The Park We Build Inside: Healing Loneliness and Addiction

More thoughts from "They Lied To You"

Maybe we’ve been asking the wrong questions about addiction all along.
We hunt for culprits outside ourselves. The drug, the trauma, the poverty, and/or the broken system because it's easier to believe that addiction is something that happens to us rather than something that grows within us. We want a clean answer, a villain to fight, a fix we can install. But what if the real battleground isn’t the world around us, but the parts of ourselves we refuse to accept?

Bruce K. Alexander’s Rat Park experiment shook the foundations of how we think about addiction by showing that isolated rats overdosed while connected rats thrived. It's a compelling story, environment matters. Yet humans are not rats. We are burdened with ego, memory, identity. We can feel utterly alone in a crowded room and feel abandoned even by our own thoughts. Our suffering isn't just about where we are. It's about who we believe we are and who we cannot bear to be.

This essay challenges the comforting narrative that addiction is only about the environment or the substance. It asks what happens when loneliness is rooted not in who is missing from our lives, but in our inability to sit alone with our own mind. It explores why trauma twists solitude into a prison, how the ego builds walls inside us that no community can tear down, and why true recovery may require something far more terrifying than detox: it may require reconciliation with the parts of ourselves we’ve spent a lifetime trying to escape.

Bruce K. Alexander’s famous Rat Park experiment offers a vivid starting point for reflecting on human loneliness and addiction. In the late 1970s, Alexander showed that rats isolated in barren cages would drink drug-laced water until they overdosed​psychiatrictimes.com. But when the same rats lived in a stimulating “rat park” with space, toys, and other rats to socialize with, their interest in the drug nearly vanished – they preferred plain water and none drank themselves to death​psychiatrictimes.com. A social community beat the power of drugs in those experiments. This striking result suggests that environment and connection play a crucial role in addictive behavior. Yet, as we consider the human experience, we must recognize that feeling lonely and being alone are far more complex than a rat’s physical housing. Humans carry an intricate ego and a conscious self, which means isolation is not just a physical state but a deeply psychological one.

Loneliness vs. Solitude: A Tale of Two Alonenesses

There is a fundamental difference between loneliness and solitude. Loneliness is the pain of feeling alone, while solitude can be the peace of being alone. The distinction lies in our perception. As theologian Paul Tillich noted, “Loneliness expresses the pain of being alone, and solitude expresses the glory of being alone.” In other words, loneliness is being disconnected even in a crowd, whereas solitude is a chosen state of being with oneself. Why is it that a person can feel empty and alone despite being surrounded by people? The answer comes down to the human ego and our need for meaningful connection. Our ego, the sense of self that craves recognition, validation, and understanding, can amplify feelings of isolation. We might be physically with others, yet feel unseen or unknown, adrift in our own emotional void.

In contrast, being alone does not always equate to feeling lonely. Healthy solitude is when one is comfortable with oneself. In moments of true solitude, the ego rests quietly. We feel connected with who we are, rather than yearning for someone else to fill an inner void. Many artists, thinkers, and even spiritual practitioners speak of solitude as a fruitful, even necessary, state. It’s in solitude that we often confront ourselves – our thoughts, our fears, our desires – without distraction. However, confronting oneself isn’t always easy. If one’s inner world is full of hurt or turmoil, being alone with those thoughts can be frightening. Here the ego often recoils, and what could be peaceful solitude turns into painful loneliness. The complexity of the self means that two people can have the same external isolation – say, a weekend with no social engagements – but experience it completely differently. One may relish the quiet, while the other feels desperately lonely. The difference is whether the individual’s self is at peace or in conflict, and whether being alone is a choice or a wound.

Trauma’s Shadow: When Isolation Feeds Addiction

Loneliness becomes more than a passing feeling when it is rooted in trauma. Emotional trauma, especially from childhood or deep relationships, can cast a long shadow on the psyche. Trauma can convince a person’s deepest self that the world is not safe, or that nobody will truly understand or care for them. Even surrounded by caring people, a trauma survivor may feel isolated behind the walls their hurt has built. This is a kind of perceived solitude – a profound inner loneliness that persists regardless of external social interactions. It’s the loneliness of the wounded ego, which fears further hurt and thus withdraws into itself.

Faced with this internal void, people often seek any escape from the pain. Addiction can become a desperate escape route. Drugs, alcohol, or other addictive behaviors (like binge eating, gambling, or compulsive sex) offer momentary relief or numbness. They seem to fill the emptiness or quiet the inner turmoil. In truth, these are false friends, offering comfort that doesn’t last and often worsening the pain in the long run. Yet in the moment, the pull is irresistible: the substance or behavior soothes the ache of loneliness and silences the traumatized mind, if only temporarily. As one psychiatrist poignantly noted, psychoactive substances can “transport us away from loneliness and isolation”​psychiatrictimes.com. In a very real sense, many addictions begin as attempts to self-medicate emotional pain and loneliness. The drug or drink becomes a companion, a way to feel good or feel nothing for a while.

