A lot of people talk to me about an empty feeling they feel inside them. Usually, it’s described as a void, a space that needs to be filled. This is not emptiness in the buddhist sense, but emptiness in the sense of missing something, of being incomplete. It is an uncomfortable, restless feeling that cries out to be filled, to be addressed, like a darkness that must be driven out.
Patients often talk to me about this with the need to fill that void. Usually, the kinds of things that will fill it offer a temporary fix. Maybe these are drugs, which make us feel whole for a few hours, but when they wear off, they tend to leave an even bigger hole, like water slowly enlarging a limestone cave. While we all need sustenance, food and eating can be used in a similar way. This is not about nourishment, but about trying to find relief. And just like drugs, the relief is fleeting, and often followed by guilt, shame, or a return of the emptiness with more urgency.
Other times, people will try to fill the void with success, money, or fame. This is not as destructive as drugs, but because it is more socially acceptable, can also leave us feeling more confused. We get societal messages to become rich, famous, or accomplished, and so we think that if we pursue these things, the emptiness might be filled. But just like with drugs, we find we can never get enough, and the relief we experience with each successive milestone quickly evaporates.
Another way we try to approach this is distraction. People will tell me, “I can’t sit still, I always have to be doing something.” There’s nothing inherently wrong with this, and I’m a big supporter of being industrious. In this context though, activity is not filled with joy, but rather because the activity temporarily fills a space inside that is otherwise uncomfortable. We don’t have to feel empty when we’re engaged in washing the windows or mowing the lawn or fixing the faucet. We can do the same thing at work, throwing ourselves into our job as a strategy to avoid other things. While certainly preferable to using drugs (plus, no leaky faucet! More money!), we’re in motion as an avoidance strategy, as a temporary salve to discomfort within.
Sometimes, we’ll try to fill the hole by staying plugged in—scrolling, posting, texting, replying. It creates the illusion of connection, of engagement, of being “seen.” This type of behavior is a combination of the worst parts of being busy combined with similar dopamine hits of drugs. While staring at our screen we might not notice the chasm inside, but as soon as we put the screen down, we’re reminded that it’s there.
Rather than trying to fill the void, perhaps a more useful analogy would be to try and shink the void. Like the body knitting a wound back together, what if instead we thought about how to make the void solid again.I imagine this as the difference between filling a hole with water, which will either seep into the ground or evaporate, or filling the same hole with earth, so that it is solid just like the surrounding ground.
Before we can do that though, we have to be able to distinguish earth from water. We have to have enough courage and insight to recognize that the things that bring temporary relief are unlikely to lead to repair. There will never be enough business, enough drugs, enough money, enough food, enough followers, or enough consumption to make us feel whole. We can keep filling it up, but it will just as surely empty back out again. The things that offer temporary relief are unlikely to lead to lasting repair. The harder we try to fill it up, the larger it grows.
While the feeling of emptiness may be something we all struggle with, what gives rise to it is far from universal. What caused the fissure in the first place, understanding why we feel incomplete, helps us know what will lead to a durable repair. There’s not one thing, but there are common themes: loneliness, social isolation, trauma, self-loathing, grief, shame, lack of purpose, unmet emotional needs. All of these are uncomfortable, all of these cause feelings of emptiness, and all are wounds from which we seek relief.
Knowing what gave rise to the void allows us to do the work to shrink it. Repairing the hole takes work and happens slowly. Like a cave forming in reverse, each day it gets a little more filled in, a little bit smaller. And just like there is not one reason for the emptiness, there is also not one way to repair– but again, there are themes: community, connection, intimacy, love, time in nature, belonging, self-acceptance. All of us feel more whole when we are loved, when we are embedded in a community, when we are in nature, when we feel accepted, when we have purpose. If you’re not sure where the hole is coming from, just recognizing what you are doing to temporarily fill it, and replacing it with something that will be more likely to repair it is a good start.
One of the great tragedies in my work is that so many people I talk to feel alone with their suffering. Over and over again, people assume that the emptiness they feel is unique, is not shared, is unrelateable. The sad irony is that the empty places that keep us separate from each other are actually a key way we can connect. Rather than trying to fill the hole we feel inside ourselves, perhaps we are better served by trying to understand how to shrink it.
Cheers,
Doc