Growing up, I spent a lot of time hearing phrases like, “Don’t be such a loner,” or “You should get out more.” The world seemed convinced that time alone was a problem to be fixed, a symptom of something wrong with me. But the truth is, I wasn’t lonely—I was recharging, resetting, and finding comfort in the quiet.
Solitude, for me, isn’t just a preference; it’s a necessity. It’s where I can breathe freely, think clearly, and exist without the pressure of performing. If you’ve ever felt like the world doesn’t understand your love for alone time, this one’s for you.
Solitude Isn’t Isolation
Let’s get one thing straight: being alone isn’t the same as being lonely. Loneliness is an ache, a hollow place inside you that craves connection. Solitude is something entirely different. It’s a deliberate choice—a retreat into your own company to rest, reflect, or simply be.
For me, solitude is like a sensory detox. Social interactions, even with people I adore, can feel like I’m running a marathon in heavy boots. There’s the small talk to navigate, the nonverbal cues to decipher, and the constant, low-grade anxiety that I might say the wrong thing. Being alone lets me take those boots off, sink into the couch, and let my brain exhale.
Why the World Misunderstands Solitude
We live in a hyper-social culture that equates extroversion with success. Teamwork is celebrated. Networking is essential. Even self-care has been commodified into group yoga classes and bustling coffee shops. Solitude, meanwhile, is often seen as a red flag, something to explain or apologize for.
But here’s the thing: solitude isn’t antisocial. It’s not a rejection of people or connection. It’s about balance. I can love my friends and still need time to myself. I can value connection while fiercely guarding my alone time.
What Solitude Feels Like for Me
Picture this: It’s a rainy Sunday morning, and the world feels blissfully muted. I’m curled up on the couch in my comfiest hoodie, sipping tea and reading a book about something weird and fascinating (lately, it’s been obscure maritime disasters). The only sound is the soft patter of rain against the windows.
This is my happy place. There’s no pressure to smile, no need to respond, no scripts to memorize or unspoken rules to follow. It’s just me, my thoughts, and the soothing rhythm of being.
Solitude lets me recharge, but it also fuels my creativity. My best ideas come when I’m alone, whether I’m writing, doodling, or letting my mind wander. It’s a space where I can explore without judgment, fail without witnesses, and dream without limits.
The Myth of the Lonely Autistic
There’s a stereotype that autistic people are inherently lonely because we struggle with social interaction. But solitude isn’t loneliness; it’s a sanctuary.
Yes, I’ve felt lonely before—especially when I was younger and didn’t know how to explain my need for space without offending people. But loneliness comes from not feeling understood, not from being alone. Solitude, on the other hand, feels like being understood by myself.
When Solitude Becomes Isolation
Of course, there’s a flip side. Too much solitude can turn into isolation, and that’s a different beast altogether. There have been times when I’ve avoided people not because I needed to recharge, but because I was afraid—afraid of being judged, of messing up, of feeling out of place.
The key is balance. I’ve learned to listen to myself and distinguish between the need for solitude and the urge to hide. Sometimes, reaching out feels scary, but it’s worth it. True connection, when it happens, can be as restorative as solitude.
Why We Need to Normalize Solitude
Imagine a world where needing time alone wasn’t seen as odd or antisocial. Where people didn’t ask, “Are you okay?” every time you said no to a party or skipped a group outing.
We need to normalize solitude as a valid and valuable choice, not just for autistic people but for everyone. It’s okay to crave quiet, to prioritize time with yourself, to say, “I just need some space right now.”
How to Embrace Solitude Without Guilt
- Set Boundaries: Let people know that your need for alone time isn’t personal. “I love hanging out, but I need some quiet time to recharge” goes a long way.
- Create a Ritual: Whether it’s a morning coffee in silence or a nightly walk, build moments of solitude into your routine.
- Disconnect to Reconnect: Turn off your phone, step away from social media, and let yourself truly be alone.
- Find Your Sanctuary: Whether it’s a cozy corner of your home, a quiet park, or even your car, create a space where you can retreat when the world feels too loud.
Final Thoughts
Solitude isn’t selfish. It’s not something to fix or apologize for. It’s an act of self-preservation, a way to care for yourself so you can show up fully when you’re ready.
If you’re someone who thrives in solitude, own it. Let it be your superpower, your refuge, your secret ingredient for navigating a world that’s always asking for more.
And if you’re someone who struggles to understand the appeal of being alone, that’s okay too. Just remember: not everyone recharges the same way, and that’s part of what makes us beautifully, wonderfully human.
Further Reading:
How do you find solitude in your life? Let me know in the comments—I’d love to hear your thoughts.
