Finding solace in solitude

Spending time completely alone is harder than I remember… I like to think I’ve always been a very independent person. When I was younger, I used to love spending time alone; loved having a long stretch of evening to spend in my own company. No chatter, no socialising, just time to sit and do whatever it was I fancied doing. I think, as an introverted teen, it was the most time I ever had to reflect, to take stock of how I felt and be truly at one with my thoughts. 

During my university years, I lived with four of my best friends in a screaming house of girls. We would run around Cardiff, drive to waterfalls, hike up Welsh mountains and – a lot of the time – just lounge around on the sofa chatting absolute nonsense. These were the best of times, and I still look back with an extreme sense of nostalgia at the care-free lack of responsibility we all had. 

Then, covid struck. After wiping out half our second year, we all came back chagrined but keen to spend our final year together – even if that meant spending all of our time locked down in our small student house.

It was during this time that I began to become wholly dependent on my housemates. We basically all ate, studied and slept in the same routine for a year, and life didn’t feel whole without them around. It was only when my friend told me she was going for a socially distanced walk with a course friend that I knew there was something amiss. ‘What am I going to do with myself for the next hour, then?’ I thought. 

I was upset with myself that I didn’t know what to do. Who had I become? For someone who used to be so comfortable in their own company, how could I now feel so lost and at a loose end. How could I have become so dependent on friends for the things I used to be able to provide solely for myself. Was this adulthood?

When I moved to London, I was also in a long-distance relationship – something  that required great skill in time-organisation, as I would always plan things around seeing my boyfriend at least every other weekend. I was always busy. When we broke up, I filled the extra time with more socialising – going out for work drinks, seeing friends, taking up clubs and booking people in months in advance. A free weekend was my worst nightmare – and always an opportunity to ‘get a date in the diary’. They say in order to truly tell if you’re an extrovert is to ask yourself if you feel more or less drained after socialising. For me, over the last year, I guess you could say I’ve become an extrovert.

Last month, I decided to book a week wfh so I could go back to my hometown. Naturally, I booked in every friend I could over the weekend, and was assured my sister would be joining me throughout the week. But she didn’t – and my parents were away too. I’d be completely alone for the first time in a long while. I found myself scrambling for people to fill my evenings, as if the moments on my own would somehow become a waste of time – time that could have been spent gaining energy from others. I considered cancelling the trip, telling myself I’d probably miss out on whatever was happening back at home in London. 

But I didn’t. As I write this, I’m sitting in the kitchen of my family home – the same one I used to relish walking through as an introverted teen – and I feel a sense of calm. Sure, the initial silence of the house had me grabbing my phone and playing the latest Off Menu podcast before calling my mum just to have someone to talk to. But, after hanging up, I started to relish the opportunity of the long expanse of time. 

I wake up early here – a couple of hours before I usually do – and have been getting fresh air a lot more. I remember what it is to inhale the sea air and gaze at the blue and greens of the countryside that are so easily forgotten when stuck on the northern line every day. I’ve read a book, written a lot and, most of all, have enjoyed time with my own thoughts. 

As simple and silly as it sounds, this week has taught me that maybe, as I do when making an effort to see others, I also need to schedule in time for solitude. Only then can I truly find peace in it.