On living alone

I have lived alone for 4 years now. My parents split up and my father re-partnered. He spends nearly all of his time interstate. I live in his home.

I was living every kids dream with an endless amount of hours to do whatever I wanted. Nobody told me when to go to bed, and nobody woke me up in the morning. It was surreal and it was during covid, so I did university online and worked remotely from home. Fortnite was still in its prime. I hadn't watched Avatar the Last Airbender yet. And my mates and I discovered group Zoom calls that made the lockdowns feel slightly more bearable. Got to make my own food and wash my own clothes. Got to make choices about what I wanted and didn't want to do. It was a change of pace from the previous 12 years of schooling I'd had, and I revelled in it. And it went on day in and day out. It was nothing but good times with more good times ahead. One night it was winter and dark out. I'd eaten some leftover pasta that I'd reheated. I'd watched all the shows I wanted to watch. I was ready to sleep. I crawled into bed and I looked at the time on my phone. It said 7pm.

I remember just staring at that time. Tapping my phone again when it would fade away. For me, I think that was the first moment where I thought to myself: maybe this isn't fun. I just wanted today to be over and tomorrow to hurry up. And I went to sleep, glorious sleep. And I carried on day in and day out. When nobody tells you when to go to bed, and nobody wakes you up in the morning, do you call it freedom or loneliness? I think it's both. I think it's a dance between both. You can be completely alone without feeling lonely. But on this night, I was.

Of course I didn't realise that. It's hard to understand a situation while you're in it because it takes time to be able to look back and reflect. But I was lonely, and I was confused how I ended up there. I always thought bad things and bad feelings couldn't happen to me. And when nobody else ever spoke about bad things and feelings that were happening to them. I didn't know how to talk about it. Maturing for me has been learning that they can and they do. And that processing them is a difficult but important job.

I always believed I could do everything on my own, and living by myself only reinforced that idea. I developed a hyper-independence that bled out into other parts of my life: my work, my friends. And it meant that asking for help just became something I never did. It was unhealthy. One of my biggest learnings is that it's great to do things on your own, but you don't have to. You can choose to ask for help. You can choose to spend time with others. You don't have to be beholden to the choices that were made for you, every now and then you can tug on the bars of your cage and realise they're flimsy. Sometimes the only thing keeping you from doing what you want to do, is you.

On Friday I move out with 3 friends into a share house. One of the reasons I'm most excited for it is because this was my choice. I know I can live alone whenever I need to and that I am more than comfortable in my own company, but now I am choosing to live with a couple great mates.

While living alone these last few years has been tough, I'm actually going to look back at this time fondly. A lot of the lessons I've learnt only happened as a result of living alone. I am who am I today because of this experience, but I am ready for this next chapter.