Being alone started out as a trigger, but each time I confronted it, I was able to ease into it a little bit more.

My partner is gone for the remainder of the week, leaving abruptly on the heels of a family tragedy. And at first, I’m convinced I will be fine.

I have a routine. I have a wonderful cat. I have friends, and Netflix, and books to read.

“This won’t be so hard,” I tell myself. “It might even be fun.”

But the second night alone, I’m having a full-blown panic attack.

And I’m so ashamed that, at first, I resist reaching out for help, for fear of embarrassing myself and confirming my friends’ suspicions that I’m too crazy, or too needy, or both.

At first, I feel ridiculous, because “normal” people can be alone. “Normal” people don’t think twice about it, apparently.

But here I am, laying on the floor of my apartment, hyperventilating because my OCD and anxiety have whipped me into a frenzy. If being alone is such a normal thing, why is my reaction to it so intense?

But when I pause and Really think about it, my aversion to being alone isn’t exactly surprising.

As a survivor, being alone meant lacking protection, and with a history of self-harm and dissociation, being alone meant that I was vulnerable to real emotional and even physical harm.

I learned to associate being alone with being in danger.

And while I’ve pushed back against that line of thinking in my adult life, I’m still traumatized by everything that happened when there was no one there to intervene.

We exist in a culture that likes to tell us that if we aren’t completely self-reliant, we’re weak or defective or needy. But the truth is, people with mental health and trauma histories have valid reasons to fear being alone.

When the most painful events in our lives began with our minds betraying us, being left to our own devices can feel like the equivalent of hanging from the edge of a very precarious cliff.

Fearing being alone, then, could be looked at as a self-protective measure — when we associate being alone with being in danger, our brains are wired to sound the alarm when we perceive that danger, even if it isn’t “rational” to the outside observer.

I have a lot of compassion for anyone who struggles to be by themselves (even for myself, though it can be hard to remember sometimes).

It’s not a position that anyone wants to be in. It’s not a fear that anyone actively wants to have. And it can wind up making us feel helpless, embarrassed, and ashamed.

There are so few resources that help us figure out how to be alone and still feel safe.

There’s often this default assumption that we can pull ourselves up by our bootstraps and handle it, without realizing that trauma and mental health struggles can deeply complicate this.

For me, being alone started out as a trigger, but each time I confronted it, I was able to ease into it a little bit more, and sometimes even enjoying having that time to myself.

Now, the relationship I have to myself — and the time I spend alone — is something I deeply cherish.

I wanted to share some of what has helped me. While every person is different, I’m hoping you’ll take what’s useful to you and leave the rest. Think of this as inspiration, rather than a list of hard-and-fast rules.

Here’s how I support myself when I’m struggling to spend time alone.

1. Resist the Self-Criticism and Judgment

When I feel the anxiety of being alone, my impulse is to start judging myself for it.

“Everyone else seems to be fine with this,” I tell myself. “Why can’t I be?”

Sometimes I’d find myself panicking about how I may never learn to be okay with being alone (which didn’t turn out to be true at all!), and that if I ever lose my partners or my friends, I’ll be doomed to a life of misery and anxiety for all of eternity (and I did lose partners and friends, but guess what? I was okay!).

It’s a shame spiral that can quickly get out of control. It never helps me — it only compounds my pain.

As best you can, it’s important to try to engage with those thoughts in a compassionate way. Particularly as someone with complex PTSD who struggles with feelings of being powerless, I try to combat those thoughts with affirmations and self-assurances.

Some of my favorite affirmations for being alone:

• It’s okay to feel afraid or triggered right now.
• I am capable and prepared for this, even when I feel doubt.
• I have tools and coping skills for this situation.
• This is about trauma from my past, not weakness in my present.
• I am scared but I’m still safe.
• I can keep myself safe. I can count on me. 

Everyone’s affirmations will be different, but the general themes here are important.

It’s critical to remember that (1) your fear in this moment is valid, (2) you have options for how to respond to that fear, and (3) your emotions, however charged, aren’t in control. You are.

If saying these affirmations aloud is doable for you, even if it’s just a whisper, I highly encourage it. You might even write it on a sticky note or put it somewhere visible.

And while it may not magically make everything better, it does help overtime to challenge our default assumption that something is wrong with us, rather than having a valid and momentary response to stress.

2. Create the Illusion of Company

Sometimes we really do need a human connection, and there’s nothing wrong with that! That’s why, when I’m struggling to be by myself, I try to create at least the illusion of that connection.

For me, this includes podcasts and audiobooks.

One of my favorite podcasts for this purpose is The Purrrcast, which is literally just a podcast of people telling stories about their cats. It has this fun feeling of sitting around in someone’s living room, geeking out about one of the best critters known to humankind (sorry, I just seriously love cats). I like to get a cup of tea, wrap myself in a blanket, and tune in.

Another podcast I really love is Sleep With Me, which doesn’t require as much attentiveness to enjoy, and I find very soothing in high anxiety situations, as well as — as the name implies — for falling asleep. Scooter, the host, rambles in circles in a gentle and kind way, and it never fails to settle me when I’m stressed.

I also think YouTube channels are great for this! YouTube tends to be a little more personal, with YouTubers talking directly to you. Some of my favorite creators fall under the “cozy” genre, and my personal favorite of late is Cozy K.

I might imagine myself hanging out with favorite YouTubers — baking, cleaning, yapping about favorite topics or hobbies — and I think that has helped me immeasurably in becoming more comfortable being alone.

If you find yourself in a difficult place, there are also apps like Finch Self-Care (that link will add me as a friend, if you want to connect!), which can support you with self-care, offer journal prompts and breathing exercises, and so much more.

