Solitude, loneliness, and the quiet work

Recently I watched a movie about a guy who was always alone and tried to gain attention from his co-workers by doing wild stuff—making up stories, saying his mom passed away, anything to get people to look at him.

I remember thinking, “damn… this was me.” Not the lying part, not the extreme part, but the need underneath it: the need to be seen.

So yeah—this post is for anyone who deals with solitude. Not the cute “I’m an introvert, I love being alone” kind (that’s valid too), but the kind that feels like your life is happening quietly in a corner while everyone else is invited to the main room.

Being alone sucks. I know.

But solitude isn’t automatically your enemy.

Solitude vs loneliness

Solitude is being by yourself.

Loneliness is feeling unwanted while being by yourself.

Sometimes they overlap. Sometimes you’re surrounded by people and still lonely. Sometimes you’re alone and completely fine. The confusing part is when your brain treats every quiet moment like proof that you don’t matter.

When that happens, you might start doing weird things to escape the feeling:

• scrolling until your eyes hurt
• forcing jokes that don’t feel like you
• saying “yes” to plans you don’t even want
• chasing attention like it’s oxygen

I’ve done a softer version of all of that.

The real problem: wanting to be noticed

I don’t think most of us want “attention.”

We want connection. We want someone to choose us, to ask how we’re doing, to remember our name without effort. When that doesn’t happen, we start feeling invisible. And invisibility makes you desperate.

Here’s what helped me: I stopped treating solitude as a “state” and started treating it as a “skill.” Skills can be practiced. Skills can improve.

Things that helped me deal with solitude

1) Don’t romanticize isolation

There’s a trendy version of being alone: the aesthetic, the hustle, the “I don’t need anyone” vibe.

But isolation is not strength. It’s sometimes just avoidance with better branding.

If you keep telling yourself you’re fine alone while you’re clearly not fine, you’re not protecting your peace—you’re delaying your healing.

2) Build a small “human baseline”

When you’re lonely, your brain tends to ask for big proof: “Someone has to deeply care about me.”

That’s a lot of pressure. Instead, aim for a baseline:

• one message to a friend (even just “yo, how have you been?”)
• a short call with family
• replying to a group chat instead of silently reading
• showing up to one community space you like (tech meetup, gym class, etc.)

Small reps count. Your nervous system needs evidence that you’re not disconnected from the world.

3) Create solo rituals that are not escapism

There’s a difference between being alone and numbing out.

Escapism is when you do something just to avoid feeling. Ritual is when you do something that grounds you.

Ritual ideas that actually helped me:

• walking with no headphones for 10–20 minutes
• writing down what I’m feeling (no fancy journaling, just raw)
• cleaning one small area (desk, bed, laundry)
• cooking something simple
• reading a few pages before bed instead of doomscrolling

If your alone-time always ends with you feeling worse, don’t blame solitude—change the ritual.

4) Stop waiting to be “chosen”

This one hurts.

Sometimes we feel lonely because we’re waiting for permission: for someone to invite us, include us, remember us, validate us.

But a lot of connection in adulthood is built by the person who initiates.

Not because you’re less worthy—just because everyone is tired, busy, distracted, and stuck in their own head.

Send the message. Ask the person to hang out. Make the plan simple:

“Coffee this weekend?”

No essay. No overthinking.

5) Make peace with being boring

Loneliness can push you to perform. To become louder, funnier, cooler—anything to avoid being ignored.

But real connection doesn’t come from performance. It comes from showing up consistently as a normal person.

Some days you’re not interesting. That’s okay. People who genuinely like you don’t require a show.

6) If it gets dark, talk to someone for real

If solitude starts turning into hopelessness, self-hate, or you can’t function the way you normally do, don’t try to “tough it out” alone.

Talk to a friend you trust. Or talk to a professional if that’s accessible to you. It doesn’t mean you’re broken—it means you’re human and you’ve been carrying too much quietly.

A simple checklist for bad days

When I’m not okay, I try to do this in order:

1. Drink water.
2. Shower.
3. Step outside for 10 minutes.
4. Message one person (just one).
5. Do one small task.

Not to “fix my life.” Just to create momentum.

Closing

Solitude can make you feel like you’re behind everyone else.

But honestly, it can also be where you learn the most about yourself—what you actually like, what you actually fear, and what you’ve been avoiding.

If you’re going through it right now: you’re not weird for wanting to be seen. You’re not weak for feeling lonely. And you don’t have to do anything extreme to matter.

Start small. Build the skill. Let people in, one rep at a time.