A few years ago, on a frosty winter night, my loneliness hit so bad that I curled up in front of my radiator. I wanted to replicate human warmth. I wanted to cry. I wanted to feel something.
But there was nothing.
My chest felt like an airlock that was accidentally opened in outer space, releasing scraps of joy into the vast emptiness. Not surprisingly, my radiator didn’t fix the problem. In fact, it sent me down a spiral of shame and self-loathing. Look at you, a voice in my mind hissed. What kind of loser are you? You don’t have any friends, no partner, no one you can hug. So you’re stuck with your heater. How embarrassing…
That night ended with me standing on a bridge, smoking a cigarette, movie noir style. And it was at this moment that I — a non-smoker — couldn’t even recognize myself anymore.
I felt numb.
How to Deal With Loneliness (and Why It’s So Hard)
Obviously, this wasn’t the optimal approach to feeling less lonely. But looking back, I understand why I did it.
For one thing, asking for help when you’re lonely is the hardest thing you can imagine. Loneliness is a stigmatized emotion, so strangely, we assume that asking for help will only make us look worse. For another, self-regulation shuts down when you’re lonely. That is, it gets really tough to make smart choices for yourself. You eat more junk food, drown in TV shows, or — as in my case — get a craving for cigarettes.
But ever since that incident, I’ve learned my lessons.
I’ve read and written widely about loneliness. I also had more encounters with this feeling of alienation and learned about other people’s experiences. What I needed, retrospectively, was a guide. Someone to tell that finding a way out is possible — and what that might look like.
With that in mind, here are seven evidence-based ways to feel less lonely. Some of them are quick fixes; others are part of a long-term solution. All of them are deeply rooted in research and personal experience.
7. Strip away the scary costume
First, we can acknowledge that loneliness is an emotion that comes and goes like the tides. This can be hard to realize because we often say, “I am lonely,” suggesting that loneliness is part of our identity. A more accurate way to describe our fleeting state of alienation is, “I feel lonely.”
But why does loneliness feel so distressing?
Part of the reason is that loneliness terrifies us — and we don’t question it.
We experience the same in horror movies: we don’t get scared because someone is actually trying to stab us. No — we get terrified because we’re dealing with something unknown. If the clown Pennywise from Stephen King’s It took off its makeup, came out of the sewers, and greeted us in broad daylight, our fear would disappear.
The same applies to loneliness. Sometimes it dresses up as a scary clown and tries to tell us that we have no friends. That we have no one to talk to. That nobody will ever like us. But beneath the mask and balloons simply hides a friendly souvenir of human evolution. As the researcher John Cacioppo puts it in his book Loneliness:
“[L]oneliness itself is not a disease; feeling lonely from time to time is like feeling hungry or thirsty from time to time. It is part of being human.”
Once we realize that loneliness is an inevitable part of the human condition, the lonely experience feels less dramatic — and less lonely. Once we accept that there’s nothing wrong with feeling lonely sometimes, we strip away the scary costume. And isn’t the great irony that loneliness is a highly communal emotion?
Every human knows it.
Thus, it helps to see loneliness as hunger — social hunger, so to speak. This analogy shows that loneliness largely feels so painful because we’ve stigmatized it in society. We generally don’t feel ashamed about hunger or thirst, so why should loneliness humiliate us? These feelings are all part of human clockwork. Just like feeling hungry is an incentive to eat, loneliness is an incentive to connect.
And, as we’ll find out next, this needn’t always involve other people.
6. Confide in your journal
Did I mention loneliness feels shameful?
That’s why admitting feelings of loneliness — even to yourself — takes a lot of courage. However, there’s something we can all turn to that will never judge us and always accept us for who we are: a blank page.
As health specialist and poet Alfred Nobel puts it:
“When expressing themselves in writing, people are actually creating an artifact — a symbol of some of their thoughts and feelings. People often can write what they find difficult to speak, and so they explore deeper truths.”
During my loneliest periods, I filled entire journals within a few weeks. My journal became a friend, partner, or therapist when I didn’t have one. In one loneliness entry, for instance, I divulged my fear of not having any real friends and not knowing who to call when times get tough. But once I saw those lines on paper, I started dissecting them like a forensic doctor:
“Is that really true?” I asked my journal.
And after considering it for a moment: “Not really,” I jotted down, “I do have people who care about me. It’s more that I have high expectations, that I want to be seen, that I crave attention. And that’s okay, I guess. It’s normal.”
One of the sneaky traps of loneliness is that it’s self-reinforcing. It equips us with a negative filter for social settings: we find social threats where there are none. We tend to think people got a negative impression of us, even though they enjoyed our company. We fear rejection. The result:
Loneliness becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Journaling provides the clarity we so desperately need when we feel lonely. How? For one thing, labeling our emotions helps us process them and loosen their grip. Studies have also found that writing deeply about stressful experiences leads to health and social benefits — such as heightened mood, fewer work absences, or improved working memory.
