Reclaiming Solitude: How Being Alone Helped Me Find Connection Again

There was a time when I couldn’t stand to be alone. Not even for a day. I’d fill every empty moment with someone else’s voice, presence, approval, or attention — anything to avoid sitting in silence with myself. That silence felt too much like failure. Like loneliness. And I thought loneliness was something to be fixed. Fast.

So, I swiped. I drank. I distracted myself with all the tools modern life puts at our fingertips: dating apps that promise love (or at least a dopamine hit), curated social feeds, fast-paced work, weekend events, more coffee, more gym sessions, more everything. But in all of that noise, I never felt truly connected — to others or to myself.

What I didn’t know then was that I wasn’t just avoiding loneliness — I was avoiding solitude. And they’re not the same thing at all.

In recent years, society has sounded the alarm on what’s been called a “loneliness epidemic.” Headlines warn of widespread isolation, increasing mental health struggles, and a general sense that we’ve forgotten how to connect. And in many ways, they’re right. But what’s often overlooked is that not all time alone is created equal. Just because we’re spending more time on our own doesn’t mean we’re all suffering for it.

There’s a growing body of research now exploring the idea of “positive solitude” — intentional time spent alone that’s not about avoiding the world, but about reconnecting with ourselves. It’s time that allows us to recharge, reflect, create, and listen. It’s not screen time. It’s not passive scrolling or background noise. It’s deep, quiet presence. And it turns out, it’s essential for our wellbeing.

Some experts have begun to challenge the narrative that being alone is inherently bad. Studies show that people who seek solitude for the sake of self-reflection or creativity often experience more emotional clarity, reduced stress, and even better problem-solving skills. And for many, especially those of us who are constantly “on” at work or in social spaces, solitude becomes a kind of sanctuary — a way to regulate, not isolate.

Of course, solitude only feels good when it’s balanced. We are social creatures. We need connection, community, and support. But what we’re also starting to realise is that connection is more than proximity. Being in a crowded room, constantly messaging in group chats, or even sharing a bed with someone doesn’t guarantee that we feel seen. Real connection is about presence and mutuality. And you can’t give that to others if you’re always depleted yourself.

Esther Perel, one of the most respected voices on modern relationships, often speaks about how we’ve placed unrealistic expectations on romantic partners. We want them to be our lovers, best friends, therapists, co-parents, cheerleaders, business partners, and spiritual guides — all in one. As we’ve moved away from extended family units and community networks, we’ve loaded more and more of our emotional needs onto one person. And when that person isn’t there, or the relationship ends, we’re left untethered. Alone and afraid of it.

But what if solitude could actually make us better partners, friends, and humans?

That’s the shift I’ve experienced in the last few years. After stepping back from social media, giving up alcohol, and leaving behind a lot of the patterns I’d built to avoid feeling lonely, I found something surprising. I didn’t just survive the silence — I started to thrive in it.

Filling my days with purpose — through work I believe in, meaningful projects, volunteering, and even just walking my dog — taught me that feeling useful and connected doesn’t always come from romantic relationships or big social events. It can come from the quiet moments, the small kindnesses, and the simple act of showing up for yourself.

Working in a hospital has only sharpened that insight. I see people from all walks of life every day — nurses, patients, orderlies, cleaners, surgeons, volunteers. They’re not asking for grand gestures. They want to be informed, appreciated, and recognised for what they do. That’s it. To feel seen. Valued. Like they matter. And when you strip it all back, isn’t that what we all want?

These days, I’d take a thank you from a colleague, a thoughtful message from a friend, or a cuddle from my dog over an empty swipe on a dating app. Because those moments are real. They’re mutual. They remind me that connection isn’t just about who’s around us — it’s about how we show up in the world and for ourselves.

We can’t fix loneliness by constantly running from it. The apps, the distractions, the endless scrolling — they’re sugar for a starving soul. What we really need is nourishment. Time to be still. Time to get clear. Time to remember who we are when we’re not performing for anyone else.

So no, I’m not afraid of being alone anymore. In fact, I’ve come to cherish it. Solitude has become the soil where my truest connections have started to grow — not just with others, but with myself.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s the antidote we’ve been looking for all along.