Why I Love Living Alone (And Why You Might Too)

Let me just say it out loud — I love living alone. Like, actually love it. 

And for a long time, I didn’t know if that made me weird.

Because no one ever tells you it’s okay to prefer your own company. 

No one talks about how peaceful it feels to wake up in your own space, eat dinner in silence, or cry on the kitchen floor without having to explain it to anyone.

And when I say I love it, I don’t mean in a quirky “haha I’m such a hermit” kind of way. 

I mean, deep in my bones, this life feels like mine. And that’s not something I’m willing to apologize for anymore.

If you’re here because you feel the same way — or even if you’re just wondering what it might be like to live alone and actually love it — I want to share everything I’ve learned. 

The quiet joys, the unexpected freedom, the rare kind of self-trust that only comes when it’s just you.

This isn’t one of those “here’s why being alone makes you stronger” pep talks. 

This is just me being honest — and maybe, just maybe, giving you permission to be honest with yourself too.

So let’s talk. 

About what it really feels like to love living alone… and why that’s more than okay.

1. Let’s Get This Out First — Loving Solitude Isn’t Weird

There’s this unspoken rule in the world that says: if you’re alone, something must be wrong. 

You couldn’t find a roommate. You’re healing from a breakup. You’re awkward. You’re lonely.

The idea that someone could choose to live alone — and actually enjoy it? That still surprises people.

And for a while, it surprised me too. 

I remember moving into my first solo apartment and thinking it would just be a temporary thing. 

A phase. A stepping stone until I found someone to share it with. 

But weeks turned into months, and then into this quiet realization: wait… I actually like this.

And not in a “this will do for now” kind of way — I liked it in a deep, soul-sighing way. 

The space, the silence, the freedom to just be.

Still, I found myself downplaying it. Making jokes like “yeah I’m turning into a hermit” or “maybe I’ve been alone too long, ha.” 

But the truth? I wasn’t lonely. I was just… content.

And if you’re feeling that too, or hoping to, I want you to know this: 

Loving your solitude doesn’t mean you’re broken. It doesn’t mean you’re giving up on people or love or connection. It just means you’ve discovered a kind of peace that doesn’t rely on anyone else.

And that’s something to be proud of. Not something to explain away.

So if no one’s said it yet — I will: 

It’s not weird to love living alone. It’s powerful. And it’s yours.

2. The Deep Joys of Living Alone (That No One Tells You About)

It’s not always some big, dramatic thing. 

Most days, it’s the small stuff.

Like playing music out loud while cleaning — without headphones, without explaining your playlist. 

Or waking up on a Sunday morning and just… staying in bed because no one’s waiting on you.

It’s eating dinner straight from the pan because why not. 

It’s letting your apartment get messy and knowing no one’s judging you for it. 

It’s lighting that candle just for yourself, not for guests, not for vibes, but because it makes you feel good.

There’s a kind of joy in that. A quiet one. But real.

For me, one of the biggest shifts was this: 

I stopped asking permission to live how I wanted. 

Want to eat cereal for dinner? Sure. Rearrange your entire living room at 2 am? Go for it. Cry in the shower without feeling watched? Absolutely.

Living alone gives you this invisible kind of permission. To just exist. 

Not perform, not entertain, not manage anyone else’s moods or energy — just be you, in full color, without shrinking.

And it’s in those in-between moments — sitting on the floor with takeout, talking to yourself while folding laundry, dancing badly in your pajamas — that you realize: this isn’t lonely… this is freedom.

So no, you won’t find this kind of joy in Pinterest-perfect apartments or roommate horror stories.

 It’s the kind that only makes sense when you live it. 

And once you do… it’s hard to go back.

3. How My Mental Health Changed After I Started Living Alone

I don’t think I realized how overstimulated I was until it all finally stopped. 

The noise, the tension, the constant low-level stress of sharing space. 

Even with people I cared about, I was always in some kind of emotional negotiation:

What mood are they in? 

Is it a good time to talk? 

Am I being too quiet? Too distant? Too much?

And then… I lived alone.

And the silence hit me like a warm blanket. Not an empty silence. Not a lonely one. 

Just peace.

I remember the first time I came home after a rough day and didn’t have to pretend I was okay. 

