Everyone needs human contact, but some of us also cherish solitude. I’m one of those people. My nearest and dearest always fear that my affinity for alone time means I’m unhappy or don’t want to spend time with them, but neither of those is true. I like being left alone for a dozen reasons, but they all circle back to one point: being alone makes me happy.
I’m an introvert and I need to recharge my batteries.
It’s as uncomplicated as that. Introverts need alone time that involves a glut of peace and quiet. It happens after any event with a ton of people, particularly new ones, but it also happens during the lead-up to, say, a vacation. My wife and I are getting ready to go camping with our best friends for my birthday, and no one understands why I’ve spent the last week pretending that I’m a hermit. It’s because I need to, fam.
Being “on” is exhausting.
Smiling at bad jokes, being polite, maintaining control over my bitchface—all of that is tiresome. Sometimes, I don’t want to be friendly. A few days of the week, I just want to give in to my Wednesday Addams sense of doom and gloom and spend time alone in my room. It doesn’t have anything to do with anyone else. It’s purely a “me” thing.
I have a low tolerance for BS.
It makes me happier not to be around BS. Doesn’t that make you happier? I try to stay away from events and occasions where BS is on the menu. Sometimes, that means spending time alone, such as when I opt out of going on a work trip with my wife because I just cannot with some of her colleagues.
I have a low annoyance threshold.
Annoying people and I don’t get along, and that’s not always fair because certain folks out there just can’t help being annoying. They were born that way. Out of respect for that, I’ve learned to take myself out of the equation when I’m expected to be around someone who gets on my nerves to an extent so deep that I can’t bite my tongue. That gets me into less trouble than snarking about it to other people. Before you ask, yes, I once got caught out talking crap about a guy to his wife.
I have an allergy to stupidity.
All right, so it’s starting to sound like I’m just a jerk who shouldn’t interact with anyone else. I … cannot argue with that assessment, tbh. This just ties in with how easily annoyed I am. I cannot stand blatant stupidity. That’s why I work from home also, bee tee double-you.
Being on my best behavior saps my energy.
Fortunately, it’s nothing I’m expected to do around my family and friends. Otherwise, I’d probably avoid hanging out with them, too. In general, I don’t behave well. I’m sarcastic and quiet and odd. It’s more fun to spend time at home with myself and my dogs than it is to act right. #sorrynotsorry
I loathe small talk so very much.
Anytime a situation calls for small talk and casual chatter, I’m likely to take a hard pass. I’m horrible at it. For example, I have to consciously work to ask my wife, my parents, and my best friends about their days, not because I don’t care but because I always just figure that it was a day like every other day and if anything exciting happened, of course, they’ll tell me.
I get moody AF for no reason sometimes.
It took me a long time to realize this and an even longer time to admit it to anyone else. I’m finally in a place where I recognize it, cop to it, and take myself away from innocent people who haven’t done anything as soon as I feel the mean reds creeping up and clouding my vision. At that point, other people’s happiness depends on me being left tf alone, as well.
It’s better to be alone when I’m on edge.
Anxiety and edginess don’t play well together. Like a kitchen science experiment, the mixture is volatile and prone to spewing all over everything. Often, it’s less difficult to decompress on my own. There’s a certain level of chill I need to reach before I attempt to talk to anybody else.
Occasionally, my temper needs a timeout.
That’s probably obvious by now, isn’t it? Hey, I know my flaws. It’s ever so much better to take a breather than to blow up at someone.
I’m rude when I’m bored.
Ain’t that the way it is? Boredom always makes people misbehave. I happen to get rude and sharp-tongued. What I like to do when that happens is go off on my own and whisper all the snarky things I’m thinking to myself. Works like a charm.
Alone time often means nap time, tbh.
I mean, I’m not gonna lie to y’all. I like to sleep—probably more than I should, particularly if you ask my wife. If I can get out of, say, a pedicure with wifey and my mother-in-law or going bowling with the boys, I’ll stay home and sleep. I don’t care.
I can’t take out my frustration on anyone else if I’m by myself.
It’s all about recognizing your trigger points, right? And your boundaries? I know myself, and I know when it’s better to be by myself. I also know that I have a bad habit of venting at the people closest to me, and that’s not fair. It’s healthier for everyone involved if I take some Lyndsie-time to regain my composure.
I’m a Leo; cats love solitude.
What can I say? I’m clingy as all hell sometimes, but mostly, I’m happy on my own. Granted, I’m not going to call and talk to the mortgage lady myself, and I will forever hate giving my order at Starbucks, but I adore my own company.
There are a lot of douchebags out there.
I should know—I’m one of them. Why do you think I want to spend time by myself so often? Honestly, I’m doing a public service.
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