How to Be Okay with Being Alone (Even If You Hate It Right Now)

Being alone isn’t always peaceful. Sometimes it sucks.

Not because anything’s wrong. But because you’re sitting there, no noise, no one texting you, no plans — just you… and your thoughts. 

And it feels weird. Uncomfortable. Too quiet.

Some days, the silence isn’t calming — it’s heavy. 

It makes your chest feel tight. 

Makes you wonder if something’s off with you for not liking your own company.

I’ve felt that.

Not just once, but again and again — especially in those in-between moments. After people leave. After the noise dies down. 

After the world stops asking for your attention.

And in those moments, all the “self-love” advice in the world doesn’t help. Because what you’re feeling? It’s real.

This guide isn’t here to tell you to light a candle and suddenly feel better. 

It’s just everything I’ve learned, piece by piece, about sitting with that feeling — and not running from it. 

And maybe, slowly, finding peace in it.

If you’re here, you probably hate being alone right now. 

I’ve been there. 

So let’s figure this out together.

1. Understanding the Noise Behind the Silence

Not all silence is golden. 

Sometimes, it’s deafening — not because of what’s missing outside, but because of what’s screaming inside.

See, we’re not really taught how to be alone. 

We grow up surrounded by noise — TVs always on, notifications buzzing, people filling every pause. 

So when that external noise fades, we start hearing things we’ve been avoiding for years: Unfinished thoughts. Doubts. Old memories. That voice that says we’re not doing enough.

And that silence is not peaceful because we never learned to trust it.

I remember this one evening after I moved into my first place alone. 

No roommates. No family. Just… me and four empty walls. 

At first, it felt exciting. Independent. Grown-up.

But around 10:42 p.m. — I still remember the clock — I suddenly felt it. 

Like this wave of discomfort that came out of nowhere, I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t tired. But the silence hit me like a freight train.

And I caught myself pacing the room, opening and closing apps on my phone, not even reading anything — just trying to escape… something. 

It was like I was searching for a noise to drown out the quiet, because the quiet was bringing up things I didn’t want to deal with.

That’s the thing: when silence feels too loud, it’s often not about the silence at all. 

It’s about what lives underneath it.

And the first step? Just recognizing that. You’re not weird. You’re not weak. 

You’re just finally hearing what’s been buried under the noise for a long time.

2. You’re Not Broken for Feeling This Way

If being alone feels weird, heavy, or just… off — that doesn’t mean something’s wrong with you.

It just means you’re human.

We weren’t taught how to sit with ourselves. 

We were taught how to stay busy. 

Keep moving. Stay productive. Keep the noise on.

So when the world finally goes quiet? 

Yeah, it makes sense if your chest tightens up a little.

There’s nothing broken about you if silence feels uncomfortable. 

It doesn’t mean you’re weak. It doesn’t mean you’re doing “solo life” wrong. 

It just means you’re used to hearing everyone else’s voice more than your own — and now, for the first time in a long time, it’s just you in the room.

And that’s a lot.

You don’t have to love the quiet right away. You don’t have to turn into some peaceful monk overnight. 

Let it feel awkward. Let it sting. Let it be what it is.

Just don’t run from it.

Because the fact that you’re even sitting in it — even for a few minutes — says way more about your strength than you probably give yourself credit for.

3. Replacing Noise with Nourishment

When the silence starts getting loud, most of us reach for something — anything — just to not feel it.

We scroll. We open and close apps without even reading anything. We turn on Netflix and don’t even watch — just letting the menu loop.

And honestly? No shame. 

I’ve done all of that. More times than I can count.

But over time, I realized something: 

It’s not the silence that hurts. It’s the empty noise I kept using to cover it.

Not every quiet moment needs to be filled. 

But when you do need to fill it… try giving yourself something that actually feels good. 

Not perfect. Not productive. Just good.

Some things that helped me — slowly:

• Journaling. Not deep reflections. Just… brain dump stuff. Even “I don’t know what to write” on repeat.
• Playing music and actually listening — like, really letting it hit.
• Going for walks with no plan, no podcast, just letting my mind wander.
• Cooking something for myself — not to impress anyone, not for the ‘gram. Just to eat and be present.

There was this one night where the silence felt thick. 

I didn’t want to talk to anyone. Didn’t want to scroll. Didn’t even want music.

So, I grabbed a notebook, lit a candle (felt kind of ridiculous doing it, not gonna lie), and just wrote:

“Today felt heavy.”

That’s it. That’s all I had.

But it did something. It made the silence feel a little softer. Less like it was closing in. 

More like it was… sitting with me, instead of against me.

You don’t have to turn every quiet moment into some magical ritual. 

But if you’re going to reach for something — Make it something that feeds you. Not something that just helps you disappear.

4. Learning to Sit with Discomfort (Not Escape It)

Here’s the truth, a lot of us dodge: 

You can’t heal from something if you keep running from it. 

And silence? It’s the one space where all the stuff you’ve buried — the fears, the memories, the doubts — finally gets a chance to speak.

That’s why we scroll. That’s why we blast music. That’s why we keep the TV running in the background even when we’re not watching. 

Because sitting in silence feels a lot like sitting with yourself. 

And sometimes… you don’t want to face yourself.

But what if you didn’t run this time?

Not fix. Not analyze. Not “get over it.” 

Just sit.

Even if it’s uncomfortable. 

Even if the first five minutes feel like forever.

