Finding Community When All You Want Is Solitude

A Reader's Guide to Belonging

There's a particular exhaustion that comes from being pulled in too many directions. The kind that makes me want to disappear into a book and ignore the world entirely. Yet even in my most hermit-like moments, something deeper calls quietly to me: the fundamental human need for connection and community. Maya Angelou observed, "A human being is not attainable by a human being alone." This tension between craving solitude and needing others isn't a contradiction to resolve, but a balance I need to navigate.

We are, at our core, social animals. This isn't just philosophical sentiment; it's biological reality. Our nervous systems are designed to co-regulate with others. When we're stressed, overwhelmed, or pulled thin, isolation might feel protective, but it often amplifies our struggles. Virginia Woolf understood this paradox when she wrote about needing "a room of one's own" while simultaneously recognizing our deep interconnectedness with others.

The support we need to process difficult emotions, to feel grounded, and to maintain perspective comes through connection with others who understand our experience. Yet the irony is clear: when we most need community, we often have the least energy to seek it out or maintain it.

For those of us who find solace in books, this tension feels particularly acute. Reading offers a unique form of restoration, a way to step outside our immediate concerns while still engaging our minds meaningfully. Books provide engagement without requiring us to leave our quiet corners.

But reading is often seen as solitary, even antisocial. This perception misses something crucial: perhaps readers aren't avoiding people; they're seeking depth, reflection, and the kind of rich inner experience that prepares them to show up in our relationships. The contemplative space that reading provides can make us better community members—more thoughtful, more empathetic, more aware of the complexity of human experience.

The key lies in finding or creating communities that understand and honour both your need for meaningful connection and your need for reflective space. Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote, "The only way to have a friend is to be one," but this doesn't mean constant availability or high-energy socializing.

Consider book clubs that emphasize discussion over socializing, writing groups that provide structured interaction around shared creative work, or community gardens where you can work alongside others without constant conversation. These spaces allow for what sociologists call "parallel play" for adults—being together without the pressure of continual interaction.

Online communities can also provide crucial support, offering connections that you can engage with on your own terms and timeline. Forums dedicated to literature, philosophy, or shared interests allow for deep conversation without the energy drain of real-time social demands.

When we think about "mending the world"—whether that's addressing social injustice, environmental concerns, or simply creating more kindness in our immediate communities—we need both reflection and action, solitude and connection.

The insights gained through reading, thinking, and processing often need community to transform into meaningful change. Having emotional and physical support within reach doesn't mean constant availability or high-maintenance relationships. It means knowing there are people who understand your rhythms and will be there when you're ready to emerge from your restorative solitude.

Start small and honour your current capacity, acknowledge your current limits and needs. This might mean joining a community that already aligns with your natural rhythms—perhaps a library volunteer group or a quiet hiking club. Look for activities that happen regularly but don't require constant commitment or high energy.

Being honest about your needs when connecting with others becomes essential. People who are worth having in our community will understand that we show up differently when overwhelmed, and that our way of caring might involve listening more than talking, or offering practical help rather than emotional processing.

Community building, like reading, is a long-term practice that requires patience and consistency rather than intensity. The relationships that will sustain you through difficult periods are often built through small, regular connections rather than grand gestures or constant availability.

Anne Lamott captured me perfectly when she noted that "Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes, including you." You too? My need for solitude and my need for community aren't opposing forces—they're complementary aspects of a full human life that require their own seasons and rhythms.

The goal isn't to force myself into a social mould that doesn't fit, but to find the particular way that I, as someone who values depth and reflection, can both give and receive the support that makes life more bearable and meaningful.

When we're ready to look up from our book, people are waiting to join you and me in the work of mending the world. And when we need to step back into solitude, a true community will hold space for our return.

Resources to Expand Your Understanding

​The Lost Art of Solitude​

“I never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude. We are for the most part more lonely when we go abroad among men than when we stay in our chambers.” ~Henry David Thoreau

​Why community matters so much — and how to find yours​

A community can serve as a social safety net, but finding one and becoming a part of it is different from simply making friends.

​Continue the conversation in our mending community.​

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