Reader! Hello.

If you've ever felt scared and alone, you will relate to this story...

11 years ago, I sat in the kitchen of my unrenovated weatherboard house in Melbourne's inner north, looking at a decidedly miserable 10-month-old.

Because he was my third child, I was pretty unfazed. I made him a green smoothie, snapped a photo, and then, out of what I considered to be an abundance of caution, booked him in to see the doctor later that day.

“Poor kiddo, it’s horrible to be sick.”

The next thing I remember was sitting in front of the Dr as he said something along the lines of, “his oxygen levels are too low; he needs the hospital.”

Not grasping what those words meant, and with the hospital only a few minutes down the road, I said, “OK, no worries – I’ll go home and pack some things, and we’ll head in.”

“No. I’ve already called the ambulance. And the fire brigade. You’re going with whichever one gets here first.”

Right.

That was... unexpected.

We spent the following week at the Royal Children's Hospital in ICU.

More specifically, Jude and I spent the week at the Royal Children's Hospital. Mostly, alone.

If you've ever spent time on an ICU ward you will know they are intense places, and you don't end up there without good reason. If this is triggering for you to read, I totally get it, even 11 years later writing this down has me shaking (it's Ok if you want to skip to the end).

Where was I? Oh yes, alone.

While my family was on the phone 24/7, they lived in another city. We also had two other children to care for, which fell to my husband and my mother-in-law.

I had lived in Melbourne for 11 years and had friends, a small circle I loved and trusted. But they had lives and children of their own, and that week just happened to coincide with a variety of illnesses, holidays or other very legitimate reasons that left me in the ICU, alone, with my baby.

And so, it was my online community that rallied that week, either visiting me in a hospital or showing up for me on Twitter (X).

Once we left the hospital, my thoughts about friendship and community started to take shape. I remember thinking, "If we keep living in Melbourne and something truly terrible happens, we are absolutely fudged.”

Well, my language was a tad more colourful than that – but the point remained.

We did not have a community, and that needed to change. Stat.

It would take me years to crystallise what I was learning in those moments, but what was bleedingly clear to me was that having friends and being part of a community were not the same things.

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I've never written about this experience before, so why now, and why you?

I've spent more than a decade reading, thinking, and practising building local communities. And, during that time a loneliness epidemic has emerged. We now know that loneliness is as bad for you as smoking 15 cigarettes a day. Jeepers! My theory is that community is the salve to loneliness, even more than friendship is.​
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So, it's time for me to take this (frankly, terrifying) step and let other people in on the secrets I've learned - the small, unremarkable things we can do that will make a radical difference in our lives and lead us to experience life-changing community.

I used to write to you about building blogs and connecting with online communities. Our blogs created a more connected world, and community was at their heart. This is true for our IRL lives, too.

If you join me on this journey, I promise to make it worthwhile. You will learn about strengthening friendships, turning friends into communities, and living a less lonely life.

I’m leaning into vulnerability to say, if you’re interested in communities of connection and impact, please stay with me - you don't need to do a thing (though... if you *wanted* to reply and tell me your own story, I would absolutely love that!)

If you're all set for community and not that interested in learning more, then please unsubscribe here, no hard feelings.

I really hope we'll meet again soon Reader.

Louisa x

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