I am someone who has always loved my own company. Ever since I was young, I had no trouble being alone. I never felt bored and I never questioned my comfort with spending long hours in my room. For a while I assumed it was social awkwardness — but it wasn’t. I wasn’t avoiding people; I was just choosing myself. In this article, I am writing about my relationship with solitude, and how it shaped the way I understand myself.

Don’t get me wrong — it is not that I loathe being with people. I genuinely enjoy meaningful conversations, spending time with my friends, sharing stories about my day and listening to theirs. As long as the company is positive and not emotionally draining, I’m happy to be present. But like many people, my social battery runs out sooner than expected. After a long day, the one place I instinctively want to return to is my room. It has always been that way. Whether it is my family home, or a place where I once lived alone — stepping into my room and simply unwinding eases my anxiety and quite my fear. What feels more peaceful than watching a favorite movie in a cozy space, where you can exist freely without masks or expectations. Add   a good book to that and I am content. Spending time with myself, doing what I love without interruptions grounds me and leaves me in the best state of mind.

Especially when I lived alone, doing everything by myself — cooking, grocery shopping, managing a home — stopped feeling like a responsibility and started feeling grounding. All I needed was my Spotify playlist and work felt therapeutic. Solitude is also where my creativity peaks. My curiosity runs wild — I’ll suddenly want to understand how time and space work or dive deep into a character’s emotional world in a film or series. When I’m alone, I give my mind room to wander, and it often surprises me with ideas, stories and moments of unexpected clarity. At home I spend most of my time with my cat, Fury and it never feels dull. I enjoy cleaning and creating space around me — maybe it’s the ADHD, but a clear room helps me concentrate more, especially when I write. Every piece I’ve written comes from solitude. I love turning thoughts into words and for that I need quiet. Being alone didn’t just help me learn about myself — it helped me unlearn the false narratives others placed on me. In solitude, I met myself without noise, accepted my many interests, fed my curiosity and learned to trust my own choices. Even when I go out alone, I never feel bored. Because I get to choose what I love or where to go without overthinking anyone else’s preferences. I cherish my privacy, because it is when I am most honest with myself. That kind of peace has always mattered to me — and it’s why I’ve grown genuinely fond of my company.

It lives in the small moments — the little dances I do in my kitchen after a perfect cup of coffee. The loud unapologetic singing that would probably test anyone’s patience and the way I laugh at my own mistakes without turning them into self-judgements. Enjoying my own company has turned out to be the easiest, most natural thing I’ve learned. This is the version of life that feels most honest to me — where I move at my own pace, listen to my thoughts without interruption and trust myself enough to stay.