The only catch is that you must confront your deepest thoughts and feelings. And while this may feel upsetting at first, it’ll also provide value, meaning, and relief. Here are a few prompts:
- What situations have made you feel lonely lately, and how did that make you feel?
- In what ways is your current fear of rejection based on negative experiences in the past?
- How would you console a friend who experiences loneliness?
You don’t have to write a novel. Journaling for 15–30 minutes in 3–5 sessions can already show tremendous benefits. And remember: it’s all for yourself. Completely private. Nobody — not even you — ever has to read what you wrote.
5. Get back in the driver’s seat
Loneliness often feels passive. As if something is being done to you. As if you were taken hostage in a van and driven into a desert where connections are scarce.
My loneliest moments all had in common that something out of my control was happening. That I didn’t want to be alone but was left alone anyway. That I was among people but in bad company. Or that I had friends but wasn’t experiencing friendship.
In times like these, taking back control is crucial. Going from something that’s done to you to something you do. More precisely, going from being left alone to intentionally spending time alone.
Once you consciously decide to be alone, it’s much harder to feel lonely because you’re making a choice. It’s about getting in the van’s driver’s seat and exploring the desert on your own terms. The English language has a wonderful word for this condition:
Solitude.
While loneliness is the distressing feeling of craving connection, solitude is the action of freeing yourself from other people’s input. Loneliness is draining; solitude is replenishing.
The million-dollar question: how do we get from loneliness to solitude?
Author Ryan Jenkins has got an idea: “The difference between loneliness and solitude,” he writes, “is a plan.” I agree. It’s the act of deciding for yourself that a) you’ll go out to do something and b) knowing you’ll be alone.
I experienced this when I walked the Camino de Santiago last year. See, before I took the first step, I’d convinced myself I would spend the next two weeks alone, in solitude. Sure, a few chit-chats with waiters and receptionists here and there — but nothing of substance. And for the most part, this was precisely what happened. I was alone. And not just that, I enjoyed being alone. Having the time to think. Capturing my thoughts with voice memos.
This mental frame of anticipating aloneness filtered out the big chunks of loneliness. Solitude remained.
But the most surprising part was this: whenever I did talk to people, some of the best conversations of my life ensued. And again, it was the expectation of being alone that made these moments of connection so extraordinary.
The ultimate power move, then, is to identify activities you’ve traditionally done in a group and get comfortable with doing them by yourself. You can start small by going to a restaurant by yourself. Then, think a little bigger. Cinemas. Concerts. Foreign countries.
These experiences can teach you that you are stronger than you think. That you can do things by yourself and enjoy them. That you can be alone without feeling lonely. As the BBC writes about Neil Ansell, who spent five years in the complete isolation of rural Wales:
“Ansell says he continues to benefit from his five years of solitude. In the end, he knows that if everything goes wrong and he ends up alone, in a crumbling cottage in the middle of nowhere — well, things could be worse.”
Things could be worse. With this mindset, any social interaction becomes less stressful and more rewarding. And that’s because it helps you realize you don’t have much to lose. If someone rejects or mistreats you, you needn’t force them to like you. Instead, you can happily choose to be alone.
Ultimately, solitude creates space for people who actually matter. People who make you feel less lonely. And it nourishes one of the most important relationships in life: the relationship with yourself.
4. Distract yourself
In the BBC’s loneliness experiment, 55,000 people from 237 countries answered questions about loneliness. The survey also asked the participants about ways to feel less lonely. The most popular answer?
Distraction.
Here’s their precise wording: “Find distracting activities or dedicate time to work, study, or hobbies.” Now, this may seem a little shady because we think of distraction as a bad thing, something unreasonable. But it’s easy to see why it works for so many people.
Loneliness is often a temporary experience. It erupts after moving cities, switching jobs, or during an uncomfortably quiet Friday night. But after some time, we tend to adjust to new circumstances or naturally find our way back to connection. In this sense, we can weather loneliness like a thunderstorm:
Cozy up and wait until it passes.
Obviously, there are good and bad distractions. Smoking cigarettes, as I did on that lonely winter night, wasn’t particularly productive. The same applies to passive social media consumption, excessive drinking, or neglecting exercise—all things we already know to be harmful.
So what type of distractions can assuage loneliness?
Research tells us that “absorbing activities” are the most effective in coping with loneliness. Anything that puts us in a flow state. So instead of labeling this as a distraction, we might actually call it engagement.
This looks different for everyone. For me, a powerful solution is going for a long walk while listening to a podcast (I’m a huge fan of This Week in Sparkling Water because the host talks very openly about loneliness, among other things). Activities like cooking a nice dinner, playing the piano, or losing myself in a novel have also worked wonders.
