Dear World: You Probably Need Some Goddamn Alone Time

You can't be faithful to your own needs if you’re perpetually consumed by the needs of others

This summer, I needed a retreat.

Not a yoga retreat, which is for perverts, but a retreat from everyday life.

What I was craving was uninterrupted alone time: time where I could work on a project, by myself, and be alone.

In other words: I wanted a selfish summer.

One where I was only responsible for my own self-care, my own nourishment, my own peace of mind. And no one else’s.

I’m not a mom so I have luxuries in this regard, but at the same time, perhaps there is still merit in the idea of solitude.

Think about all the time you spend with other people.

You sleep with them.

You wake with them.

You cook with them.

You eat with them.

You drive with them.

You shop with them.

You live with them.

You exist with them.

And you try, with all your might, to survive them. Because even the best people must be survived.

This is normal. This is what we do. We build relationships and we build families and we build social circles and we build entire communities around the idea that being together is the ideal, and being alone is for cat ladies.

Being alone has a bad rap.

It means you’re weird.

It means your pits smell.

It means you have no friends.

It means you’re a socially stunted misfit who, if given the choice, would SURELY prefer to be surrounded by a big, boisterous family with countless numbers of friends and hundreds of thousands of followers and a big, giant d*ck in their pants.

Otherwise, who are you?

Just some kid who has no friends at the lunch table.

You can picture the pain of that, right? We tell ourselves a cultural narrative that anyone sitting by themselves must be sad. One time in my early twenties, in Chincoteague Island, off the coast of Virginia where the wild ponies roam, I was out to dinner with a boyfriend (of course I was) and we saw an elderly man sitting by himself at a nice restaurant and it broke my heart to watch because he just seemed SO LONELY (see???) so I did this whole thing where I went up to him and asked him if he’d like to join us for dinner because I am an outrageous American child who can’t mind her own business and, oh my god, the man turned me away. He said no, and the face he made was “fuck off,” and I was so disjointed, because I thought: surely he must not want to be alone. The man later came up to us at the table and offered an apology. “I’m sorry, my wife just passed away, and this was my first time dining without her here at our favorite spot.”

So maybe I WAS right, maybe he was lonely, but the point is that something I have learned now that I am 392 years old (slang for 39) is that there is a difference between being lonely and being alone.

And alone time is critical.

It’s a vitamin for your brain. Your thoughts. Your ideas.

And yet, hardly anyone prioritizes it because: how do you ask for alone time without seeming angry??? How do you ask for alone time without seeming neglectful? How do you ask for alone time without seeming selfish? And, who has time for any of this happy horseshit in the first place?

Kids are better at this than we are, probably because they aren’t worried about seeming selfish. Just the other day, I was visiting my assistant, Elizabeth, at her home, and I was bowled over when her son, who is like eight years old, told her that he didn’t want to go outside because he “would like some alone time reading his book.”

FUCKING GENIUS, THIS KID.

I remember being that age. I, too, needed alone time, but wasn’t so good at asking for it. I’d have friends over for sleepovers and if anyone stayed for longer than 24 hours, I’d start to get agitated. Like, visibly pissed. Pouty pissed. I’d stomp off and make my mom hang out with them. She used to tell me, you can’t do people for too long, Ash. And still, I’d beg for these long weekend sleepovers…and then regret every second of it.

I didn’t know my limits back then, but now I do.

Now I’m good for two days, max, and then time’s up, stank breath. I gotta be alone.

It’s through no fault of anyone else’s, it’s simply the burden of needing to take care of other people’s emotional state. Call me an empath, but there is no off-switch for that. If you are in my presence, I am actively working to make your experience a delight. I am actively reading your emotional state, and adjusting my own accordingly. End goal: create a positive experience for you. It’s a blessing and a curse, all at once, because PEOPLE END UP LIKING YOU. And then they wanna come stay in your guest room. I have advice for people like me: do not have a guest room. 😂

I kid, I kid.

But there’s a 48 hour limit.

After 48 hours I get agitated. Visibly pissed. Pouty pissed. And I stomp off to find a gin.

This is, perhaps, why I never had the urge to have a big family. All those people! All that noise! I used to think about this when I was in Costa Rica: Costa Rican families are notorious for their togetherness. One time, C’s aunt came over and exclaimed, upon seeing our monstrous, bigger-than-a-California-king bed: “We could all fit in here!” That sounds like a joke, but she wasn’t joking. Costa Ricans don’t hesitate to take naps with one another: mom and sister, brother and brother, mom and son.