Dr. Gabor Maté, a physician who has worked extensively with addicted individuals, famously asks not “Why the addiction?” but “Why the pain?” His point is that addiction is often a response to trauma and deep hurt​ theguardian.com. The substance is not the core issue; the pain is. A childhood marked by abuse or neglect, a loss that was never processed, chronic feelings of shame or inadequacy, these wounds can make a person feel fundamentally alone with their suffering. They may carry toxic beliefs born of trauma (e.g. “I am not lovable,” “I am broken”), which isolate them even when others try to help. In these moments, the individual’s ego and self-concept are colored by trauma: being alone feels dangerous because one’s own mind is a harsh place filled with painful memories or self-loathing thoughts.

To such a person, escaping into an addiction can feel like a lifeline. It’s not joy they seek in the substance; it’s relief from pain and disconnection. The tragedy is that this relief is an illusion that deepens the isolation. An addicted person often withdraws further from genuine relationships, ashamed or afraid of judgment, thus intensifying the loneliness. The very attempt to escape loneliness without confronting the inner pain ends up feeding a cycle: unresolved trauma fuels addiction, and addiction in turn breeds more loneliness and trauma.

Ego, Self, and the Illusion of Separation

Why do some people suffer crippling loneliness while others thrive in solitude? The answer lies partly in how the ego shapes our reality. The ego is our self-identity, the “I” that differentiates itself from others. It gives us a sense of individuality, but it also creates the concept of separation. Unlike rats or other animals that likely don’t ruminate on their identity or life’s meaning, humans have a rich inner narrative. We constantly interpret our experiences: Do people like me?, Am I worthy?, Why did this happen to me? The ego craves validation and fears rejection. When validation is absent, the ego screams that we are lonely, unwanted, or unworthy.

This mental chatter can make loneliness feel like a reflection of personal failure, a confirmation of the ego’s worst fears about the self. Imagine a person attending a party but feeling alone in the crowd because they believe nobody truly knows them. That belief comes from the ego evaluating social interactions and coming up with a story (“I don’t belong here” or “They don’t really care about me”). In reality, others might be open to connection, but the person’s own self-concept acts like a filter, distorting their perception. Ego can thus turn physical togetherness into psychological isolation.

On the other hand, consider someone sitting by themselves on a quiet beach, watching the waves, feeling at peace. They are physically alone, but not lonely. Their ego is not currently telling a tale of lack or separation – instead, the person might feel connected to nature, to their own thoughts, or to something larger than themselves. In moments like this, the boundary between “self” and the world blurs in a comforting way. The self can feel full without others present. This highlights a profound truth: escaping loneliness often requires confronting and quieting the ego-driven narratives about ourselves. If one can face their inner world – even the scary, painful parts – and find a way to make peace with it, solitude loses its terror. Being alone becomes a choice, not a curse, and loneliness begins to dissolve.

In the context of addiction, however, confronting the self is exactly what the addicted person is trying to avoid. The bottle, pill, or behavior is a way to run from the ego’s painful stories. It’s an attempt to bypass the hard work of healing the self by simply numbing the self. This is why recovery from addiction is so challenging: it isn’t just about quitting a substance; it’s about fundamentally changing one’s relationship with oneself and the world. To heal, one must face the very things they tried to escape – the trauma, the loneliness, the ego’s scars.

Connection, Community, and the Human “Park”

The lesson of Rat Park is that environment matters. The human equivalent of Rat Park might be a supportive community, a loving family, a sense of meaning and belonging. People who enjoy rich, healthy relationships and a sense of purpose tend to find fulfillment that leaves less room for addiction to take hold. Connection is a powerful antidote to loneliness. When you genuinely feel seen, heard, and valued by even a few others, the ego’s voice of isolation quiets down. The need to escape reality diminishes when reality itself is more comfortable to live in.

Bruce Alexander’s rats thrived when given social connection and space to play. Humans similarly thrive when we have play, love, and connection in our lives. For someone struggling with addiction, finding community support, whether through support groups, therapy, friendships, or family, can be transformative. It creates a new environment where they are not alone. Many recovery programs center around fellowship and peer support for this very reason. They aim to construct a “human park,” so to speak, where people can rediscover connection instead of returning to the cage of isolation with a drug as the only companion.

