When D.C. resident A.P. began working from home in March, she says the opportunity to slow down from her hectic job as an attorney initially came as a relief. Like many people during the early weeks of the pandemic, she picked up bread making, embroidery, and plant-parenting while isolating alone in her Northwest apartment.

“In the beginning, it was almost kind of nice for me,” says A.P., who asked to be identified by her initials for privacy reasons. “I was like ‘Wow, I’m in my home a lot more — I now have time for my hobbies.’ It was more relaxed than life had been in quite some time.”

But as the weeks of isolation wore on, A.P. says that she experienced a sadness that her friends living with roommates and partners couldn’t relate to, and that no collection of newly purchased house plants could fill: a longing for physical human connection.

“There was a portion of my brain that couldn’t stop thinking about how it would feel to get a hug from someone,” she says. “[Physical touch] has always been a way I give and receive love, and fundamentally, I think physical touch is a basic human need. Being able to give and get those things is really how I interact with the world, and so kind of being cut off from that … that’s probably the most isolating part.”

Over the past five months, the coronavirus pandemic has wreaked havoc on the emotional well-being of people across the country. A July poll from the Kaiser Family Foundation found that 53% of U.S. adults reported that coronavirus-related stress has negatively impacted their mental health. A deadly virus, record-breaking unemployment numbers, and limited opportunities for safe social interaction have left Americans struggling to adapt to a “new normal.” And residents like A.P. say that living alone during a pandemic poses its own unique set of challenges — from increased depression, to heightened fears of falling ill, to a resentment for those who don’t share their same experience.

A.P. says that, after the initial excitement of a break from her busy life faded, she started feeling the negative impacts of her shrinking social life. Prior to the pandemic, she was regularly going out with coworkers for happy hour and seeing friends at bars on weekends. Without those outlets, she says her mental health deteriorated, and living alone made it easier to ignore the warning signs.

“[My depression] came back,” says A.P., who has experienced mild depression in the past. “My energy levels were really low. There were full days where I couldn’t get myself to do any sort of work. I didn’t have anybody else who was working in the space, so it was like I had no one else to see me not work. I was able to pretend that things were fine for way longer than I think my friends who live with others were able to.”

Dr. Jelena Kecmanovic, founding director of the Arlington/DC Behavior Therapy Institute, says depression stemming from loneliness can result in “maladaptive behaviors,” like drinking too much or not exercising. These habits can continue unchecked when an individual is by themselves, she says, and feed into a loop of depression.

“We cannot calibrate our behavior based on whoever lives with us when we’re left to our own devices,” Kecmanovic says. “[These maladaptive behaviors] will then in turn make you feel, not surprisingly, more depressed and more anxious. You can get into this vicious cycle that pulls you down.”

For Nichole Goble, a Northeast resident and nonprofit worker, living alone worsened her mental health and also heightened her fears about contracting the virus. Goble, who is immunocompromised and has a disability, has been hospitalized twice over the past few months due to complications from an open-heart surgery she had last year.

“If something happens [to me], I have no one,” Goble says. “It’s scary. You’re going through it alone, and I can’t call a friend to come visit. I’ve been depressed and sad and anxious, and I think all of those things many people feel, but that when you are on your own, it becomes a bit more challenging.

Goble says that going without in-person physical connection with friends has only amplified the strain of facing a deadly pandemic by herself. She recalls a recent visit from a friend who dropped off a few new plants for her garden.

“Having my best friend come over and bring a couple of plants, and not being able to give him a hug to say ‘thank you,’ it’s really, really challenging,” she says.

In normal circumstances, Goble (a “huge movie person”) says she loves going to films with her friends, and spending hours discussing them over drinks afterwards. A few of her close friends recently set up a socially distant drive-in theater with a projector in their backyard, which she says she attended from a safe distance. While these hang-outs have been bright spots of the past five months, she says there are other ways, both large (her hospitalizations) and small (needing help with a house project around the house), in which she can’t safely receive the in-person support she needs.

