We tend to compare the REALITY of our lives with the IDEALS of others’
lives.

Wow! How true is that, I thought. I may admire the women with an abundance of financial resources but miss the fact that her husband is a raging alcoholic that sometimes beats her. A sister or unmarried woman may be drawn to the sweetness of a woman pushing her toddler on a swing. But what she does not know is that the mother was up all night with this toddler 5 days last week – cleaning up every night after multiple bouts of stomach flu. On the other hand, the mother might cherish the image of a sister quietly praying in front of the Blessed Sacrament … unaware of the fact this is the first time she has been able to do this in months – her job as a pastoral associate has kept her so busy she barely has time for a hot meal!

The point is that we often do compare ourselves with others in times of trouble – whether that be depression, disappointment or lonliness. And sometimes these comparisons make us feel worse when everybody seems to have it better than we do. But, as the quote above states, our comparisons rarely reflect reality.

dee

I can remember when I was very young in religious life that loneliness centered a bit around sex–or the lack of genital sex. There was a kind of longing or ache there that was probably a sign of normalness. That was how I dealt with it. Sometimes, I just said, “I must still be alive. Thank God.” Then I remember a time when it was babies that seemed to be calling. As they say, “The grass is always greener on the other side.” So I think I saw the joys of parenthood in isolation from the struggles. I saw children as loving their parents, dependent on them and formed by them. That all sounded nice–being loved and needed.

Later in life, I think it was a desire to have someone be committed to understanding me. You know, a husband would be duty-bound to understand me. Like that ever happens! But when you are craving understanding, as all human beings do, it seems like a possibility. And sometimes it is just the thought of quiet companionship that is longed for and attractive.

Now it must sound like I am lonely all the time. But that isn’t so. The occasions are rare, but I wanted to say–loneliness changes with life and grows more toward what I picture as a loving relationship with God–understanding, companionship, etc.

I m quite sure that as a religious I experience no more and no less loneliness than anyone else. And I am grateful to feel the connections with others that have come from my commitment to this life.

But it’s true that attitude affects this whole perspective. I didn’t feel lonely when living with one elderly sister because we worked at living community. However, I was often lonely when I lived in a larger community that felt more like a hotel than a home.

But that’s when I utilize those God-given gifts of postage stamps, telephones and the internet.

all my best,
Sister Laurel
Stillsong Hermitage

I think we generally are uncomfortable with ourselves, with our deep and real selves, and have never actually developed a deep relationship with God either. Oh sure, we pray occasionally, but that is a different matter. We simply cannot deal with genuine solitude (which, by the way is a relational term since God is always there.) Sometimes what is identified as loneliness is the real deal: a terrible need to share our lives with someone on a level which is profound and lifegiving for both of us, but oftentimes it is really a sneaky and inaccurate way of referring to the need for distraction and the fear of coming to terms with our deepest selves and the God who resides there and summons us to himself.

Sorry for butting in here; just my two cents worth from the perspective of the hermitage!!

All my best, Sister Julie,
Sister Laurel M O’Neal, Erem Dio
Stillsong Hermitage
Diocese of Oakland