Spending Time Alone

For most of my life, I hated being alone.  I hated the fear of what was going to return, I hated the fear of not having done enough, or done something wrong.  The uncomfortability of being part of a dysfunctional home was preferable to the fear of not knowing.  Plus, having someone else in the house gave me a distraction from the thoughts in my head.  Also, growing up in such a dysfunctional house, much of what I did was also dictated.  Very often, even the music I listened to, my activities, even whether or night I was playing games outside, or reading inside was decided for me.

For many years after I moved out of my family’s home, I still reacted the same way when I was the only one in my home.  I would spend hours roaming from room to room, not turning on music when I wanted to, being afraid to do almost anything except try and make sure the house was clean.  Eventually, even picking up a book and reading became hard.  I had no idea why I couldn’t relax with no one else around.

When I started walking this new path, the twitching in the house became worse for awhile.  But as I learned to face my past, to heal from my wounds, so too is my fear of being alone fading.  While I can’t say I love my time by myself, and I still roam the house several times, I am learning to appreciate the time.  It is beginning to mean time for me to learn about me, to truly choose for me, and to challenge myself.

Being alone is also forcing me to confront the thoughts and fears that have plagued me for so much of my life.  I am learning to control them, to ignore them, to recognize that they are not the truths I had been told that they were.

I still don’t necessarily like being alone, but I’m learning that I can use it to heal, and to not let it use me.  And for that, I am grateful

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