I just recently learned to be alone, and I’m now embracing it–maybe too much. I have become my own best friend. I talk to myself, go on walks in the woods alone, watch TV shows solo, have wine by myself. I am alone. I was afraid of this at one time.
I was afraid of myself, perhaps.
When I was first divorced and a single mom of two young children, I didn’t know how to be by myself. It was terrifying. The Wednesdays and Saturdays that the kids would leave and go to their dad’s house, I panicked. I dialed for dollars to find friends to hang with, or kept the company of anyone who would oblige. I was not discriminatory; I was hiding from reality, and myself.
Tonight, seven years later, I made a fire, cooked Falafel, and watched Netflix by myself. I poured a glass of wine, texted some friends, and stopped to enjoy a five-foot string of lights I bought at Dollar Tree that hangs on my kitchen windowsill.
It was then that I realized I was happy, all alone, by myself. So I stopped to write this.
For those of you going through hard times, particularly this holiday season, I’m here to tell you that it does get better.
As I’ve aged, I realize I’d rather be alone than with those who are not true.
You are who you surround yourself with. Your voice is the loudest. Be careful with your words, your company, and your heart; to give it to an underserving person, just for the sake of companionship, is detrimental and not worth it.
I love my alone time now. I shudder to think how many times I avoided it in the past. Perhaps, it’s just part of my journey and my own timeline.
But I am grateful for my friend: me.
