During my college years, I was the quintessential extrovert. My need for social interaction was insatiable; I couldn’t stand the thought of being alone. If I found myself without familiar faces, anxiety would set in. After classes, I would gravitate towards groups of friends gathered outside my dorm, and I often roamed the hallways in search of company. I don’t recall ever spending a night alone throughout my entire college experience; I was perpetually surrounded by others.
Even in moments meant for solitude, I craved companionship. I loved to read, but preferred doing so in the presence of others or in bustling public spaces. As a music major, countless hours were dedicated to practicing alone, yet I’d invite a friend to rehearse in an adjacent room. Every half hour, we’d meet in the hallway for a break, finding comfort in each other’s presence.
My urge to be around others stemmed from something deeper than mere extroversion. True extroversion is about how one gains energy, not about fearing solitude. I genuinely panicked at the idea of being alone; I needed to share every experience. Comedian Sarah Silverman perfectly captured my feelings in one of her specials when she remarked, “I just couldn’t be alone with that.” It resonated with me—I couldn’t handle introspection or solitude.
Fast forward to a year ago, I made the painful choice to come out as gay and ended my marriage. After moving out of the home I shared with my ex-husband, I found myself navigating co-parenting while often being alone in my house, with only my dog for company. Initially, this solitude frightened me. Spending nights alone felt starkly different from being alone during the day while working from home. It meant extended periods devoid of any distractions, no children’s laughter, just an overwhelming silence. But oh, how I cherish it now!
To clarify, I would always choose to have my kids with me over any solitude. They are my greatest joy, and I adore every moment spent with them, even during the challenging times. Yet, the bliss of an evening spent snacking instead of preparing a full meal and cleaning up afterward is a delightful change. Working on my couch with my laptop, a bowl of popcorn, and “Gilmore Girls” playing in the background while the house remains quiet is a newfound joy I never expected.
Sometimes, I blast my favorite tunes, dancing freely without a care in the world. It’s not glamorous, but who’s watching? After 40 years, I’m finally getting to know myself, and I like what I see.
I often pause to admire my surroundings—the charming mid-century dining set, the incomplete 2000-piece puzzle, my eclectic couch adorned with mismatched pillows, my towering bookshelves, and my treasured piano. In this silence, I’ve come to recognize these items as symbols of a life I’ve created for myself—a life I never imagined I’d have. The journey to this point has not been easy, filled with anxiety, depression, and guilt. Yet, I’m here, navigating this new reality alone, and embracing it wholeheartedly.
One of the most surprising discoveries during this time of solitude is that I genuinely like myself. I enjoy my thoughts, the uninterrupted flow of ideas, and the freedom to ponder without distraction. After years of avoiding self-exploration, I’m finally comfortable being honest with myself and others. This honesty, though challenging, is liberating.
I wonder about the roots of my past need for constant companionship. Surely, a fear of missing out played a role, but I think a deeper discomfort with myself was at play. I feared embracing who I was, unsure if I would even like myself. Surrounding myself with others allowed me to avoid confronting my own identity.
This shift is profound. Yes, motherhood often feels chaotic and exhausting, so it’s only natural to crave quiet moments alone. However, my newfound love for solitude transcends mere appreciation for silence; it’s about genuinely getting to know the authentic, unmasked version of myself and enjoying the time spent with her.
This article was originally published on September 29, 2019.
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Summary:
Through a painful divorce, Jenna discovered the unexpected joy of solitude. Once an extrovert who feared being alone, she embraced the quiet and began to appreciate her own company, ultimately getting to know and like herself in the process. The journey of self-discovery has transformed her perspective on life, motherhood, and personal fulfillment.
Keyphrase: Discovering Solitude After Divorce
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