Why do I find it so hard to *own* my loner lifestyle?
I love my loner lifestyle, I dearly do.
However, I really struggle to *own* it.
When someone asks me ‘what I got up to at the weekend’, I squirm. When someone asks me ‘what you doing for the holidays?’, I want to run away and hide.
Why, though? Why is it that I get so scared/shy/embarrassed to talk about my life, essentially?
Because I worry what people will think about me.
I worry they’ll think I’m weird,
That there’s something wrong with me,
That I’m lonely, uninteresting, living a half-life,
That I’m sad, tragic, pathetic.
There’s a number of reasons why I think this:
My teenage hell. I didn’t have any friends between the ages of 11 – 14. Rejected by my peers for being ‘too quiet’, I become the girl who spent lunchtimes by herself in the library. Of course, this only made me even more of a social pariah, for there is no greater shame than to be a billy-no-mates, to be seen to be hanging out on your own; it simply isn’t ‘normal’. My teachers and parents reinforced this as well. They made me believe that my social isolation, my inability to ‘fit in’ and behave all giddy and rowdy like the other girls, meant there was something wrong with me, something that needed to be fixed: ‘You need to talk more, socialise more, mix more with your peers’ type-thing.
I still bear the psychic wounds caused by this blaming and shaming today, and this is why I hesitate to be open about my solitary ways. I fear that people will see me as they did when I was younger: as the loser loner girl who just needs to learn to be more social.
The assumption that alone = lonely. It seems that society is becoming increasingly brainwashed by the idea that to be single/to live alone/to do things by yourself makes you lonely. Health and happiness come from having others’ company, we are told. Too much time alone and you’re headed for the psych ward and/or an early grave. As such, spending time/doing things alone is more commonly seen as something to be pitied; a sad state of affairs; something to keep an eye on, because who can really, truly, be happy solitarily? This is also why I get uncomfortable talking about my loner life: because I don’t want people’s pity. I don’t want them to ‘aww’ me, to feel sorry for me; I don’t want them belittling and baby-talking me: ‘Won’t you be lonely?’ ‘I hate to think of you on your own’, etc.
Extrovert Supremacy!
“Extrovert-Supremacists confuse their lifestyle with life itself.” Shy Radicals
Extrovert Supremacy tells us that the only life worth living is one which involves ‘going out’, interacting with other human beings, doing lots of sociable things. And this is what makes for most conversation: people talk to each other about what they got up to with other people; they share stories about the fun times they’ve had with other folks. People don’t just want to talk about what you did, they want to know who you did it with as well.
When I’m asked about my weekends/holidays/home life, I stiffen, go all shy, get self-conscious, because I worry people will think me ‘sad’/‘not very exciting’ because I live a solitudinous life; I don’t go to parties, take fancy holidays, or do stuff with family; I basically just stay home a lot. And it doesn’t seem to matter how much I like my cosy nights in, my meals for one, my Saturday evenings spent writing, my solitary walks round the park, my trips to the cinema alone: I still can’t shake the feeling that my life is somehow ‘small’ and ‘boring’ in comparison to the lives of the extrovert-majority; that it comes across too paltry, too pinched. A bit too ‘Eleanor Oliphant’. And then I go back round again, worrying that people will feel sorry for me/think there’s something wrong with me/that I should just learn to be more sociable etc. etc. etc…
I so fucking wish I was able to look people in the eye, and say - unashamedly, unabashedly, confidently - that I spent the whole of the weekend at home, alone; that I’m not that social; that I live a pretty reclusive life; that I’m not looking for Mr. Right.
I’m a queer, naturally solitary, aromantic woman who intends on staying single forever. I love that I know that about myself; that I know my truth. And when I’m alone, living that truth, I’m perfectly content, happy, healthy.
It’s when I come into contact with Extrovert Supremacy (aka The Outside World aka the world I must venture into in order to earn a living), with all its denigrations, assumptions, and stereotypes about quiet/shy/introverted folk, that I stumble.
That’s when the shame and fear – the self-hate - sets in.
I want it to end. I want to shake off the shyness, the self-consciousness, the hating-myself-ness, so I can just be myself in the world – my weird queer solitary self; no longer afraid, no longer ashamed.
That’s what I want.
But how do I do that?
What will it take?
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