I tell people that I’m alone but not lonely. I say it with confidence, good posture, and a fake sense of emotional stability. I say it like I’ve mastered solitude and unlocked inner peace.
And sometimes, that part is actually true.
I genuinely enjoy my own space. I like going out alone without having to negotiate restaurant choices or share my fries. I romanticize solo dates like I’m the main character in an indie film about healing and personal growth.
I have learned how to sit with myself. I journal. I light candles. I play music and pretend I’m in a transformation montage. Solitude has taught me boundaries, emotional awareness, and how to stop entertaining chaos just to feel occupied.
I no longer miss forced conversations, dry group chats, or friendships that feel more like obligations than connections. I protect my peace now. I choose quiet over confusion. I choose myself.
All very evolved. Very “healing era.” Very growth-coded.
But if we are being honest, there is another side of this story.
Sometimes I stare at my phone for too long. Sometimes I refresh apps that have not changed. Sometimes I pretend I do not want a random “wyd” text at 11:47 PM even though I absolutely do.
Sometimes the silence feels calm and grounding. Other times, it feels loud and personal.
Some days I want depth, alignment, and emotional maturity. Other days I just want affection, attention, and to be held without needing to unpack my childhood trauma first.
So yes, I am alone. I am independent. I am self-aware. I am emotionally literate.
…Actually, I am hella lonely.
