How I Learned to Love Being Alone
It is the 4th anniversary of FWD JOY – and what a journey (and a joy!) it has been. When I started this newsletter, I didn’t really have any idea where it would lead me or how far it would reach. I just knew that I had stories that felt important to share. I had no clue that it would bring me such profound healing and set me free from some of my deepest insecurities. I also never imagined that so many people would see themselves in my stories. That’s perhaps the greatest gift.
I think it’s so easy to feel alone in our human journey, and when we’re struggling, we often feel like we’re the only ones to have ever gone through a particular struggle. More often than not, that’s not entirely the case. It’s just that we rarely find space to talk about what we go through without judgment. If we talk about the good stuff, someone might think we’re bragging or full of ourselves. If we talk about the bad, we’re a burden or bringing bad vibes, and if we’re talking about the ugly stuff that happens in life, we fear alienation. FWD JOY is meant to be a safe space for all of it.
I’m grateful for this community that I’ve built here. I love when people come up to me on the street and tell me they’ve read this newsletter or bring my newsletters to therapy. Meeting and connecting with you all back in the Geneva app lockdown days or at my meetups in London and New York always make me feel like I’ve found my people. I’m in awe of the brilliant and inspiring community that spawned from this. I will always appreciate you letting me take up this space in your inbox.
In honor of this milestone, I wanted to write about something this newsletter taught me over the last four years: how to be alone. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always enjoyed time alone. It’s how I recharge from a job that requires me to be very social and “on” all the time —but for so long, I also feared that would be my permanent state, that I was destined to be alone forever, and what a terrible life sentence that would be. But things have shifted quite radically for me over these last four years. As I focused more on building a life that I loved and felt purposeful, the fear of what it meant to be alone melted away.
Most importantly, I learned how to show up for myself when it matters. This is not about feeling like I don’t need anyone because we’re human and wired for connection— it’s about knowing that I don’t need to look for happiness outside of myself and that whatever I think I’m going to get from a romantic partner that's gonna “save” me or make me feel worthy of love is probably something I need to give to myself. So, here are 15 ways I learned to love being alone.
I stay curious about my internal world: Through stillness, meditation, and journaling, I continuously explore why I think the way I do or see the world the way I see it. Journaling has been such a positive practice for understanding what’s happening inside my head, the good and the bad. I think very deeply about life (if you haven’t noticed). I’m an overthinker, I struggle with anxiety, and I have intrusive thoughts. Journaling can be a balm to all of that, and it helps regulate emotions, cultivate self-awareness, and bring clarity to my thoughts. Lately, I’ve used my old journal entries to help me process past events with my therapist—and I love that I can use these pages to reflect on my progress and as a marker for my growth.
I do things I want to do with a partner by myself: One of the biggest things I had to decide for myself was to stop waiting for someone else to do the things I wanted to do. Of course, trips to the South of France might not feel as romantic solo, but I don’t want to wait on someone else to enjoy MY life and the experiences I desire. Does it feel strange sometimes to be alone on trips and think that it would be so much better with someone else? Of course, but I push through those thoughts to enjoy my life on my terms. Plus, you never know when you might meet a sexy stranger along the way. I can honestly say that my trip to the South of France with my ex-boyfriend last year, after several solo trips there, was just as sweet—especially knowing I had once visited those same spots while longing to be there with someone. It’s a reminder that whether it’s solo travel, a museum visit, or dining out alone, we can’t wait for the one or even our friends to live the life we want to live.
I try to be my own best friend: I don’t talk to myself negatively, and I never really have by nature, but of course, there are times when I can be hard on myself. For example, over the years, I had to learn to accept and appreciate my sensitivity because, growing up, my family made me feel like it was a negative trait. I also had little control over my big emotions. With time and practice in self-regulation, I’ve learned not to let my emotions overwhelm me and appreciate the power of my vulnerability, which led me to where I am today. Of course, we’ll always be our own harshest critics. I’m not immune to that—and I love self-compassion meditations for those moments where I need a bit more grace, but I don’t live in that headspace, and I never want to be my own worst enemy.