Even Astronauts Go On Strike

Extreme isolation often leads to traumatic loneliness and an enduring psychological toll.

I was staying at my big brother’s house in London some years ago. He dug into a cupboard and pulled out an ancient archive box, explaining it contained some things of mine he’d been hanging onto for many years. I’m not completely sure how he had wound up with the box, but opening it revealed a handful of precious possessions, including my baby blanket from when I was a toddler.

Rummaging around, I found a clear plastic container; rattling around inside were several teeth - my teeth!

After my family moved to Australia in the mid-1970s, I spent several years at boarding school in England, commuting with my siblings back and forth between continents. A few years ago, I wrote about this experience in an article titled “Grieving My Boarding School Loneliness.”

While I was there, it was decided that I needed to have some of my baby teeth extracted to free up space in my mouth for the adult teeth hiding above and below. This would also happen under general anaesthetic. I was totally on the periphery of all this; presumably, there were conversations with my parents back in Australia. Paperwork had to be signed. Consent had to be given.

I was oblivious to all this. All I knew was the boarding school matron ferrying me to the hospital and some brief conversation about needing work on my teeth. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in a hospital ward with a very sore mouth. I knew no one. There was no method or tool to communicate with anyone I knew, let alone my parents.

I was 10 years old, 13,000 kilometres away from my parents, completely alone.

And yes, the teeth in the plastic container were mine from that operation decades before!

I’ve carried this my whole life. I was at the dentist the other day, and he recommended I have a tooth removed. I told him this would be the absolute last resort because I was holding onto childhood trauma from nearly 50 years ago. Thankfully, he was caring and understanding, and we’ve agreed on a different plan.

I think it’s true that almost all of us have experienced a significant moment of isolation and loneliness. There are some people who, through their chosen career paths, have endured trauma-inducing isolation.

Which gets us to astronauts going on strike.

In 1973, something unprecedented happened in space. Three American astronauts orbiting 270 miles above Earth in the Skylab space station turned off their radio and refused to work. This wasn't a technical malfunction or an emergency procedure - it was the first and only strike in space history.

The crew of Skylab 4—Gerald Carr, Edward Gibson, and William Pogue—had endured weeks of gruelling schedules, with ground control micromanaging every minute of their day. They weren't given time to adjust to zero gravity, look out the window at Earth, or even eat proper meals. Finally, six weeks into their mission, they'd had enough. They switched off communication with NASA and declared an unscheduled day off.

Commander Carr's message to ground control was simple and profound when they finally resumed contact: "We need more time to rest. We need more time to look out the window. We need more time to reflect on what's happening to us." His words carry a deep truth about human nature that resonates through centuries of workplace experience: even in the most technically advanced workplace imaginable, humans remain fundamentally social creatures who need time for reflection, rest, and connection.

As Kanas and Manzey noted in their landmark 2008 study "Psychological Issues in Long Duration Spaceflight", this incident marked a crucial turning point in NASA's understanding of the psychological demands of space missions. The need for Earth observation wasn't just about satisfying curiosity - it represented a fundamental psychological anchor for astronauts isolated in the void of space.

It's a lesson we've had to learn repeatedly, from isolated lighthouse keepers of the 19th century to remote workers during the COVID-19 pandemic. Yet somehow, in each era, we seem surprised when isolation takes its toll on human psychology. As neuroscientist John Cacioppo's research would later demonstrate, "The absence of social connection triggers the same primal alarm bells as hunger, thirst, and physical pain."

The Lonely Light

In 1801, at the Smalls Lighthouse off the coast of Wales, keeper Thomas Howell endured an experience that would force British authorities to confront the psychological toll of isolation. When his fellow keeper died in a freak accident, storms prevented any boat from reaching the lighthouse for four weeks. Howell was forced to construct a makeshift coffin for his dead colleague, living alongside it in the cramped tower as waves crashed around him. By the time help finally arrived, witnesses reported that Howell had been driven to the brink of madness.

According to Dennis Noble's comprehensive study "Lighthouses and Keepers: The U.S. Lighthouse Service and its Legacy", this incident became a watershed moment in the history of lighthouse management. The tragedy led to a fundamental change in British lighthouse policy - never again would just two keepers staff a lighthouse. The "three-keeper system" became standard, ensuring no keeper would face the psychological burden of complete isolation if their colleague became ill or died. It was an early recognition of a truth we still grapple with today: humans aren't meant to be alone.

The story of Ida Lewis, Rhode Island's Lime Rock Light keeper from 1857 to 1911, offers particularly poignant insights into lighthouse isolation. Despite being relatively close to shore, Lewis's writings reveal the psychological toll of her solitude. For years, her only regular company was her invalid mother. Yet Lewis found purpose in her isolation, becoming famous for her heroic rescues - she saved 18 lives during her tenure. Her diary entries oscillate between pride in her work and descriptions of crushing loneliness, especially during long winter months when storms cut off access to the mainland.

