Like most people, I hadn’t really experienced living alone by the time I had reached my late twenties. I went from my parents’ house to uni halls, then graduated from flatshares to living with a partner – before returning to a flatshare once the relationship broke down. Each experience was different, but they all had one thing in common: they’d stress me out.
It’s not that I am averse to company – I have three siblings after all. But I am an introvert at heart.
Before Covid, when five days a week in the office was the norm, I’d get home after a long, taxing day full of meetings, only to be forced to endure chit-chat with housemates. I’d hear about their mean bosses, their tumultuous dating lives and their thoughts on the latest episode of Love Island, before it was socially acceptable for me to retreat into my bedroom for a bit of R&R.
So after the aforementioned break-up and a brief spell living with a particularly erratic woman who had blazing rows with the guy she was dating at 4am, I decided enough was enough. It could break me financially, but I decided I needed my own space. So in early 2020, I moved into a one-bedroom flat in south London.
A lot of my social anxieties fell away, and I found myself enjoying the space and time spent at home, when previously I had felt like I was constantly treading on eggshells and was conscious of how much time I spent in communal areas. I’m not the only one to feel this way: as of 2022, 8.3million people were living alone in the UK – 53 per cent of them women.
It felt like the best choice I’d ever made – until I got ill. My first experience of this was during lockdown when I contracted Covid. At first, I felt a little tired and had a sore throat, but it soon ramped up and sapped all my energy. I struggled a lot with breathing and on one particular night, as I was lying on my back, facing the ceiling, I sobbed and told myself that if I closed my eyes, I might not wake up.
It was incredibly challenging being unable to see anyone in the flesh – nor did I have any food or medicine in the cupboards to ease the symptoms. I found myself feeling resentful when hearing stories about people “isolating” in a different room from their families, being delivered meals and paracetamol to their doors. Yes, they had coronavirus, but they at least knew someone was on the other side of the wall.
I suppose I had blocked out some of that trauma, because it wasn’t until last month when I came down with the flu that parts of it came back to me. I was reminded how lonely it feels to have no one to take care of you: I knew I needed to eat, but was so drained I barely had the strength to make myself some toast. I also felt miserable – I tried just resting and watching TV, but after a few days, cabin fever set in and my mood was so low I couldn’t engage with anything.
It’s hard for me to admit, but in these situations all I want is some company and to be looked after. While I ordinarily pride myself on being self-sufficient, when I’m ill I seem to revert back to a child-like state. I crave for my mum, wishing she’d pop over and make me a hot soothing drink, place her cold hand on my feverish forehead as she did when I was a kid and tell me I’d be okay. Given the geographical distance between us, however, I know this isn’t an option and have to settle for a quick FaceTime to complain about my symptoms and curry a bit of sympathy.
It occurred to me to message my best friends, but one was out of the country and the other was moving house. Realistically, however much they love me, they weren’t going to fly back from Cape Town or postpone their move date just to bring me some Lemsip. And so I spiralled. It’s about not being able to do things for myself, and not having people around to do them for me.
According to GP and medical director at Selph, Claire Merrifield, the best thing to do as we head into cold and flu season, beyond prevention itself, is to prepare in advance and this is especially true if you live alone. “Ensure you have a good supply of paracetamol, tissues, food that’s nutritious and easy to prepare such as soups and broths, and nourishing drinks like hot lemon and honey,” says Merrifield.
It’s also important to let someone else close to you know if you’re feeling really unwell, she says.
“People who are living alone and feeling lonely might be more affected by mood changes, particularly if they’ve had to cancel events and have therefore missed out on social connections during their illness. If you know someone who lives alone who is unwell, do your best to keep in touch with them both during the illness in case you can offer support and afterwards to help boost their mood.”
This advice is echoed by counsellor Georgina Sturmer, who states: “Even if you love living on your own, you might find that being struck down with a virus leaves you feeling isolated. You might feel the urge to hide away until you’re feeling better, but this is exactly the time when it’s important to reach out to your loved-ones.
“Stress isn’t just an emotion or feeling,” she says, “It’s a physical sensation that can manifest throughout our body and it raises our cortisol levels, which can damage our immune system if it stays high for a prolonged period of time.
“So if we manage to find ways to keep our spirits up and reduce our stress levels, we minimise this cortisol response, meaning that we might even get better faster.”
Of course no one is immune to getting sick, and this won’t be the last time I’m struck down by illness. So I’m determined to get better at being ill – and next time, will reach out to friends and vocalise my need for assistance more. I still love having my own space – but occasionally, it is nice to lean on others and be taken care of.
