Working From Home: A Note on Loneliness

Since the beginning of pandemic, to this date, I spend most of my days working from home, alone. Even though I have online meetings and messages going back and forth, it doesn’t quite replace being physically around other people. There’s something about shared space, small gestures, and unplanned moments that simply doesn’t translate online.

The house is quiet. At times, noticeably empty.

What I’ve learned is that working from home doesn’t create loneliness. It just makes it more visible. I live in a foreign country with my small family and very few friends. Most of my coworkers exist only on a screen, and even those I’ve met in person, I might see once or twice a year. Most of my family and friends are a continent away. Even in the best-case scenario, we meet once a year, and calling isn’t always simple when time zones stretch so far between us. Without the background noise of an office or colleagues nearby, the feeling has space to surface. And when it does, it asks to be acknowledged.

At first, I tried to brush it off. I told myself: I am alone, but I am not lonely. I reminded myself that I was lucky to work from home, that my children and my husband were there at the end of the day, that others had it harder, that I should be more grateful.

Over time, I learned that gratitude and loneliness can coexist. Feeling grateful doesn’t make difficult feelings automatically disappear.

So instead of fighting it, I started asking a different question: How can I take care of myself within this reality?

For me, one small but meaningful response has been developing a hobby: taking care of my indoor plants.

They’re not fancy. No design statement. Just plants that live quietly in my space. And for me, there is something deeply grounding about being connected to something living.

During the day, tending to them gives me a pause, even just for five or ten minutes. A reason to step away from the screen. I prune leaves that are turning yellow, water them, add nutrients, or simply notice a new leaf emerging. These moments are simple, almost insignificant, yet they anchor me.

Caring for my plants reminds me to slow down. To notice. To nurture something without rushing the outcome.

In a subtle way, it softens the loneliness. It brings a sense of presence, of continuity, of being part of something alive, even in a quiet room.

If you’re also working from home, you might recognise some of this. Maybe loneliness shows up for you too, or perhaps something else entirely. You might gently ask yourself:

• What tends to come up for me when I spend so much time working alone?

• When during the day do I notice it most?

• What helps me feel even a little more grounded?

There’s no need to have immediate answers. Sometimes, what’s needed is nothing more than space: to pause, to notice, to listen to yourself.