George Putnam, Commissioner of the United States Bureau of Lighthouses in the 19th century, found that lighthouse keepers' logs read like case studies in isolation's psychological effects. A Wisconsin's Pottawatomie Lighthouse keeper wrote in 1874 about talking to himself just to hear a human voice. Others reported developing elaborate daily rituals or carrying on conversations with seabirds. At Scotland's Bell Rock Lighthouse, keepers worked in six-week rotations because longer periods were found to be psychologically damaging. The isolation was compounded by the constant noise of waves hitting the tower, which keepers described as psychologically wearing.

The solutions developed for lighthouse services were remarkably forward-thinking for their time. Beyond the three-keeper system, services introduced regular rotation schedules, built family quarters where possible, and established formal leave policies. They created library boxes that would rotate between lighthouses, providing fresh reading material. When technology allowed, they prioritised installing telegraph systems and later radios, recognising that connection to the outside world was not just a luxury but a psychological necessity.

By the late 1800s, lighthouse services worldwide began actively preferring married keepers, understanding that family support was crucial for mental well-being. The British Trinity House even encouraged keepers to marry before taking remote postings, having recognised that isolation could lead to serious mental health issues. Some services even introduced "companion animals" programs, particularly in more remote stations.

These initiatives represented some of the first systematic attempts to address workplace isolation - a challenge that would later face astronauts in space stations and, eventually, millions of remote workers during the digital age. The lighthouse services' solutions might seem primitive by today's standards, but they recognised something fundamental: human connection isn't optional - it's essential for mental health and work performance.

Space: The Loneliest Frontier

When NASA began planning for long-duration space missions, it had the benefit of learning from lighthouse services' experience with isolation. Yet even with this historical knowledge, it still underestimated the psychological challenges of space isolation—as the Skylab strike dramatically demonstrated.

Soviet cosmonaut Valery Ryumin captured the psychological toll of space isolation in his diary during his Mir mission: "All the conditions necessary for murder are met if you shut two men in a cabin and leave them together for two months." His words would prove prophetic in understanding the challenges of long-duration spaceflight.

The Skylab incident was far from the only example. The history of space exploration is punctuated by episodes revealing the psychological strain of cosmic isolation. One of the most documented cases of psychological strain in space occurred aboard Mir in 1997, during NASA astronaut Jerry Linenger's stay. Linenger documented his experiences in his book "Off the Planet," describing how isolation and communication difficulties led to increasing tension between crew members. The situation was exacerbated by a serious fire aboard the station and problems with life support systems. Linenger's accounts provide valuable insights into how isolation can amplify the psychological impact of emergency situations in space. His experience significantly changed how space agencies approach crew psychological support and cross-cultural training.

The Russian space program provided some of the most valuable data about long-term isolation through cosmonaut Valeri Polyakov's record-breaking 437-day stay on the Mir space station. While Polyakov completed his mission successfully, his journals revealed periods of intense depression and emotional struggles. Kanas and Manzey's 2008 study "Psychological Issues in Long Duration Spaceflight" would later identify this pattern of emotional fluctuation as typical in extended space missions, where the isolation was different from that experienced by lighthouse keepers - rather than being alone, cosmonauts faced the challenges of being confined in small spaces with the same few people for extended periods.

The Mir space station became a laboratory for understanding the effects of isolation. In 1997, tensions between American astronaut Jerry Linenger and his Russian colleagues highlighted how isolation can amplify cultural differences and communication issues. In another incident, a crew member became convinced ground control was concealing information from them - showing how isolation can fuel paranoid thinking.

Modern space agencies treat psychological support with the same seriousness as technical training. The evolution of this support can be seen through NASA's long-duration spaceflight preparations. The European Space Agency's Mars500 experiment (2010-2011) demonstrated that astronauts needed structured schedules, social bonding rituals, and cognitive stimulation to maintain mental health during long-duration isolation.

What we know from documented NASA and other space agency practices includes:

• Regular private audio and video communication sessions with family (as demonstrated during ISS missions)

• Exercise regimens designed not just for physical but also mental health

• Windows specifically designed for Earth observation, which studies have shown provides crucial psychological benefits

• Entertainment provisions, including music, movies, and books (which we've seen documented in ISS cargo manifests)

The International Space Station is a testbed for understanding isolation's challenges. Station crews typically have:

• Daily planning conferences with ground control

• Regular crew rotations to maintain fresh social dynamics

• Scheduled time off for personal activities

• Shared meals to maintain social bonds

These protocols continue to evolve as agencies prepare for Mars missions. The psychological challenges of such missions, including the 20-minute communication delay with Earth, represent the next frontier in understanding human isolation in space.

