Loneliness can strike at any time in a man’s life, from childhood to old age. I’ve lived through my fair share of it. Now, at 71, looking back feels like standing on the cliff near my home, watching the waves roll in. There’s a rhythm to it: tides that rise and fall, currents that shift and return. You start to see the patterns, yet life never stops changing.
We all experience transitions. From childhood to independence, through relationships, work, and family — each stage brings waves of connection and loss. Roles come and go. Responsibilities change. And sometimes, the people we care for, or the people who care for us, drift away.
How can loneliness take root through life stages?
Childhood and Early Teens: When Connection Is Conditional
Not everyone was warmly held in childhood. We’re built to survive almost anything, but that survival can come at an emotional cost later in life.
Our earliest drive is to connect with parents, family, and those around us. But what happens when that drive isn’t met with warmth or understanding? When affection comes with conditions, or when control and emotional coldness take its place?
These early experiences can shape us deeply. Maybe they show up as the people pleaser, or the child who retreats into books or gaming. I remember feeling like I didn’t fit in anywhere — always trying to work out how I should be, and always missing the mark.
Teenage Years and Early Adolescence: Trying to Belong
Adolescence hits like a series of waves: hormones, identity, pressure to fit in. Survival now means moving outward, building new bonds, and figuring out who we are.
We fight loneliness by trying on different personas, withdrawing, or overcompensating for what we think we lack. We might even start to believe something is wrong with us, that this sense of alienation must have a cause.
I didn’t feel lonely then, just lost — paddling in the shallows while others seemed to surf effortlessly through life.
Early Adulthood: The Independence Illusion
This is when loneliness really hit me.
I stepped off the education treadmill, claimed my independence, and moved to London determined to become a rock star. Most of my peers went to university. I didn’t fit there, either. By day I worked as a labourer, by night I read Sartre on the bus and practised Hendrix riffs in a tiny bedsit.
To fill the void, I got married and threw myself into music. But in trying to connect with other musicians, I overlooked the loneliness in my own marriage — and my wife’s too.
It’s a pattern many of us know. We build busy lives to escape disconnection, only to find that busyness itself deepens the loneliness.
Midlife: The Realisation and the Turning Point
You may not have reached this stage yet, but it comes for many of us.
My London life eventually collapsed in divorce. I was alone again, and though I kept myself busy with gigs and work, the absence of deeper connection became impossible to ignore.
Maybe this is what people call a midlife crisis: realising that what you’ve built doesn’t fill the space you hoped it would. For me, it was a wake-up call and the beginning of change.
I met my current wife soon after, over several pints of real ale, and realised that this connection meant more than all the noise of the music world. Together we built a new life, and for a while, loneliness retreated into the shadows. But the tides always turn.
Later Life: The Empty Spaces and New Possibilities
As a counsellor, I see many men facing loneliness in later life.
It can begin when children leave home, when purpose quietly slips away. Suddenly, the roles that defined you are gone. You’re sitting alone on a surfboard in still water. Family members have passed on. Work has lost its spark. Friendships have faded.
It’s a confusing place — part grief, part yearning. But there’s also potential here: a space of freedom that’s both inviting and frightening. Do you risk stepping into something new, or cling to what no longer fits?
The Path from Loneliness to Connection
In my own isolation, I sometimes stand on that cliff again, looking out to the horizon. The sea connects me to 8.2 billion people. The truth is, we are never completely alone.
At any point in life, we can reach out. The illusion of safety in isolation, our nervous system’s old “stay in the cave” instinct, can keep us trapped. But staying in too long has its dangers too.
Maybe connection starts with just one small step: a nod, a quiet moment shared, a message sent, a conversation begun.
By reading this, perhaps you’ve already taken the first step.