If you struggle to find your own activities, remember that you can induce flow by combining something you’re good at with something challenging:
In simpler terms, you may ask yourself: “What are the activities in which I lose my sense of time?”
Interestingly, video games (and many other games) excel at this because we get better at playing the game as the level of difficulty gradually increases. However, it’s important to note that distractions primarily reduce transient loneliness — instances where you need to bridge a canyon of seclusion. Say, your partner is out of town, your friends are busy on the weekend, or you’re solo traveling.
Chronic, persistent loneliness is a different beast.
When you feel lonely every day, and there’s no social change in sight, distracting yourself is just that: a distraction. A temporary fix for a permanent problem. Cacioppo again:
“Real relief from loneliness requires the cooperation of at least one other person, and yet the more chronic our loneliness becomes, the less equipped we may be to entice such cooperation.”
And, of course, this is where it gets tricky. When we’re lonely, we tend to think people don’t like us, the world is evil, and humans are hostile. Cooperation becomes a foreign concept because people have caused us pain. They disappointed us. They let us down. We’re afraid it might happen again.
Let’s explore a few ways to beat that vicious cycle.
3. Seek out micro-moments
A few months ago, I had yet another lonely episode. I wanted to attend a meeting for volunteers, but I was dreading the event, terrified that no one would like me.
And yet, shortly before the event, something changed.
I had some time to kill and remembered that I wanted to buy ink for my fountain pen. As I entered a cubicle-sized stationery store, I felt lost, overwhelmed by the army of pens and papers around me. Coming here was a bad idea, my lonely thoughts whispered. Just go home. But then —
“Can I help you?” the old man behind the counter asked me in the most congenial tone I’d heard in months.
“Yeah, um, sure. I need some ink. For my fountain pen.”
“Ah, certainly!” he smiled before turning around to fetch something from the shelf behind him, “I got it right here.”
He gently put the tiny blue packaging on the counter. I exchanged it for a 2€ coin, wished him a nice day, and noticed, to my sudden surprise, that the world wasn’t so evil after all. I felt connected.
What happened here?
Psychologist Barbara Fredrickson would call it a “micro-moment of positivity resonance.” In her book Love 2.0, she makes a convincing argument that these micro-moments are the very foundation of love. Yes, love. See, contrary to popular belief, love isn’t an infinite, magical leash between two people in a (romantic) relationship. No — love is simply a moment of connection, and it can occur between strangers just as much as sweethearts.
The science is mind-boggling.
During micro-moments, people’s brains literally resonate with each other. They sync up like flash mob dancers. And it gets even crazier: When people tell each other stories, the storylistener’s brain can, in rare cases, anticipate the storyteller’s brain activity.
That’s literally why we call it connection.
But how can we create these micro-moments of love? Fredrickson points out two preconditions:
- Safety. We can only open up for connection and receive resonance signals when we don’t feel threatened.
- Senses. Micro-moments require a real-time sensory connection. This ideally takes the form of face-to-face contact, but phone calls can also work. Texting, however, hampers this sensory connection because it’s time-delayed by design.
This sounds complex, but it’s easier than you might think.
For one thing, it helps to remember that anyone has the power to spark micro-moments (sometimes, all it takes is a smile). For another, it’s about staying open to receiving micro-moments. When I was in that stationery store, I was tempted to believe the guy was trying to rip me off because he was so kind. Too kind. Instead, I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Because most humans are actually… nice.
But the real lesson is this:
Micro-moments remove the enormous weight we shoulder when we’re lonely. They show that the bar of connection is lower than we thought. They teach us that love doesn’t necessarily require a partner, best friend, or loving parent. Quite the opposite: it emerges through baby steps in daily, ordinary life.
Which brings us to the next point.
2. Send one small text message
It’s a bit of a cliché, and for the longest time, I thought this was stupid advice.
This was because, in my loneliest moments, I rarely felt like anyone was there for me. I didn’t feel like having someone to text. Let alone someone to talk to. And even if I had people to talk to, I never followed through because I was scared they would feel overly obliged to help me. Friendships, I thought, shouldn’t feel staged and artificial just because I happen to feel lonely.
But again, these thoughts were loneliness disguised as a scary clown.
It was the stigma talking.
The antidote? See the lies of loneliness for what they are and reach out to someone anyway. I know, I know, this is much harder than it sounds. But there are a few perspective shifts that can make it more bearable:
- Send one tiny text message. You don’t need to text a novel to explain why you never replied to the last message, what exactly you’ve been doing, or the intricacies of your emotions. You don’t need to explain yourself. Period. You also don’t need to text as many people as possible. Start with one short message. That’s the minimum viable action.
