We might read about a "lonely journey of recovery", perhaps from trauma or abuse, or even the "loneliness of grief" following bereavement and loss. Yet when immersed in the reality, words convey so little of the crushing, numbing, heartache.
Then one particular day, the ever building loneliness wave crashed over and upon me bringing its unavoidable turmoil. Often a breaker passes quickly, and I'm shaken but standing. Occasionally I'm knocked off my feet, disorientated and submerged until the water level drops and I can breathe again.
This one came close to flooring me and all I could think, to help keep my bearings, was that somewhere out there is someone who understands. Granted she is over 10,000 miles away, and we've never met face to face, but to use the well worn phrase, she 'gets it'.
And why does she 'get it'? Because she's been through it too. She knows what it's like to experience spiritual abuse and the legacy it leaves. She knows the pain and the sheer bloody hard work it takes to rebuild. Like me, she doesn't have the luxury of remaining on the sidelines of this issue.
I've come to believe that too much time spent with people clinging to the indifference of the sidelines can create the profound, alienating loneliness that is poison to any survivor of abuse. Now I know that the 'silence of the bystander' is undoubtedly more hurtful than the 'cruelty of the oppressor'.
So increasingly I'm learning to stay away from the sidelines and limit time with the people who hang out there. Sometimes that is easier said than done, but I am worth protecting and I don't want to be part of increasing the pain of those that are already hurting. Loneliness along the way may well be part of the deal now, but the people who actually 'get it', who share my revulsion for the sidelines - they make the deal undeniably worthwhile.
