For the first time in my adult life I am living alone, and you can count my true friends on one hand. From childhood up to grad school, I had a plethora of close friends. Most had been my roommates at my alma mater, historically Black Morgan State University. Back in college, I always had sister friends to hang out with, to cross with over the Alpha Kappa Alpha line and form lasting bonds.
After grad school, I married my beloved, Otha. When I walked down the aisle with my late husband, I knew he was my best friend. Otha became my everything. During our four-decade marriage, we raised a family. Meanwhile, I did not call or meet up as much with my college friends because marriage altered the course of my life and relationships.
Otha became ill and transitioned. Within 18 months of his passing, I also endured losing my parents. I did not have close friends to call or lean on for support. I remember moving with my children into a big house to grieve and heal together. We became closer — as friends rather than as parent and children. Having them near shielded me from isolation.
“Not having friends to talk to when feeling down was very hard; it was even more challenging when I had good news or even something silly to share. Being lonely as a Black woman cuts deep because of our rich traditions of kinship and community.”
However, when the pandemic began, I returned to the condo that Otha and I had shared as empty nesters. For the first time in my life, I am living alone. I did not reach out to people for comfort. I immersed myself in the lives of my adult children to distract myself. But not only did I miss the company of others, I missed those parts of myself — humor, empathy, spontaneity — that being with others ignited within me. So, I began a solo mission to rediscover them. In the process, I fell in love with myself again.
My journey revealed how necessary and nourishing a few close friends can be. Not having friends to talk to when feeling down was very hard; it was even more challenging when I had good news or even something silly to share. Being lonely as a Black woman cuts deep because of our rich traditions of kinship and community.
The Way Back to Community and Closeness
That needed to change! So, I explored five life-changing actions: