Living alone means you get good at being by yourself. You start to learn the rhythms of your space, your thoughts, your time. You learn what recharges you. What drains you. You build rituals that are yours alone. You find peace in silence that used to feel awkward.
That’s solitude.
Solitude is chosen. It’s intentional. It’s when your time alone fills your cup, calms your mind, or helps you think. It’s when you end a solo weekend feeling a little more like yourself.
But sometimes, it slides. Slowly. Quietly. Solitude becomes something else.
Isolation.
Isolation doesn’t recharge you. It drains you. It makes you feel like you’re underwater—disconnected, a little foggy, a little adrift. It’s when the silence isn’t peaceful anymore, it’s just heavy. When the space that used to feel like sanctuary starts to feel like a trap.
It’s a fine line. And the tricky part is, you usually don’t notice when you’ve crossed it until you’ve been on the wrong side for a while.
My Personal Rule
Here’s one rule I’ve made for myself:
Don’t turn down invitations without a damned good reason.
Not because I’m a social butterfly. I’m not. But because I’ve learned that the part of me that says “you don’t need to go” is often trying to protect me from the discomfort of interaction—not the harm of it.
I say yes to the beach trip with family, the friend saying “Want to grab a beer?”, the invitation to a family dinner, even when I’m feeling low-energy, unless I’m genuinely unwell, exhausted, or already committed to something that matters.
Because I know that when I start saying no by default, I start to drift.
I mostly want to beg off. I like my solitude. Still, these people matter to me.
I never come away, regretting having gone.
Questions I Ask Myself
- Will I regret missing this?
- Am I saying no because I truly need rest, or because I’m avoiding the effort of showing up?
- Would this be good for me, even if it’s not easy?
More often than not, the answer to all of these is yes.
So I say “Yes”. I say “Thanks” and “I’ll see you there”.
Final Thoughts
Solitude is a gift. It’s one of the best things about living alone. But like any gift, it can turn on you if you don’t treat it with care.
Check in with yourself. Say yes when it counts, and don’t wait until the silence starts to feel heavy before you reach out.
Because you don’t have to wait until you’re lonely to ask for connection. Sometimes you just need to open the door before it feels closed.