of being part of a larger collective, through regular gatherings, and I now have a circle of acquaintances containing budding friendships.
Whilst my partner and I have now separated, I benefit from day-to-day contact with a similarly introverted housemate with whom I can have regular conversations.
When I socialise now, I take care of myself, taking steps out when I feel drained and coming back to engage in more nourishing, meaningful conversations when I need to fill my connection cup.
Best of all, I now feel that when I meet with others, whilst my sensitive autistic radar will still be on, my expression comes more from a place of fullness and authenticity.
