The Loneliness of Cancelled Plans
CONFESSIONS SERIES – POST # 2
There’s a certain kind of loneliness that comes with texting, “I’m sorry, I can’t make it today.” Not because I don’t want to be there, but because my body has already made the decision for me. But it is completely next level loneliness that takes really a while to hit you and make you feel like a prisoner when you find yourself really making the decision not to step out because your body simply doesn’t have the energy to do so even for things you were probably looking forward to at one point. My parents came to visit me in Seattle, and I had wanted that to happen since the day I moved to Seattle in 2021. But when they finally did arrive here in the Summer, I found myself struggling to take them to even nearby places even though I had been looking forward to that for years.
I am a loner in general so at first, I didn’t really care if I didn’t go out much because I am not someone who goes out much anyways to socialize. But that doesn’t mean I was not someone who never went out. I would go out solo, travel a lot, go see new places and was often known for spending my weekends visiting some new place. I suddenly wake up one day and realize that in the last several weeks the only time I really left home was for doctors appointments.
Chronic illness means living with unpredictability. One morning I wake up and think, Maybe today will be better. By afternoon, the nausea, the joint pain, or exhaustion has crept in. By evening, the thought of putting on shoes and making small talk feels impossible. And so I cancel. Again.
The Guilt That Follows
It is not to say that the friends or family I have don’t understand but more than their understanding, there are days when I don’t have much to say because I feel like other than my illness there is not much else going on in my life. Some days it feels like depression, some days it feels like I don’t have the energy to really sit and analyze if it is depression or not.
Cancelled plans/cancelled phone calls don’t come with relief. They come with guilt. The guilt of feeling like I’m letting people down. The guilt of feeling like I’m letting myself down and time is flying by and days are going by, yet another almost year gone by and I have not gone anywhere, done much other than just push on at work and try to survive. The guilt of feeling like a prisoner and knowing that I am not necessarily a prisoner, I can always choose to do something. But can I really?
Chronic illness isn’t about effort. It isn’t about pushing harder or rallying. It’s about a body that imposes limits often willpower cannot overcome. And yet, the guilt lingers—because somewhere I feel this is my fault even though I know it is not. It is very confusing.
The hardest part is how invisible this loneliness can be. From the outside, it looks like I’m choosing isolation which may be somewhat true owing to my loner nature. No one sees the hours I spend planning to do a simple task, a simple outing but struggling to do so and finally giving up.
Closing Reflection
Cancelled plans will always sting. They will always leave a quiet echo of what could have been. But I remind myself: connection even with nature is still possible—even in smaller, quieter ways.
The loneliness of cancelled plans is real. But so is the resilience of learning to sit with that loneliness, to name it, and to trust that I am not forgotten, even when I can’t show up.