Remembering that these are tools in your toolbox, available to you at any moment, can be super helpful in easing you into being on your own.

3. Practice Ahead and Set a Time Limit

If the only time we’re practicing being alone is when we’re essentially forced to — because a roommate is out of town or a partner has a work trip — it can start to feel like a punishment more than a practice.

To take some of the potency away from that, it helps to practice being alone in short bursts on a voluntary basis.

You might try setting time limits, encouraging yourself to spend a small amount of time on your own — even if that means the folks you live with just go for a walk around the block, or stick to another level of your home to start with.

Knowing that this time alone is temporary and contained can help with “micro-dosing” the larger amounts of time you might encounter later on.

When I was practicing this, I started by giving myself an hour. I set a timer, and when that timer was up, I reached out to a friend or got myself out of the apartment.

This challenges me to sit with my discomfort a little longer than I want to, but also makes it more bearable by giving myself a deadline.

It’s okay if you can’t spend an infinite amount of time in isolation. Just try pushing yourself a little (read: within healthy limits that don’t jeopardize your safety), and you may find over time that you become more and more capable of coping with it for longer amounts of time.

Remember, we’re trying to teach our brains that we can survive being alone.

Which means it’s more important to have small victories (building up our confidence) than it is to just “toughen up” and suffer through an entire night.

4. Learn and Limit Your Triggers

Working with a therapist can be especially helpful with this. When being alone is already a trigger, it’s really important to limit our exposure to other things that make us more stressed out.

For example, I’ve learned that because my OCD obsessions center around self-harm or harming others, I’m not going to marathon Criminal Minds when I’m by myself.

Similarly, as much as I love a beautiful, sad ballad, I will not be listening to the “Life Sucks” playlist on Spotify (yes, that’s a real playlist, and yes, I’ve gotten lost in it before — big mistake!).

Even if I think I can handle stressors (oh, those lonely nights that I thought I could handle reading that super depressing memoir), I now don’t engage regardless of my mood in that moment. Because it’s just not worth the risk.

As much as possible, save the stuff that intensifies your emotions — the shows, playlists, and journal prompts — for when you’re more resourced to navigate it!

5. Create a Schedule — And Stick To It

If I know I’m going to be spending some time alone, I try to plan ahead. This gives me something to look forward to, and helps to ensure that I’m not trying to fill my time when I’m already too stressed to remember what my own hobbies are!

I research some movies and pick one that I’ll watch, I buy some snacks, I download a new game, get a new book at the library, schedule a Skype date with a friend if needed, whatever.

Is it weird to create a calendar for my solo activities? Eh, maybe for some people! But if I’m sitting around not sure of how to use my time, that’s when I start to get anxious. If I’ve already got plans, I have less space to freak out and a lot more to get excited about.

I’ve said it before, but boredom really is the enemy of mental health sometimes. So get yourself a plan, and stick to it as best you can.

6. Create Rituals, Hobbies, and Rewards Specific to Your Alone Time

That new video game you’re really excited about? That watercolor set you’ve been saving for a rainy day? That podcast your friends are raving about? That series everyone you know is binging?

Don’t just save it for the weekend. Save it for your alone time.

That’s not to say you should deprive yourself in every other area of your life! But maybe consider reserving a few special things for the time you spend alone.

Over time, you might find that instead of “alone time” being something you have to cope with, it becomes something special. Something that you might even choose, because you’ve cultivated a more intentional and sacred relationship to it.

7. Know That Reaching Out For Support Isn’t a Failure

You’re not always going to be a superstar at being alone, especially at first.

So much of our big reactions to being alone have more to do with trauma — which means it’s about the past, and not something we can just reason our way out of feeling things about in the present.

It will take practice, self-soothing, and support to shift our relationship to it.

This is why it’s important that we actually ask for help when we need it, rather than waiting for some crisis or catastrophe.

If we wait for a crisis to happen, we’re only teaching our brains that crisis is an inevitable part of being alone, so we perpetuate the fear of it.

If we get support early on that allows us to turn these experiences around, we can start to feel more capable over time.

When I used to struggle with being alone, I’d have panic attacks, and impulses to drink, numb out, or even hurt myself, all before I’d even consider reaching out to a friend or loved one.

But by prolonging my suffering, I was reinforcing the fear that every time I was alone, I would become unsafe.

So in addition to “micro-dosing” my alone time, I made sure that I didn’t wait for a panic attack (or worse!) before reaching out to a friend.

The point of learning to cope with being alone isn’t to teach yourself that you’ll never need anyone — it’s to remind your brain and your nervous system that you have options, and you can count on yourself to make the right choice and stay safe.

Sometimes staying safe means handling things on your own with your learned coping skills. Other times, it’s knowing when you need a little extra support, and being courageous enough to ask for it.

Practicing these different skills has helped me to create a sense of safety that had been missing for such a long time.

As I make some updates to this article here in 2025, I’m smiling because “alone time” is actually now one of my favorite things.

It’s wild to even consider that, because I used to be so terrified of it!

But with practice, you start to learn the difference between a crisis that requires an intervention, and a moment of panic that we can manage ourselves.

Our brains aren’t always great at knowing which is which — but that’s something that can be learned over time, with small steps and self-compassion.

It’s amazing how we’re taught to feel ashamed of needing other people. I often wondered how different it would be if we, instead, just validated that being alone can be really hard, and encouraged people to be patient with themselves as they navigate those feelings.

There’s a funny sort of irony to the fact that, if you dread being alone like I used to, you’re actually in great company — because it’s more common an experience than you might think.

So take a deep breath. Because believe it or not, you’ve got this.

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☑️ Up-to-date! This checkmark means that this content has been reviewed and updated for our relaunch in January 2025. Some reader comments may therefore be out of context.

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