28 January 2025
I’ve worked remotely for over a decade. It started out of family-related necessity and has continued for similar reasons, though the specifics have changed. It did not come naturally to me, quite the opposite in fact, and it would not be my preferred way of working if my circumstances were different. I am much more rejuvenated by in-person meetings and friendships. Above all else, working remotely has been incredibly isolating and lonely.
Sometimes I thought I wouldn’t be able to make it, but have been able to pick up a few habits and insights that have helped get me through these years. So, inspired by a community building guide I am working on and an upcoming conversation on DevRel(ish), I wanted to put a few additional words together around the damage of this type of isolation and the solution that online communities can present.
I realize some people mentally and emotionally thrive in remote environments with little effort, and that’s valid and wonderful. But it’s also equally valid to struggle with it and share these thoughts openly. Someone can acknowledge the benefits of working this way and be grateful for it, but also not prefer it—both things can be true.
Prior to this lifestyle shift, I worked full time in a county government office. I got along well with my colleagues and made strong friendships during this time that broke through the barriers of the 9-5 world. While I don’t want to romanticize the in-office experience, I look back at this time fondly, even though it wasn’t perfect. There were awkward moments that I felt stronger after getting through. I made mistakes and could clarify, apologize, and recover while looking someone in the eyes. They knew I meant it and understood my tone. I grew so much as a person. There were good and bad times, but I was never lonely.
My shift to remote work coincided with my shift into parenthood and the shift into a completely different line of work—any of these is isolating enough on its own. This all directly led to what I can confidently say was one of the darkest times in my professional life, even though by so many other accounts, I appeared to be thriving. I quickly lost touch with friends, was struggling to figure out how to effectively communicate over mostly just email, and simply did not know how to connect with people through a screen.
I became incredibly sad and lonely, blaming these new feelings on the freelancer lifestyle and eventually started working for a startup, thinking this would all go away. But it mostly didn’t. The culture here was “remote OK”, meaning, not preferred, not prioritized, not thought about. While the engineering team was remote and it was a pleasant change of pace to be exposed to some work banter and not work in a silo, I still felt disconnected from everyone. There were no processes in place to foster connection, and you were too easily forgotten if you weren’t putting in face time in the Chicago office. When layoffs started, remote employees were the first to go.
There were no bonding opportunities for remote workers, no check-ins, and lots of tense exchanges in Slack that could have been avoided if we spoke to each other like we are all humans, not just avatars. It’s far easier to lose sight of this when interacting online, which, of course, we’ve all seen in professional and personal spaces alike. It takes extra care and overcommunication to get through remote exchanges—the delicacy here is rarely given the attention it deserves. I’ve applied this insight into my return to freelancing years ago and it has gone much better this time around.
This isn’t an attack against remote work in general, but rather, the lack of education and effort that exists around making it comfortable and successful—this is a complex issue with many layers. Achieving a healthy remote work culture looks very different, and I’ve come across so few companies that seem to understand this, even after all we’ve collectively gone through since the pandemic. Loneliness doesn’t have to inherently be a part of the experience.
Additionally, the longer I worked remotely, the more I noticed my in-person communication skills were taking a tremendous hit. I would stumble through small talk, obsess about how awkward it was, and swear to go out into the world even less, compounding the isolation. These interactions that used to fuel me so much became a source of dread and I felt like a shell of the person I once was, losing a large part of my identity.
I’ve also found that strictly connecting with people over work alone is not a way to develop meaningful rapport. When networking in-person, it’s easier to get a more well-rounded view of who a person is. There is, for lack of a less insufferable word, a vibe. Their presence makes you feel a certain way. It’s easier for other topics to accidentally pop up, and tone is much easier to pick up on. In contrast, in a remote context, I have found the experiences of similar networking spaces to be incredibly phoney, not tolerable, and unhuman.
Isolation and loneliness affects every aspect of our lives. I become quick to anxiety, quick to distrust, quick to sadness. I am a worse friend, a worse mom, and a worse partner. It’s one of the most unnatural states for me, as a very basic human need is not being met. We all need to feel a sense of belonging to be successful and happy.
We live increasingly disconnected existences where there’s a twisted sense of celebration in attempting to do it all alone, but we can’t. Loneliness at work fosters low commitment, erodes our cognitive and focus abilities, and makes emotional regulation more difficult—our output and interactions with colleagues and clients suffer. Luckily I learned years ago that I cannot put my head down and push through it.
It’s a crisis that few people want to talk candidly about.
I keep talking about the problem with an online work life, but I promise there is a solution, which I have found through genuine human-to-human connection and much more deliberate, calculated thoughts, actions, and opportunities.
Communities as safe spaces that are structured around a common interest are one of the most powerful ways to design experiences that foster belonging and combat loneliness. The right spaces can take time to find, but will ultimately provide the opportunity to get as much as you give. In “The Art of Community”, Jono Bacon describes this as social capital one builds up through their contributions. Just showing up and expecting to reap all the benefits is not going to work. Showing up and existing and waiting to not be lonely is not going to work. Members must be mindful of the way they communicate and be open to knowing and seeing others just as much as they desire to be known and seen.
The problem is not the lack of people in numbers or opportunities. The problem is how we are showing up and interacting with one another in this remote context. With that being said, communities do make these connections happen easier and faster once we are in the right mindset, since everyone has gathered with the same goals in mind. But of course, without putting in the work, we can be lonely amongst thousands.
Part of this work looks like asking people about themselves and listening with sincere interest, allowing for vulnerability, sharing parts of your life and topics of interest, giving advice as much as it is sought, closely following code of conducts, celebrating the wins of others, showing gratitude, thoughtfully communicating to ensure understanding, interjecting personality into writing, being helpful and involved when possible, turning cameras on for video calls, actively taking part in and starting discourse.
Not all of these are necessary for all community types, but these are common themes amongst the spaces I have found to be the most impactful. It’s also OK to not be OK at times, of course, but it’s important to periodically reflect on the energy we each bring to a space as individuals and whether or not we are having an overall positive or negative influence.
While this may initially just sound like obvious rules around engaging with others, there is so much that gets overlooked or actively discarded when we converse online. And just like “irl”, it can get awkward or tense, but the right people are worth fighting for and learning from.
Being in the right online community and understanding how to be an active member has helped me feel less lonely, get through challenging times at work, connect with others through similar experiences, have fun, feel more empowered to seek in-person relationships, and feel more secure in my ability to survive and thrive within this way of working. It’s allowed me to take control of a problem that previously felt too large and out of my hands.
Once successfully built or discovered, these online spaces are to be cherished and looked after seriously and attentively—there is a lot of meticulous work that goes into making an online space feel intuitive, welcoming, comfortable, and like a good fit.
It’s taken me years to figure this stuff out and I’m concerned that without embracing and understanding the unique effort that is required, loneliness and the newly aggressive war on remote work will continue and worsen. Successful remote work environments are possible with the right consideration, attention, and care.
While remote work has presented me with several challenges, I remain a vocal, passionate advocate and the flexibility has been invaluable for my family. Some of us are caretakers, some of us have disabilities, some of us prefer the lifestyle. While there are countless reasons someone may work remotely, none of them makes the issue of loneliness any less deserving of empathy and collective action.
