An introvert’s love letter to solitude.
🎵 Link to the recommended soundtrack for this article: “Me Myself and I” by L7
My husband and son left for Italy a couple of days ago, which means I have our London flat all to myself for a few days, and it feels like a holiday. Don’t get me wrong, it’s got nothing to do with them. It’s not like I can’t wait to get rid of my boys (although my husband often jokes about it). When we’re apart, I miss them very much, but at the same time the introvert within is overjoyed. The truth is, I need my time alone as much as I need my time with them.
Since they left, our flat has been silent unless I decide to fill it with music. I can occupy every single room, the bathroom is all mine, there are no Daniel King chess videos playing on the TV, and I can’t hear rap music coming from my son’s bedroom. I miss all this, of course, but this is about far more than doing what I want, where I want and how I want it. Being alone is how I recharge my batteries.
Solitude, for me, is an actual need. It’s as essential as eating, drinking or finding shelter. I need time alone to function and preserve my sanity. Come to think of it, I have always been like this, ever since I was very young. School reports throughout primary and secondary school described me as shy. At times, friends even called me antisocial. The truth is, I am neither. I am simply an introvert.
One might ask: how can an introvert do the job she does, a job that revolves around clients, suppliers, partners. How can she spend that much time talking, entertaining, negotiating, leading teams and even be a sales person? Well, I have no problem with any of that. I can do it perfectly well and I’d even say I’m quite good at it. I don’t mind social interactions as long as they are in small and controlled doses. And most importantly, they must be counterbalanced with alone-time, which is something radically different from me-time.
Me-time feels more like a treat, a break from routine, a healthy bit of pampering that all of us should give ourselves. It is independent of the need to recharge, stay balanced or remain mentally healthy. It’s mostly about treating ourselves and one’s ability to function doesn’t depend on it. Me-time can be enjoyed by all personality types. Alone-time, at least for us introverts, is something else entirely. It isn’t a luxury or a reward. It’s a necessity. It’s how we recharge, stay balanced and keep mentally healthy. Even in a group, I don’t feel the need to constantly talk or fill pauses. I can do it strategically in business conversations, but otherwise I can just sit there being introspective and quiet, even in company, and the concept of “uncomfortable silence” has always been alien to me.
My husband says it’s physically visible when I need my alone-time: I get itchy, fidgety, start hovering around people, and I simply cannot hide it. My old friends know me well enough to recognise this personality trait and let me be, even when it comes to new friends, I make a point of openly addressing it. For instance, I recently went on a charity hike with a few amazing women I have known for a couple of years. We spent over two solid days together, and I felt it was important to tell them that, at some point, I might need some time on my own or that if I went quiet, there was nothing wrong with me. They were completely understanding.
It was actually one of them who introduced me to the expression social battery, a term I hadn’t come across before. Well, my social battery runs out pretty quickly and needs recharging regularly. The day after the hike for example, I went for a walk to the pier on my own, and I cherished every minute of it. As I sat on the pier, I let thousands of thoughts drift through my mind. I took all the time I wanted to admire the cliffs in the distance, took as many photos and videos as I pleased and, after an hour, I was as good as new, ready for another day in company.
I must also add that these days I simply enjoy spending time with myself. I enjoy not being talked to, not having to talk to anyone. I crave time alone, whether that’s cooking for myself, cleaning or tidying up compulsively or working at my own leisure. I once heard somebody say, “I want to become the sort of person I’d like to have a drink with.” Well, after a lifetime of indulging in quite a bit of self-hatred, I am finally at a place where I genuinely like the way I am. I’d happily take myself out for a drink. A quick one, of course.
I am lucky enough to be married to a man who totally gets it and respects this side of me. In fact, he’s exactly the same, and I learned the importance of alone-time from him. When we first met, he really wanted and needed to do things alone, and I remember that, at first, eighteen years ago, I was almost offended by it. But little by little, I accepted this side of him and realised that I am actually exactly the same, although, before meeting him, I would simply feel guilty for wanting to be alone. Now we both accept each other’s need of complete solitude. For instance, we even travel on our own occasionally, and he recently went on a solitary pilgrimage for more than a week, choosing a particularly isolated route, and what is more out of season. He came back completely reset and at total peace. We often joke that the secret to our long relationship is that we don’t actually see each other all that much.
Going back to my week alone, I should add that I did arrange to go on a cinema date at my favourite London cinema, The Olympic Studios in Barnes. I slowly walked there at sunset, wearing a pretty dress and even putting on red lipstick for the occasion. I had a lovely drink before the film and realised I had a smile on my face the whole time. The date was with myself, of course, and it went remarkably well. Plenty of awkward silence, and I loved every minute of it.
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