It would do even extroverts well to spend more conscious time alone (admits this one extrovert who learned to enjoy spending time just with herself). Yes, we humans are social creatures, but even the most garrulous among us need time away from our herd, not because that herd is unpleasant or cloying, but because when we are constantly part of a group, we cannot truly be ourselves. 

Certainly, there are people to whom we feel we can say anything, people who seem to understand our thoughts and intentions by grace of some unnamed, intangible force, sometimes even before we ourselves are aware of what’s forming within. But even they take our time and attention (no matter how willing we are to give it) away from our own internal dialogue. And we need this internal dialogue to work through new ideas, experiment freely, and decide for ourselves what we think, value, and feel. 

Our internal dialogues are something to be preserved. And like all good things in life, sometimes ensuring that preservation means fighting for it. 

But how to do so without leaving a bruise? How can we ask for space in a relationship? From dear friends who have softer boundaries for personal space than we do? From family members, who may mean well, but seem to have forgotten that we have grown up into adults with different temperaments, wills, and wishes than those that defined us in adolescence? From romantic partners who may have been taught, through no fault of their own, that codependency is the proof of a loving relationship? 

Answering these questions raises another yet another: Whose feelings are more worth protecting? 

Do we stifle our own need for space and solitude because we dub these needs somehow less vital than those of another to be near us, talk to us, touch us? Do we put what we feel is our duty to honor other people’s needs over the duty we owe to ourselves? 

Building our compassion is a noble goal. We don’t want to hurt other people’s feelings; we don’t want to make them feel neglected or unloved. We want to be a considerate human being, capable of putting ourselves in another’s shoes. But in practicing empathy, we sometimes go too far, walking so long in someone else’s shoes that we forget how to find our own way back home. 

It’s a path that can quickly lead to resentment. Resentment for having always, or at least too often, prioritized the needs of our partner over our own; for having submitted to our family’s wishes because we fear disappointing them; for having deferred to the decisions of our friend group, silencing our own opinions for want of keeping the peace. 

But how can we really form our own opinions if we never give ourselves the time and space to sit with just ourselves? To pay attention to our own thoughts, unclouded and uninfluenced by someone else’s? How can we learn to be our pure selves if we’re always role-playing friend, sister, partner, father, co-worker, brother, mother? 

It’s worth asking oneself: “Who are you without the personalities you’ve built by association? When all of the people for whom you play these roles are gone, who is the you that’s left?”

That’s the you only you can meet when you clear the space to meet them. 

Clearing that space takes, quite honestly, courage to ask for what we need. Rather, not ask, but firmly, though politely, insist. Politely because — despite the torrent of self-help manifestos that encourage us to set boundaries and profess our own beliefs so loudly that we close ourselves off to the words of anyone who may have exhibited the slightest indications of perhaps having the chance to disagree with us — it takes two people to maintain a relationship. Politely because advocating for oneself does not have to come at the expense of someone else’s wellbeing. Politely because we may want a little more space in our relationship, but we do not need to sacrifice said relationship to get it. Politely because as a songwriter once said, “Being good to people is a wonderful legacy to leave behind.” 

So we insist on that space, firmly though politely. That may look like, telling one’s partner that we need a little quiet time to ourselves after coming home from work, that those thirty minutes of solitude are by no means a rejection but a simple moment of introspective recharging; explaining to one’s parents that we are happy to share an evening meal with them but that we cannot partake in such a meal if they drop by sans invitation, sans announcement; letting a friend know that we value their closeness but we cannot respond to every message within ten minutes of receiving it. 

It’s not always easy to ask for what we want. The task is even more difficult when we are unsure of what we need to feel less stressed and more fulfilled. We can begin the hard but glorious work of seeking those answers by dedicating regular time to intentional solitude, time we reserve exclusively for ourselves, without scrolling, music, or even books to occupy us. It’s only in this sacred space that we can hear ourselves, learn about ourselves, and eventually use those learnings to become a better person, for both ourselves and all the people we love.  

Read six benefits of solitude and why intentional solitude is getting harder to come by. Learn why embracing this intentional alone time can actually help us meet new people and make new friends. And for an antidote to the poison Big Tech has pumped into our veins over the last fifteen-odd years, find strategies to help you quit social media so you can make space for intentional solitude. 

Lest we forget, dedicating time for intentional solitude is never meant to come at the expense of building and maintaining meaningful relationships; healthy alone time is, in fact, necessary to form relationships that aren’t simply a means of avoiding ourselves. Ensuring that alone time means asking for space in a relationship, sometimes even from people we love. 

If our loved ones seem unwilling, unable, or unsure how to fill this new time without us, help them learn how to enjoy their own company and how to get better at doing things alone. Better yet, give them the gift of finding comfort in their own company with this seven-day exercise on overcoming loneliness. 

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