Even if you hear things in your head you wish you didn’t.

There was a night — not long ago — when I turned everything off. No lights. No music. No phone. Just me, a candle, and the hum of the fridge.

And I sat.

My thoughts wandered to stuff I thought I’d moved on from — old friendships, things I’d said and regretted, decisions I wasn’t proud of. 

It was heavy. But I stayed. 

And you know what? After about 15 minutes… the intensity softened. 

I didn’t have answers. But I didn’t feel the need to run anymore either.

That’s the whole point of this section, really: 

The only way out of the discomfort is through it.

So try this, if you’re up for it: 

Tonight, sit for ten minutes. 

No noise. No distractions. Just you. 

Notice what comes up — and don’t fight it. Just… notice.

You don’t need to fix anything. You just need to be with it.

5. Building a Routine Around Your Own Presence

Once the silence stops feeling like a threat, you start to notice something:

You don’t need someone else in the room to feel okay. 

Sometimes, just showing up for yourself — in small, quiet ways — is enough.

Being alone doesn’t have to be this awkward space you wait to escape from. 

It can actually be something you build your days around. Not in a dramatic “reinvent your life” way. 

But just… tiny things that remind you, hey — I matter to me.

Stuff like:

• Making your coffee slow, without rushing out the door
• Sitting at the table for dinner instead of eating with your phone in your face
• Lighting a candle at night just because you want to feel a little warmth
• Talking out loud to yourself at the end of the day (feels weird at first, but weirdly freeing)
• Cleaning your space on Sunday — not for anyone else, just because you want it to feel good

I started lighting a candle before bed every night. 

Not for the vibe, not to be fancy — just to mark the moment. 

It was like saying, this is your space now. You made it. You’re here.

And over time, that small thing started to feel… solid. 

Like I was building a tiny routine around being with myself. 

Not just passing time. But being present in it.

That’s what this part is about. 

Turning alone time into something that holds you — instead of something you have to survive. 

And you don’t even realize when it happens… 

You just wake up one day and those moments you used to dread? 

You actually start looking forward to them.

6. From Empty to Full: The Shift Happens Slowly

There’s no switch. 

No exact day where you suddenly love being alone. 

It just… shifts. Quietly. Gently. Almost like you don’t even notice it happening.

You go from feeling like silence is something you survive… to realizing it’s something you’ve started to enjoy.

One day you’re eating dinner alone, and it doesn’t feel sad — it feels calm. 

You walk home with no headphones in, and the sound of your footsteps is oddly comforting. 

You wake up on a weekend, make your coffee, sit in the morning light, and realize: 

I’m not lonely right now. I’m actually… good.

That’s the shift.

I didn’t notice it either, until it was already happening. 

I was journaling one night — something small, just a few lines — and I caught myself writing:

Today was quiet. And that was enough…

And I stopped mid-sentence. 

Because months earlier, that same kind of day would’ve left me spiraling.

The truth is:

Being okay in your own company doesn’t mean you never feel lonely again. 

It just means your own presence stops feeling like a void… and starts feeling like a place you can trust.

That kind of peace? It builds slowly. 

But once it’s there — you carry it with you, even when life gets loud again.

7. If the Silence Still Feels Too Loud — That’s Okay Too

Some days, it still creeps in.

You’re doing all the right things — the journaling, the candles, the walks, the music… but suddenly, the quiet turns sharp again. 

Your thoughts start looping. 

You reach for your phone even though you don’t want to. 

And you wonder, “Why am I back here?”

Let me say this clearly: 

You’re not failing. You’re just being human.

Even after all the healing, the peace, the progress — you’ll still have moments where the silence roars louder than usual. 

And that’s okay.

It doesn’t erase everything you’ve learned. 

It doesn’t undo the comfort you’ve built with yourself. 

It just means you’re having a moment — not a meltdown.

Think of it like the ocean. Some days the water’s calm. Some days it pulls. 

But you’re learning how to swim in both.

I still have nights where I turn off the lights and immediately feel that weird pit in my stomach — that old restlessness. 

But now, instead of freaking out or rushing to fill the space, I just… notice it. 

I sit with it. Sometimes I talk to it.

“Hey. You showed up again. That’s alright.”

And almost always, it softens a little. 

Not because I fixed it — but because I stayed.

So if the silence still feels too loud sometimes… It’s not a sign that you’re broken. 

It’s a sign that you’re alive, aware, and still walking this path — at your own pace.

And that, my friend, is more than enough.

My Final Take

If you’ve made it this far, I just want to say something simple:

I see you.

Because I’ve been there too — in that silence that doesn’t soothe but stings. 

Where your own company feels unfamiliar, even a little scary. 

Where peace feels like something other people have figured out, but you… you’re still trying to get through the evening.

But listen… this whole journey? It isn’t about mastering solitude. 

It’s about learning to stay. 

To stay when it’s awkward. 

To stay when it hurts. 

To stay even when the silence is loud.

And in that staying, something shifts. 

It’s slow. It’s quiet. But it’s real.

I don’t have all the answers. Still figuring a lot of this out, honestly. 

But I’ve learned that the more I show up for myself — not with noise, not with distraction, just presence — the less I fear the quiet.

And maybe you’re somewhere in that space too. 

So if you’re learning how to be okay in your own company, just know: 

You’re not alone in that. Not even close.

And if the silence shows up again tonight? 

Try staying with it a little longer.

It softens. I promise.