There’s a quiet assumption baked into so many conversations: that being alone is a temporary condition. That if you live solo—if you don’t have a partner, roommates, or a busy social calendar—you must be between things. Between relationships. Between phases. Between the life you have and the “real” one that’s surely coming.
But here’s the truth: living solo isn’t broken. It’s not incomplete. It’s not the sad prelude to something better. It’s just one of the many ways a good life can look.
I’m not anti-relationship. I’m not anti-community. I’m just done with the idea that being alone is a flaw to correct.
When You Live Alone, People Start Looking for the Fix
They ask if you’re seeing anyone. If you get lonely. If you’ve considered getting a dog, a flatmate, a dating app, something. The question behind the questions is always the same:
“So… when are you going to stop living like this?”
As if this was just an in-between moment.
But this isn’t a placeholder. This is life. A real one. A full one.
A Life on My Own Terms
Living alone means freedom. It means not compromising on what you eat, how your home looks, what time you go to bed, or how much space you take up. It means solitude when you want it, and the power to reach out when you don’t.
It means learning to trust your own rhythm. To recognise your own voice. To ask, “What do I want today?” and actually get to follow through.
That’s not broken. That’s not lacking. That’s liberating.
You Can Choose Something Different—But You Don’t Have To
If one day I decide I want to share my space, or merge my life with someone else’s, I can do that. But it’ll be a choice—not a rescue. Not a fix. Not an escape from some supposed defect in my life as it is now.
I don’t need to be saved from solitude. I’m not waiting for something better. This is better.
Final Thoughts
You’re not behind because you live alone. You’re not broken because you enjoy your own company. You’re not missing out just because your path looks different.
This isn’t a waiting room. It’s your life.
And if it’s working for you, you don’t owe anyone an explanation—or a change.