I didn’t have to make small talk or dodge questions. 

I just threw my bag down, curled up under a blanket, and let myself be. No explanations. No masks.

That kind of safety… That changes things.

My anxiety softened. 

I started sleeping better. 

I had more energy in the mornings because I wasn’t spending it managing invisible tension. 

And honestly, I started to hear myself again — my thoughts, my feelings, my needs.

Living alone gave me space to reconnect with myself in a way I hadn’t felt in years.

Of course, it didn’t magically fix everything. I still have down days. 

But I handle them differently now, because my environment isn’t draining me anymore. It’s holding me. It’s mine.

And if your mental health’s been quietly begging for stillness, solitude, or just a break from people… please know, it’s not selfish to give yourself that. It’s healing.

4. You Become More You When You’re Alone

There’s something wild that happens when no one else is around to influence you. 

You start noticing your real taste in music. 

You realize what you actually like to wear when you’re not dressing for anyone else’s eyes. 

You figure out your real routines — not the ones you’ve been trained into by roommates or family or past relationships.

I didn’t expect that, honestly. I thought I already knew myself. 

But when it was just me… I started seeing the quiet parts I’d always silenced.

Like how I love silence more than background noise. 

Or how I write better at 11 PM than I ever could at 10 AM. 

Or how I actually like eating dinner on the floor sometimes, watching old movies I’ve already seen ten times.

And the best part? 

No one was there to judge me. Or “fix” it. Or ask why I do it that way.

When you live alone, there’s this gradual but powerful shift: 

You stop performing. 

You stop editing yourself. 

You start living in your full, unfiltered truth — and you realize… oh wow, this is me.

And once you’ve lived in that truth for a while, it gets harder and harder to shrink back into someone else’s version of who you should be.

So if you’ve ever felt like you’ve lost pieces of yourself in loud rooms, crowded kitchens, or relationships where you couldn’t fully exhale:

Living alone might just be how you find your way back.

5. But Don’t You Ever Feel Lonely?

Of course I do. 

I mean — let’s be real — living alone doesn’t mean you’re magically protected from loneliness. 

There are days it sneaks up on me out of nowhere. 

Like when I cook something I’m proud of… and there’s no one to taste it. 

Or when I get some really good news… and I whisper “yay” to myself instead of sharing it across the room.

Yeah, those moments can sting a little.

But here’s the thing I’ve learned: 

Feeling lonely sometimes doesn’t mean you’re doing life wrong. 

It just means you’re human. And choosing solitude comes with both stillness and echoes.

What’s helped me is recognizing when it hits — usually late at night, or when I’m emotionally run-down. 

And instead of panicking or assuming I’ve made a mistake, I just let the feeling be there. I name it, I sit with it, and then I move through it.

Sometimes I text a friend. 

Sometimes I journal it out. 

And sometimes I cry it out while folding laundry — because, yep, even that happens.

But you know what I don’t do anymore? 

I don’t question whether I should still be living alone. 

Because 95% of the time, I love it. And the 5% of loneliness? It passes.

We’ve been taught that loneliness is a red flag. But maybe, it’s just a reminder — to check in, to reconnect, to breathe.

So yes, I feel lonely sometimes. But that doesn’t mean I want someone here. 

It just means I need to show up for myself a little more that day.

And honestly? I’d rather feel a little lonely alone than feel emotionally lost with someone else.

6. Is It Okay to Prefer Living Alone Forever?

Let’s just say it straight: 

Yes. It’s okay.

It’s okay if you’re not dreaming about a shared apartment. 

It’s okay if you don’t picture your future with a roommate, a partner, or a family of four. 

It’s okay if your happiest vision of life… is just you, in a quiet space that’s fully yours.

But I get it. It’s hard to admit that out loud. 

Not because it’s wrong, but because it sounds so different from what we’ve been told.

The world romanticizes companionship. “Find your person.” “Don’t grow old alone.” “You’ll change your mind one day.” 

And if you say, “Actually… I might not,” suddenly people treat it like a phase. 

Something you’ll snap out of. 

Something you’ll regret later. 

Something that needs to be “fixed.”

But here’s what I’ve realized: 

There’s no shame in loving your own space — not temporarily, not as a backup plan, but as your actual lifestyle.