- People love to help. Just imagine how you’d react if someone reached out to you, asking for your help. I, for one, would feel important, needed, and valued. After all, cooperation is tattooed on our DNA. It’s what made human survival possible.
- You don’t need to express your loneliness right away. Admitting your loneliness is an act of extreme vulnerability, and not all people will know how to deal with it. Finding the right confidants and phrases takes finesse. And that’s okay. If you’re not ready, take your time. Rather than immediately admitting you’re lonely, you might start by saying that you’ve been unwell lately or that you’d like to meet up in person.
- Rejection is rarely about you. I used to get extremely offended when getting rejected after asking someone to hang out. But the truth is that modern life is busy. People get stressed and forgetful. It takes hard work to remember this, but setting boundaries and saying No are parts of healthy relationships.
That said, trying to send a text message — even the simplest one — often paralyzes me. The scary clown creeps up on me. What do you think you’re doing? Nobody likes you. They’ll reject you anyway. I often type one sentence, delete it, type another, stare at the screen, put my phone away, and eventually give up. That’s why having a template helps. Here’s one I adore:
“I’ve had a bit of a bad week. Do you mind meeting for a coffee?”
It’s concise, actionable, and yet humble. Makes the clown look stupid.
1. Do something small for someone else
Airplanes offer terrible conditions to feel lonely, and yet, that’s where I found myself when I returned from a family reunion in Luxemburg, stuck in the middle seat between two strangers who made me feel awkward and uncomfortable. So naturally, I started holding a grudge against my neighbors — especially the one on my right. We had been carrying out a covert battle over the armrest, and I had to withdraw my forces as his arm seemed to be an immovable object.
Sigh.
I tried deep breaths. Didn’t work. Tried reading. No chance. The scary clown slithered into my mind again. Not even ordinary people on an airplane like you. They don’t even let you use the armrest. HAHAHA HAHAHA.
At some point, I switched to an unconventional battle strategy: benevolence.
The flight attendants had just handed out little bars of chocolate, and since I had eaten way too many deserts that weekend, I turned to my enem — ahem, neighbor.
“Hey, do you want my chocolate bar?”
“Oh, you don’t want it?” He looked stunned.
“No, no. Please, have it.”
“Oh,” his face slowly lit up. “Thank you.”
He still didn’t surrender the armrest. But, strangely, I felt less bothered by him after donating my chocolate. It was as if this act of cooperation flipped a magical switch in my primal brain that allowed me to identify him as “non-hostile.” Perhaps even friendly.
A ton of research has suggested that acts of kindness not only feel good but also do good. Service for others is probably humanity’s most ancient currency. I do this for you; you do that for me. A meta-study examining how altruism affects physical and mental health concluded that:
“… a strong correlation exists between the well-being, happiness, health, and longevity of people who are emotionally kind and compassionate in their charitable helping activities — as long as they are not overwhelmed …”
This last snippet is crucial. As long as they are not overwhelmed. This is the reason why common advice to “volunteer” or “join a club” often fails to help us when we’re lonely. Sure, it’s well-meant, and if we did it, there’s a good chance it would actually help us.
But it’s too much.
When we feel lonely, even talking to a single person can be a nerve-wracking endeavor. No wonder the thought of joining a club and socializing with several people at once makes every cell in our bodies jump on the barricades.
So again, alleviating loneliness is not about finding five new best friends. If volunteering is too much for you, that’s completely fine. Maybe it’s easier to start on a micro-level. Think about your family, your neighbors, your colleagues.
You don’t even need to solve a specific problem in their lives. Altruism starts with an extremely simple component: giving someone your attention. Letting them know they’re seen — whether that’s through a text, a knock at their door, or a piece of chocolate.
In our age of distractions, the simple act of paying authentic attention is the ultimate gift we can give each other.
A Buffet to Feel Less Lonely
If some of these things don’t work for you, that’s a good sign. After all, loneliness is a subjective feeling and thus requires subjective solutions.
In fact, we might look at ways to feel less lonely just as we choose food at a buffet. Everyone has different tastes and diets. One dish rarely makes a great meal (it’s the variety of foods that makes a great plate). And skipping right to dessert is tempting but won’t still your hunger in the long run.
In the same way, figuring out how to feel less lonely requires different solutions for different people in different seasons of their life.
Sometimes, you need that dessert of quick fixes because your loneliness has become unbearable. Other times, you’ll need to ask others to serve you — that is, seeking out professional help. But in any case, the best meal is a diverse, nourishing plate of multiple solutions.
Yes, coping with loneliness can feel exhausting. But the good news is that it does get easier. Even if your loneliness feels unbearable now, you can trust that you’ll figure out solutions to feel less lonely — your very own meal plan to quench your social hunger.