“If there is something I need, how do I ask for help, and how do I get that help in a comfortable and safe way if I need it?” she says. “When you are alone, even [simple things] can be hard. And being in the hospital a couple of times, being able to have someone come and visit, that’s a challenge.”

Katie Aune, a Petworth resident who works in fundraising at the University of Maryland, shares Gobles’ fears of contracting COVID-19. Aune says it’s not the lack of socialization that’s at the front of her mind during her isolation, because many of her closest friends live in other states, but rather the thought that if she fell ill, she would have no one around to monitor her.

“What happens if I get sick? I sort of did some of the food-hoarding and medicine-hoarding early on, in part because if I do get sick, I don’t have somebody that can go out to get stuff to take care of me, or to be watching me,” she says. “Who would be right there if I wake up at 3 o’clock in the morning and I can’t breathe and need to go to the ER?”

Kecmanovic, who sees many clients that are living alone through the pandemic, says that, while the isolation has caused mental distress for some, every person is going to react to major life changes in different ways. Some natural introverts have taken fairly well to the shutdowns, while parents who live with children have become more stressed than ever as they juggle their jobs and childcare, she says.

“I have a lot of clients, and of course there’s been a lot written about people who have children at home, and they are going out of their minds because they never have time alone,” Kecmanovic says. “There are people doing really bad, and okay, and good, in all kind of groups.”

And a new study from the U.S. Center of Disease Control and Prevention found that pandemic has caused mental health problems for Americans who don’t have the ability to isolate at home. More than half of essential workers reported experiencing a negative mental health symptom in June, and 22% reported suicidal thoughts.

Jeevika Verma, who moved from New York to D.C. in February shortly before the pandemic began, says she’s aware of how others who don’t share her situation are also facing their own problems during the pandemic.

“I can’t imagine having a kid right now and having to take care of all of their needs,” Verma says, who lives in a studio apartment near Adams Morgan. “I’ve seen a lot of discourse [about] who it’s worse for — I think everyone’s struggles are very unique, everyone is struggling right now in so many different ways.”

For Verma, a producer for NPR’s Morning Edition, her level of isolation became clear when she would work an overnight shift, managing most of her personal and professional communications through email or text message.

“I’m already alone, and then to have to be awake at night alone was very interesting,” Verma says. “I was like, ‘I’m already cut out from the world, and now everyone’s asleep.’ There [were] times where I wouldn’t speak out loud, and go days without uttering a word.”

Fortunately, Verma says she has a close friend who also lives alone that she sees on occasion (and who she’s been able to hug). Looking forward to those interactions, coupled with Netflix binges, have helped her get through the days of isolation. Even as a self-described introvert, she says it’s been difficult.

“In general, I’m a pretty introspective person, but I’ve learned how to turn that off a little bit more,” she says. “I’ve found that I really can just shut my brain off and just watch endless amounts of shitty TV. A part of me is like ‘Wow, you’re wasting away,’ but a part of me is also really glad I developed that skill, because I just don’t know how else I would get through this time by myself.”

For A.P., she has yet to find a so-called quarantine pod, a group of friends to hang out with in person — a situation she says is partially a result of friends moving away, and different levels of comfort amongst those remaining in D.C. She adds that she even holds some resentment towards those in her circle who can’t relate to her level of isolation.

“It’s really hard to listen to people be like ‘I miss social time’. Granted, your significant other isn’t always social time, and that’s probably not how you think of them, but it’s really hard for me to feel sympathetic when, for three whole months, I was in my apartment alone,” she says. “I miss not having that feeling, and I miss how we all interacted with each other before that judgment was present.” 

To manage her mental health, A.P. says she meets virtually with her  therapist, who offers her tips on “changing her perspective”, and has even advised her to wrap her arms around herself to simulate the same chemical response as a hug would in her body. It wouldn’t be until July that A.P. finally experienced a real embrace, while visiting her out-of-state parents hours away from D.C.

“My mom did make me hug her, but it was one of those as-safe-as-possible hugs,” she says, adding that they both wore masks, and held their breath. “I got a hug, but it wasn’t a hug devoid of stress.”