The Digital Age Paradox

The COVID-19 pandemic thrust millions of workers into an unprecedented experiment in mass isolation. Unlike lighthouse keepers or astronauts, who were carefully selected and trained for isolation, the global workforce had to adapt overnight. The result was what Microsoft's Work Trend Index, studying over 30,000 people, called "the rise of workplace loneliness" - 60% of remote workers reported feeling less connected to their colleagues than before.

MIT professor Sherry Turkle captured this paradox perfectly in her 2011 book "Alone Together": "We expect more from technology and less from each other." Her insight became remarkably prescient during the pandemic, as digital-age isolation revealed unique characteristics that make it particularly challenging. Unlike the physical isolation of a lighthouse or the cosmic isolation of space, modern workers face what we might call "connected isolation" - surrounded by technology that enables constant communication, yet somehow feeling more alone than ever.

The paradox is striking. A modern remote worker might have dozens of Slack channels open, attend multiple Zoom meetings daily, and exchange countless emails, yet still experience profound loneliness. The brain processes these digital interactions differently from physical presence, missing crucial non-verbal cues and the subtle chemistry of face-to-face encounters.

We've lost what sociologist Mark Granovetter identified in his influential 1973 study as "weak ties" - those casual, unplanned interactions that historically provided social connection. The quick chat by the coffee machine, the shared laugh in the elevator, the impromptu lunch with colleagues - these seemingly minor interactions played a crucial role in our sense of connection. In their place, we have scheduled video calls and structured digital communications that, while efficient, lack the spontaneity and warmth of natural human interaction.

The blurring of work-life boundaries compounds the problem. Unlike lighthouse keepers who knew they were "at work" or astronauts with clearly defined duty periods, remote workers often find themselves in a strange liminal space—neither entirely at work nor fully at home. Work bleeds into personal space and time, making it harder to form meaningful non-work connections or fully disconnect from work stress.

CDC data showed a nearly fourfold increase in adults reporting symptoms of anxiety or depression during lockdowns (from 11% to 41.5%). While not all of this can be attributed to workplace isolation, the correlation between remote work and decreased mental well-being has become increasingly apparent. Young adults (18-24) were particularly affected, with 56% reporting symptoms of anxiety and/or depressive disorder.

The solutions being developed for digital-age isolation often feel inadequate - virtual water coolers, digital happy hours, online team-building exercises. While well-intentioned, these attempts to recreate human connection through screens usually highlight what's missing rather than replace it.

The Outer Limits of Isolation

While workplace isolation can be challenging, Sarah Shourd's experience in Iran's Evin prison provides a stark reference point for understanding the outer limits of human isolation. Arrested in 2009 while hiking near the Iran-Iraq border, Shourd spent nearly 10,000 hours in solitary confinement, confined to a tiny cell with minimal human contact.

The National Academy of Sciences 2020 study "Solitary Confinement: Effects, Practices, and Pathways toward Reform" provides a scientific framework for understanding what Shourd experienced. Her case exemplifies what happens when isolation becomes extreme and involuntary. Within months, she began experiencing hallucinations - a common symptom of what psychologists call "SHU syndrome" (Special Housing Unit syndrome) or "prison psychosis." She would hear phantom footsteps and voices. She developed obsessive behaviours, pacing her tiny cell for hours. Even brief interactions with guards became intensely significant, highlighting the human brain's desperate need for social contact.

"The mind is a very powerful thing," Shourd wrote after her release, "and when it's left alone with itself with no distractions, it can begin to turn on itself, causing a host of mental problems, including anxiety, depression, anger, cognitive disturbances, perceptual distortions, paranoia, psychosis, and self-harm."

Her description of her mind "silting up" - a gradual deterioration of cognitive function—aligns with groundbreaking research published in Nature Neuroscience. This research shows that prolonged isolation actually changes brain chemistry and structure. Studies have demonstrated that extended periods of isolation can reduce the hippocampus, the brain region responsible for memory and spatial awareness, by as much as 7%.

What makes Shourd's case particularly relevant to workplace isolation is how it illuminates the spectrum of human connection needs. While remote workers struggling with digital loneliness or lighthouse keepers battling physical isolation face real challenges, their experiences exist on a continuum that has solitary confinement at its extreme end. Understanding this spectrum helps us appreciate why seemingly minor social deprivations in the workplace can have significant psychological impacts.

Shourd's experience also highlights the crucial difference between voluntary and involuntary isolation. Lighthousekeepers choose their profession, astronauts train for their missions, and most remote workers have some degree of choice in their working arrangements. But when isolation is forced upon us—whether through imprisonment, pandemic lockdowns, or mandatory remote work policies—the psychological toll can be particularly severe.

The Human Constant

Through these stories - from lonely lighthouse keepers to striking astronauts, from isolated remote workers to a solitary prisoner - we see the persistent thread of humanity's struggle with isolation. Each era brings unique challenges to human connection, yet the fundamental psychological need remains unchanged.

