As much as I’d love to say I’ve always been comfortable being alone, the truth is, I haven’t. It’s taken years of pushing past the boundaries of my harbored insecurities in social settings, applications of the self-love I encourage onto others and a global pandemic to get there. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always valued personal space and the ability to be independent, but the idea of doing various tasks alone in public or spending money on myself the way I would in doing activities with friends, used to be overwhelming. 

It wasn’t even this self-sabotage over the years that bothered me the most (that being said, it clearly bothered me enough to write this piece), but rather my inherent failure to follow through with the very same feminist prose I preach – the majority of which centralizes around destigmatizing loneliness and depression in the womxn around me. 

This innate cynicism shifted this past March with the announcement of a national lockdown in the wake of the coronavirus pandemic. Suddenly, spending time with myself wasn’t just an option, but mandatory for the sake of myself and others. While I’ll admit I spent the first month or so in an existential haze trying to figure out how to make the best of the situation, I gained the ability to coexist with myself the way I do with others. I was able to test this hypothesis for the first time when I unexpectedly lived on my own in my typically four-person household for a week after my housemates delayed their arrival back from Thanksgiving break.

Maybe it was driven out of a manic frenzy to prove myself capable, but regardless, I sure as hell made the most of those seven days of me time. I exercised, went thrifting, tried a new coffee shop and overall indulged in the smaller facets of my existence that feel positive. For instance, the privilege of sleeping in late or the fulfillment of cooking a meal that’s not exclusive to the Trader Joe’s frozen aisle.

If anything, living in an environment with others going through a similar struggle in regard to self discovery was the biggest catalyst in propelling me forward in this self-proclaimed path of learning to provide myself the comfort I sought out from others. When confined during a global pandemic to a small space with three housemates, all with their own distinctive personalities and lived experiences outside of my own, I’ve found it critical to invest time and energy into myself on an individual basis, rather than solely evaluating my needs in relation to a greater, communal whole. Coming out of the national lockdown, I was definitely eager for the opportunity of social interaction, but retained a learned appreciation for personal space that has carried through to the present.

In retrospect, this innate fear of loneliness has plagued my conscious social decision-making and holistic worldview throughout the course of my entire life. Watching people sit alone at a restaurant or in the movie theater would make me feel a twinge of sympathy, and I couldn’t help but wonder if they were as uncomfortable with the concept of loneliness as me. It’s almost twisted when I think about it now; the idea of doling out your unsolicited pity purely because of an assumption made upon a person’s sense of self. And maybe therein lies the societal issue – that the idea of “being alone” is so frequently misconstrued as “loneliness” – which serves to negatively equate the two unlike terms. Even further, the connotation of opting to be alone is too often projected toward invalidating the lifestyle choices of independent womxn in tune with themselves.

So, yeah, I’m alone, but I’m not lonely. I have myself to keep me company.