However, just changing the external environment is not a magic cure. As we’ve discussed, the internal environment, one’s mental and emotional state must also heal. Escaping loneliness through others will ultimately fail if a person hasn’t made peace with themselves. We’ve all heard stories of celebrities or individuals who “have it all” – friends, fame, fortune – yet fall into severe addiction or depression. Outwardly, their environment seems rich and stimulating, full of people and opportunities. Inwardly, they may feel empty or tormented. This reinforces that loneliness is not just about physical isolation; it’s about emotional and spiritual isolation. True recovery and wholeness come when a person reconnects both externally and internally, forging healthy bonds with others and with their own self.

The Rat Park experiment, when applied to humans, is not a simplistic message of “just give people parks and they won’t be addicted.” Instead, it’s a call to look at the conditions of life that make addiction more likely. Do people have jobs or roles that give them meaning? Do they feel connected to family or community? Do they have hope for the future? Are their basic needs, not just for food or shelter, but for love, belonging, and self-esteem, being met? We might frame these as the human needs that, if unfulfilled, create a vacuum that drugs eagerly fill.

Beyond Environment: Genes, Traits, and Other Influences

While environment and social connection are crucial, addiction is multi-faceted. It would be a mistake to conclude that environment alone causes addiction or that fixing environment alone will eliminate it​. Researchers caution that many factors intertwine: genetics, personality traits, family dynamics, trauma history, and even geography all interact with environmental conditions. In other words, environment is a contributing factor but not the sole determinant of addiction risk.

Genetic predisposition plays a role. Some people are born with a higher sensitivity to addictive substances or a tendency toward impulsivity and reward-seeking. For example, one person might try alcohol and feel relatively indifferent, while another’s brain lights up with intense pleasure and craving. If the second person also lives in a stressful or lonely environment, the pull toward addiction will be even stronger. By contrast, someone with a genetic risk for addiction might never develop it if they grow up with strong support, healthy coping skills, and limited exposure to addictive substances. The genes provide a potential, but environment often decides whether that potential is realized.

Family dynamics and early upbringing are deeply intertwined with both genetics and environment. A child raised by parents who struggle with addiction may inherit a vulnerability (genetically) and also learn certain behaviors or suffer neglect/abuse (environmentally). Early trauma in the family – whether overt abuse or the “small-t” traumas of emotional needs not being met – can set the stage for that child to seek soothing in substances later on. Additionally, if substance use is modeled as a coping mechanism in the household, a young person might internalize that pattern. Conversely, a family that provides stability, love, and open communication about emotions can inoculate a child to some degree against outside pressures. Family can be a source of resilience or risk, depending on the dynamics.

Geography and culture also come into play. The availability of drugs in one’s community, the prevailing attitudes toward drug use, economic opportunities (or lack thereof), and even local trauma (such as communities ravaged by conflict or epidemic) influence addiction patterns. For instance, an economically depressed town with few job prospects and many bored young people might see higher rates of drug use, partly out of despair or lack of alternatives. But even within such a town, not everyone becomes addicted. Some individuals might have an inner resilience, a talent or passion that gives them purpose, or a mentor who guides them away from drugs. These protective factors can counterbalance a harsh environment.

The interaction of all these factors is key. It’s rarely a single cause. Addiction often emerges when multiple vulnerabilities line up. We could imagine a set of dominoes: genetic tendency, plus traumatic childhood, plus current social isolation, plus easy drug access, together these tip the person into addiction. Remove one or more of those, and the outcome might have been different. This understanding is important because it moves us beyond blame or oversimplification. It’s not that someone “chose” addiction due to moral failing, nor that a bad environment doomed them with certainty. Rather, a complex web of influences caught them in its net.

Healing Through Self and Society

Given this complexity, how do we address loneliness and addiction in a human-centered way? The Rat Park insight tells us we should foster connection and improve environments, create our own “parks” in society where people can play, work, love, and find meaning together. This could mean better community programs, more mental health support, tackling poverty and isolation among vulnerable groups, and reducing the stigma of addiction so people aren’t cast out (which only deepens their isolation). It also means recognizing, as Alexander did, that addiction is about more than the drug. The individual, their psyche, their context, is an active ingredient in the equation. To truly help someone, we must look at why they are drawn to the substance.

At the same time, the inner work cannot be ignored. A person must eventually confront their ego and pain to break free. Therapies that address trauma – like trauma-informed counseling, peer support groups where people openly share their stories, or even practices like mindfulness and meditation – can help individuals face themselves gently. The goal is to transform that inner loneliness by healing the relationship one has with oneself. It’s about finding a way to be okay in one’s own skin, to accept what happened in the past and release its grip, to forgive oneself and others, and to cultivate a sense of worthiness. In short, it’s about turning that painful loneliness into a more peaceful solitude – one where being with oneself is safe.

