During my college years, I was an extreme extrovert. I craved constant company and dreaded solitude. My desire to be around others was so overwhelming that I would feel anxious if I couldn’t find familiar faces. After classes, I would join the crowd of smokers outside my large dorm, and I would wake up early after nights out just to wander the halls, listening for signs of life from my friends. Throughout my entire college experience, I never once spent a night alone; I was always in the company of someone else.
Even during solitary pursuits, I sought companionship. I loved reading, but I preferred to do so alongside others or in lively public spaces. As a music major, I had to spend countless hours practicing alone, yet I would often invite a friend to practice in the next room, meeting every half hour to take breaks together. The knowledge that someone was nearby was comforting and motivating.
My dependence on being around others wasn’t a sign of genuine extroversion. Extroversion and introversion describe how people recharge their energy. True extroverts shouldn’t experience a panicked fear of solitude, just as introverts shouldn’t fear social situations. My need for company stemmed from a deeper place – I couldn’t tolerate being alone with my thoughts.
In one of her routines, comedian Maya Thompson shared a poignant sentiment after delivering a dark joke, saying, “I just couldn’t be alone with that.” Those words resonated with me; I felt the same way for years. I couldn’t bear to be left alone with my thoughts.
All of that changed a year ago when I made the painful decision to embrace my true self and end my marriage. After moving out of the home I shared with my ex-husband, I now alternate custody of our two children. This often leaves me alone in my house, with only my dog for company.
Surprisingly, I have discovered a newfound appreciation for solitude, which initially frightened me. Being alone for extended periods at night is different from having quiet time during the day as a work-from-home mom. It means long stretches of silence without any tasks or children’s needs to attend to. The house can feel eerily quiet, and I am completely alone.
AND OH MY GOD, IT IS ABSOLUTELY AMAZING.
To clarify, I would always choose to have my kids with me. They are my absolute favorite people, and I cherish spending time with them. Even during challenging moments, I never wish for their absence. I love having them around, knowing exactly where they are and what they’re doing.
But also? Enjoying an evening of snacks instead of preparing a full dinner for several people and cleaning up afterward is delightful. Sitting on the couch with my laptop, a bowl of popcorn, and an episode of my favorite show playing in the background while the rest of the house remains still? It’s blissful.
Sometimes, I crank up my Bluetooth speaker, blast my favorite tunes, and dance like no one’s watching. It’s not pretty, but who cares when I’m alone?
After 40 years, I’m finally getting to know myself, and I’m liking what I see. I often find myself standing in the middle of my home, taking in the space—the vintage dining set, the half-finished puzzle, my couch adorned with mismatched cushions, and my tall shelves filled with books. In the stillness, these items represent the life I’ve created for myself, a life I never imagined I could have. It’s been a tough journey filled with anxiety and guilt, but I’ve made it. I’m doing this. In my solitude, I can embrace that realization fully.
The most astonishing discovery during these solitary days is that I genuinely like myself. I enjoy the thoughts in my head. I appreciate having uninterrupted moments to reflect without distraction.
It has taken years to reach a place of honesty with myself and others. Embracing that honesty, while challenging at times, has been liberating. After four decades, I am learning more about who I am, and the experience has been enriching.
I often contemplate the roots of my overwhelming need for company. Part of it stemmed from a fear of missing out, but I believe much of it was due to my discomfort with myself. I was unsure of my identity and fearful of exploring it. Surrounding myself with others allowed me to avoid confronting who I really was.
This shift is significant. Sure, motherhood can be chaotic and noisy, so it’s natural to crave periods of silence and personal time. However, my newfound love for solitude goes beyond simply enjoying quiet. It’s about finally connecting with my authentic self and cherishing the time spent with her.
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Summary:
After years of seeking constant companionship, I discovered the joys of solitude following my divorce. Embracing my alone time has allowed me to know myself better, appreciate my space, and enjoy my own company. This journey of self-discovery has been liberating, and I’ve learned that I genuinely like who I am.