I used to wonder how all that togetherness affects you long-term. How does that shape a person’s personality? A person’s needs? A person’s view of the world?

Even just working from home with C in the same general proximity was enough to make me low-key anxious. Background anxious. Like I can’t really focus if there’s another human present, because THE WEIGHT OF THEIR EMOTIONAL NEEDS IS ZAPPING MY ENERGY.

Is he bored?

Is he okay?

Does he think I’m ignoring him?

I ~am~ ignoring him.

Is that hurtful?

IS MY LACK OF ENGAGEMENT HURTFUL???

Oh god, the list goes on.

But, that’s the thing: my system takes over and wants to caretake every other person in the room. Some people say this is a common symptom of growing up with a parent who was emotionally needy. You learn how to tiptoe around someone else’s emotions; soothe them; make sure you aren’t causing distress; try to make things calm and peaceful. You are the lube that reduces friction. (Never thought I’d say that sentence.) You’re the watchdog. The grownup. The one who needs to manage the temperature of the room.

As you can imagine, this is exhausting.

And this is why I also needed my own retreat.

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The house I bought in Pennsylvania is in the woods.

It’s surrounded by hemlocks and meadows and canoe ponds and milkweed.

There is no noise at night.

I don’t hear a single sound.

And finally, I am alone.

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It’s so good to see you again, old friend.

That’s my brain, welcoming me home. Welcoming me back to myself. Welcoming me back to my own ideas.

It’s not that you can’t have ideas when you’re surrounded by other people.

It’s that you can never really hear them as well.

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Sometimes, you just want to be free.

I’m not supposed to say that.

No one is ever supposed to say that.

You’re supposed to want to be with the people you love. You’re supposed to want to be with them in houses, inside of rooms, inside of enclosed living quarters, while they breathe and laugh and fill the silence and buy more eggs. You’re supposed to want to put your thoughts on hold; pause what you’re doing; listen to the latest dilemma; offer up your time. You’re supposed to want to be there, be fully present, be a good partner, be together.

But, being together means you are never fully alone.

And, I have found that sometimes, solitude is necessary.

When so much of what ails our potential, is noise.

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And so we return to the question:

How do you ask for alone time without seeming angry??? How do you ask for alone time without seeming neglectful? How do you ask for alone time without being selfish?

For me, this came down to several conversations where I verbalized what I needed: Space. Alone time. And a place where I could work on something that mattered to me.

Of course, other people will still interpret your request as hostile.

It’s not normal.

Being away from one another is not normal.

Not that long.

Not like that.

And yet—it’s still a choice. Because you cannot be faithful to your own needs if you’re perpetually consumed by the needs of others.

That sounds harsh.

It is harsh.

To an extent, it is selfish, if selfish means “not doing anything that interrupts someone else’s experience of you.”

It’s all the things we’re not supposed to be.

It’s all the things that make us bad partners / bad friends / bad people.

But, imagine a girl who chased her ideas?

Who valued them so much, she crossed entire oceans?

That’s the kind of woman we want our daughters to become.

So, why wouldn’t we do the same?

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It takes courage to be a disappointment.

But maybe more young people should keep it as a goal.

Being a disappointment to others

Usually means you are not keeping busy

Being a disappointment to yourself.

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Over a lifetime, I will disappoint many.

I will disappoint men.

Disappoint friends.

Disappoint good people.

And disappoint an entire world of people who think of me as theirs.

But, I belong to no one.

Except for myself.

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From here I’ll go to Scotland

And then England

Ireland

And all the places that feel like home.

And it’s not conventional. And it’s not normal. And nothing about my decision screams “excellent housewife and would-be mother to my kids.”

And, maybe that’s the point.

Maybe it’s about knowing yourself well enough to know what you need.

Maybe it’s about having the guts to give it to yourself, when you must.

Maybe it’s about freeing yourself from the weight of everyone else’s image of who you are.

Maybe it’s about questioning assumptions about what makes you “good.”

Maybe it’s about not letting the roles you’ve played dictate your entire life.

Maybe it’s about finding the guts to explore yourself, continually.

And maybe it’s about being fearless enough to go, do, make, create, be, try, act.

I can’t say that everyone in your life will always agree with your decisions.

But sometimes, your own agreement is all you need.