Many recovering addicts describe a point in their journey where they had to confront their deepest fears or griefs. This often involves forgiving (self or others), seeking meaning in suffering, and rediscovering a connection to life that isn’t based on the drug. It’s telling that so many recovery stories involve not just quitting a substance, but finding a new passion, helping others, or repairing relationships. These are the threads of connection rewoven. The individual steps out of the cage of isolation, not just because someone opened the door, but because they gained the courage to walk through it and meet others (and themselves) on the other side.

I used to think drinking was just a part of who I was. A way to celebrate. A way to loosen the weight in my chest that I couldn’t name. But after enough nights that ended the same way - blurry, hollow, restless - I realized it wasn’t about the drinks. It was about me. I didn’t stop drinking because I hated alcohol. I stopped because I knew, quietly and without drama, that I was using it to avoid being alone with myself.

For almost two years, I didn’t touch it. Not because I made a vow. Not because I feared a label. I just needed to know if I could stand in my own skin without needing to blur the edges.

Then one day, without any fanfare, I woke up craving an espresso martini. Not to numb something. Not to run. Just to enjoy it. And so I had one. And for the first time, it wasn’t a weapon or a shield. It was just a drink.

What changed wasn’t the alcohol. What changed was the part of me that no longer needed to disappear.

What I’ve seen, what I’ve lived, is that when people leave behind one addiction, they often reach for another. Sometimes it’s a program. Sometimes it’s a community built on shared struggle. Sometimes it’s the rituals of sobriety itself. Twelve-step programs, for all the lives they save, also quietly recognize this: that the human soul will cling to whatever gives it structure if it cannot yet find peace within itself.

And that's okay. It's better than falling apart. It's necessary sometimes. But it’s also not the end of the journey.

The real work, the terrifying, beautiful work, is not just putting down the bottle or the pill or the needle. It’s turning inward. It's meeting the haunted parts of yourself without flinching. It’s learning to stay when every cell in your body tells you to run. It’s realizing that healing isn't about perfect behavior. It's about choosing, day after day, to belong to yourself.

In reflection, the human experience of addiction and loneliness is both an outer and inner journey. Bruce Alexander’s rats taught us that we should look beyond the chemistry of drugs to the conditions of life that drive someone to seek those drugs. Likewise, our own experiences teach us that we can be alone without feeling lonely – if we are living in a rich ecosystem of meaning, whether that’s through community or a healthy inner life (ideally both). And conversely, we can feel devastatingly lonely in the most crowded of places if our inner life is fractured.

Trauma can make solitude unbearable, but unhealed trauma will follow a person everywhere, even into a room full of friends. The true path out of addictive loneliness is to confront the self with compassion. It’s to understand that escaping loneliness isn’t about never being alone, it’s about not being estranged from oneself. When we are no longer strangers to our own pain, we can reach out to others without using them as mere distractions or validation for the ego. We can form genuine bonds that heal rather than temporary fixes that harm.

In the end, the connection between Rat Park and human loneliness comes down to this: Both rats and humans need connection, but humans need connection on multiple levels. We need the social connection to feel we belong, and we need the self-connection to feel whole when we are alone. Addiction often slips in when one or both of these connections are missing. Healing and growth happen when we rebuild those connections, creating our own “parks” of support around us, and cultivating peace within us. It’s a deeply human process, one that blends our biology with our biography, our environment with our soul.

Just as Rat Park challenged the notion that a drug alone irresistibly enslaves the user, our understanding of addiction is evolving to see the person in full context. Yes, the chemistry of addiction is real, the brain’s reward circuits and dopamine surges, but the why behind the use is just as real. And more often than not, that "why" is tied to loneliness, to loss, to longing for something that feels missing. By acknowledging that feeling lonely and being alone are not the same, we appreciate that the cure for loneliness isn’t simply being around people; it’s being seen and understood. By recognizing the ego’s role, we see that sometimes the barrier to connection is inside us, not outside. And by remembering Bruce Alexander’s lesson, we commit to building a world (and an inner life) where no one has to overdose alone in a cage, where instead they can find community, purpose, and hope in a park of empathy and maybe, if they’re lucky, find the quiet miracle of belonging to themselves.

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I would be honored if you chose to preorder They Lied To You or buy my current book I Hope You Wake Up. Your support means more than I can express; it’s like having a friend walking beside me on this path of discovery. Either way, whether you read more of my words or not, know that I am here, quietly sending you love. Not a fickle love, not a conditional love, but the kind that remains steady through every twist of fate and every questioning of reality. Thank you for sharing this moment with me, for daring to question one of the most cherished illusions we have. Remember, no matter what you decide, no matter what life decides for you: I love you, unconditionally, always.

Remember, no matter what you decide, no matter what life decides for you: I love you, unconditionally, always.