I’m not saying you’ll never want connection. I’m not saying you’ll never meet someone amazing. 

But if you do… it should be someone who fits into the life you’ve built — not someone you need to reshape your life around.

And if that someone never comes? 

You’ll still have a beautiful life. Because you’ve learned how to live it on your own terms.

So yes. 

It’s okay if you love living alone. 

It’s okay if you want to do this long-term.

And it’s okay if your version of happiness looks nothing like the movies.

Because the truth is — you don’t owe anyone your presence. 

Not now. Not later. Not ever.

7. People Might Not Get It — And That’s Okay Too

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard it:

“You’ll change your mind eventually.”
“You’re just in a phase.”
“Don’t you ever get… bored?”
“Isn’t it kinda sad to eat dinner alone every night?”

And you know what? I used to flinch a little when I heard that stuff. 

I’d smile politely. Shrug it off. Sometimes, I even joke about being “too independent for my own good.” 

But deep down, I’d wonder — Am I missing something? Are they right, and I just don’t see it yet?

But the more I lived this life, the clearer it became: 

Just because other people don’t understand your joy… doesn’t mean it isn’t real.

They don’t see how good it feels to have space.

To take up a whole room without apology. 

To not have to manage someone else’s energy when you barely have enough for your own.

They don’t feel that quiet, steady kind of contentment that hits you when you realize — this life fits me.

And honestly? That’s okay. They don’t have to get it. 

Not everyone is meant for this kind of peace.

I remember a moment — it was a random Tuesday night.

I was curled up on my couch, tea in one hand, my favorite playlist on low, and the windows open. Nothing dramatic. No big life milestone. Just… stillness. 

And I remember thinking, If this is weird, I hope I never feel normal again.

So yeah — let them talk. Let them wonder. 

You don’t need to convince anyone.

Because the ones who know? They’ll nod when you say, “I love living alone.” 

And the ones who don’t? They’ll figure it out… or they won’t.

Either way, your peace doesn’t need their permission.

8. If You’re Scared to Live Alone, Read This

First of all, it’s okay to be scared. 

Living alone sounds romantic until it’s just you, your thoughts, and an apartment that echoes. 

And if you’re sitting in that fear right now… I get it. I really, really do.

Before I started living alone, I had all the questions too: 

What if I get lonely?
What if something goes wrong and no one’s there?
What if I can’t handle it?

Let me tell you something that might surprise you — most people who live alone felt all of that before they took the leap. 

It’s not that we’re braver. We just realized fear isn’t a sign to run — it’s a sign we’re standing at the edge of something new.

I was nervous the first night. 

The silence felt huge. 

I checked the door lock three times. 

I overthought every creak. 

And yeah, part of me wondered if I made a mistake.

But then the days passed. And something shifted.

I started hearing my own voice louder than everyone else’s. 

I noticed I could handle more than I thought. 

I found a quiet rhythm that started to feel like home.

You don’t have to be fearless to live alone — you just have to show up anyway.

Day by day. One meal, one morning, one weekend at a time.

And here’s the thing: 

If you try it and it’s not for you, that’s okay too. 

But don’t let the fear stop you from finding out that it might be exactly what your soul has been craving.

So if your heart’s whispering, “I want this…” but your fear is screaming louder — choose the whisper.

It might just lead you home.

9. One Last Thing Before You Go

If no one’s told you lately, you’re allowed to build a life that feels good only to you. 

Even if it’s quiet. Even if it’s different. Even if no one claps for it but you.

Loving your own company isn’t sad. 

Having your own space isn’t lonely. 

And choosing solitude on purpose? That’s strength, not a backup plan.

I know this life isn’t for everyone. But if it’s for you… you’ll feel it. 

In your gut. In your calendar, full of open weekends. 

In the joy of rearranging your furniture at midnight just because you can.

So whatever version of living alone you’re in — first apartment, long-time loner, or thinking about it but scared — I’m rooting for you. Truly.

And hey, if any of this felt like your story too… Tell me why you love living alone. 

Drop a comment, send a message, whisper it into your tea — whatever works.

Just don’t keep it buried. Because there’s nothing weird or broken about you.

You’re just someone who found peace. 

And that’s something worth loving out loud.