The lighthouse services of the 1800s eventually recognised that no keeper should be alone, developing systematic solutions like the three-keeper system and family quarters. NASA learned, sometimes dramatically, that even the most technically advanced workplace must account for basic human needs for rest, reflection, and connection. Yet somehow, in our digital age, we seem surprised that endless Zoom calls and Slack messages don't fulfil our deep-seated need for genuine human interaction.

As neuroscientist John Cacioppo's research conclusively showed, the need for human connection isn't a luxury - it's hardwired into our biology. "The absence of social connection," he demonstrated, "triggers the same primal alarm bells as hunger, thirst, and physical pain." This fundamental truth links the experiences of lighthouse keepers, astronauts, and remote workers across time.

Most striking is how each generation has had to relearn these lessons. The lighthouse authorities who instituted the three-keeper system would likely have nodded in understanding at Commander Carr's plea for more time to look out the window and reflect. The space agencies who learned to build in time for "Earth gazing" would probably recognise the importance of those casual office interactions we lost during the shift to remote work.

As we navigate the future of work, with artificial intelligence and virtual reality promising even more changes to how we connect and communicate, these historical lessons become increasingly relevant. The European Space Agency's Mars500 experiment findings - showing the critical importance of structured schedules, social bonding rituals, and cognitive stimulation - offer valuable insights for designing future remote work policies. They remind us that humans remain fundamentally social creatures no matter how sophisticated our technology becomes.

The solutions we develop for workplace isolation—whether for Mars missions or remote work teams—must start from this basic understanding. Sherry Turkle warns that we cannot simply expect more from technology and less from each other. The challenge isn't just technological; it's deeply human.

The striking astronauts of Skylab 4 weren't just demanding better working conditions; they were asserting their humanity in the face of systems that had forgotten it. In our rush to embrace the efficiencies of remote work and digital communication, we would do well to remember their message: even in the most advanced workplace imaginable, humans need time to rest, reflect, and connect.

The challenge for our era is not just to develop better digital tools for remote work but to ensure these tools serve our fundamental human needs for connection and community. As we've learned from lighthouse keepers to astronauts, remote workers to prisoners, isolation isn't just a workplace issue - it's a human issue. And like those who came before us, we must find ways to address it that acknowledge both our technology's capabilities and our humanity's unchanging needs.

Referenced Sources:

1. Kanas, N., & Manzey, D. (2008). Space Psychology and Psychiatry.
   This comprehensive book explores psychological, psychiatric, and psychosocial issues affecting individuals living and working in space.
   Link

2. Ryumin, V. V. (1980). Personal Diary Entry.
   Soviet cosmonaut Valery Ryumin documented the psychological challenges of prolonged space missions in his diary.
   Link

3. Microsoft Work Trend Index (2021).
   This report examines the impact of remote work on employee connections and productivity.
   Link

4. Turkle, S. (2011). Alone Together: Why We Expect More from Technology and Less from Each Other.
   Sherry Turkle discusses the paradox of digital communication and its impact on human relationships.
   Link

5. Granovetter, M. S. (1973). "The Strength of Weak Ties." American Journal of Sociology, 78(6), 1360-1380.
   This seminal paper explores the importance of casual social interactions in building networks.
   Link

6. National Academy of Sciences (2020). "Solitary Confinement: Effects, Practices, and Pathways toward Reform."
   This study examines the psychological impact of solitary confinement and offers recommendations for reform.

Additional Suggested Readings:

1. Suedfeld, P., & Steel, G. D. (2000). "The Environmental Psychology of Capsule Habitats." Annual Review of Psychology, 51, 227-253.
   This review delves into the psychological effects of living in confined environments, such as space stations and remote research facilities.

2. Stuster, J. (2010). "Behavioral Issues Associated with Long-Duration Space Expeditions: Review and Analysis of Astronaut Journals." NASA Technical Report.
   An analysis of astronauts' journals to identify common psychological and social challenges during extended missions.
   Link

3. Kanas, N. (2015). Humans in Space: The Psychological Hurdles.
   This book provides an in-depth look at the psychological challenges faced by astronauts and offers insights into potential solutions.
   Link

4. Gushin, V. I., & Efimov, V. A. (2002). "Psychological Evaluation and Support During Mars-105 Experiment." Aviation, Space, and Environmental Medicine, 73(5), 451-454.
   A study on the psychological support strategies employed during a 105-day Mars mission simulation.
   Link

5. Bishop, S. L., & Grobler, L. C. (2015). "HUMEX: A Study on the Survivability and Adaptation of Humans to Long-Duration Exploratory Missions." European Space Agency Technical Report.
   This report examines the human factors and risks associated with long-duration space exploration.
   Link