Why I Prefer Solitude Over Socialising (And That’s OK)

From Hot Mess to Hermit Queen

Once upon a cocktail-soaked, chaos-fuelled time, I was the unofficial party planner of my friend group. Think five nights out a week, three hours of sleep, and a social calendar tighter than my corset on a Friday night. I said yes to everything. Every invite, every brunch, every “quick drink” that turned into karaoke at 2am. Was I thriving? Technically. Was I exhausted and spiritually dehydrated? Absolutely.

Fast forward to now: I flinch when someone suggests leaving the house after 7pm. My phone lives on Do Not Disturb. I treat my blank calendar like a sacred text. These days, I’ll catch up with my girls over tea, maybe get lured out by my ex-boyfriend-turned-bestie for dinner if he bribes me with salt and pepper squid. But mostly? It’s me, Lulu, and a fortress of snacks and serenity.

As an Executive Assistant, I spend my days soothing corporate egos, translating cryptic emails, and performing emotional triage with a frozen smile. So when I get home? No, I will not be joining your quiz night. I want to lie horizontally, breathe like a dragon, and not explain myself to anyone. If you wouldn’t donate a kidney for me, I’m not giving you my Thursday evening.

Solitude Is Not a Sad Montage

Let’s make one thing clear. Choosing solitude does not mean I’m one emotional breakdown away from adopting twelve cats and whispering to spoons. It means I’ve found peace in being left alone. I don’t need constant noise, I don’t need a group chat buzzing like an electric fence. I need space, silence, and Lulu screaming at ghosts.

My ex-husband hated that. He thought my need for quiet meant I hated him. (Spoiler: I did. He was a damp rice cracker of a man. Boring, tedious, and allergic to joy.) But it took me years to realise needing space doesn’t mean something is wrong with you. It usually means something is finally right.

Now I wake up slow, stretch dramatically like a Disney villain, and make my matcha in peace. No one asking questions. No one breathing near me. Just me, thriving in my goblin cave of calm.

Instagram Lied to You

Modern life worships chaos. If you’re not booked, busy, and bathing in filtered social approval, are you even trying? But guess what: saying no is not just sexy, it’s spiritual. I’ve started treating “no” like skincare. Protective. Soothing. Occasionally expensive, if it involves cancelling with a deposit.

I used to fear disappearing. Like if I didn’t show up, people would forget me. But what really happened? I remembered myself. I stopped chasing invitations and started chasing alignment. With my values. With my peace. And with my need to be aggressively boring sometimes.

And honestly? I’ve never been more visible. To me. I’m not just surviving without all the social fuss. I’m thriving in a cloud of essential oils and unmatched socks.

When Socialising Feels Like Homework

Even the most wholesome hangouts can feel like admin when your day job is managing other people’s drama. Love you to bits, but I’m not showing up unless I have the spoons, the serotonin, and a clean bra. And no, I will not apologise.

I once made the mistake of befriending someone who only called when her life was on fire. Eventually I realised I wasn’t a friend, I was free therapy. So I did what any self-respecting goblin would do. I vanished.

These days, if it doesn’t feel like mutual nourishment, I’m out. I’m a golden retriever introvert hybrid: I’ll love you endlessly, but also might hide under the bed for a week. I need quiet to remember who I am.

The Ride-or-Dies

Now, this isn’t about ditching people. It’s about investing where it matters. My monkey sphere is tight, weird, and deeply respectful of my need to vanish occasionally. We talk in depth. We overshare. And we eat Cheezels in silence like seasoned professionals.

I don’t want to know your LinkedIn updates, Jennifer. I want to know what keeps you awake at night and what you’d name your imaginary alpaca. You see, I don’t do small talk anymore. It’s soul talk or nothing.

And my people? They get that. They don’t guilt-trip, and they don’t whine. Instead, they text “no worries” when I cancel and mean it. That’s how I know they’re my people.

Solitude for the Neurospicy and Wonderfully Wired

For those of us who are a little neurospicy, autistic, ADHD, Tourette’s, or just wired in ways society loves to misunderstand, solitude isn’t just nice, it’s survival. Crowds, noise, bright lights, small talk? That’s not a social event, that’s a sensory ambush. Solitude is where we decompress, unmask, and let our nervous systems unclench.

We process the world differently. We feel things deeply, get overstimulated easily, and need time to sort through the mental download of just existing. Alone time isn’t an escape. It’s a recalibration. It’s how we stay functional and vaguely pleasant. Without it, we turn into feral forest creatures who bite.

So if you’re ND or just a little why-shaped in a world built for exclamation marks, please know this: your need for solitude is sacred. It doesn’t make you difficult. It makes you self-aware. And the people who love you will understand that sometimes, the best way to connect… is not to.

I’m not lonely. I just prefer my own chaotic genius over someone else’s lukewarm chat about houseplants.

Give Yourself the Damn Permission

So, if you’ve been waiting for someone to knight you with the sacred sword of solitude, here I am. Arise, mystic hermit queen. You don’t owe anyone your time, your energy, or your awkward presence at their cousin’s engagement party.

You’re not weird, you’re self-aware. You’re protecting your nervous system like the precious goblet of peace it is. Don’t let anyone shame you for knowing what fills your cup and what shatters it on the floor.

Solitude is not a flaw. It’s a flex. A full-body exhale. And if it brings you peace, that’s more valuable than any social points you’ll ever score. Stay weird. Stay quiet. And stay gloriously unavailable.

We Need to Stop Clapping for Basic Decency – Chaos, Crumbs and Clarity

In today's episode of Chaos, Crumbs and Clarity, we're unpacking why we need to stop clapping for basic decency. You know the script. A man texts back within twenty-four hours and we're screenshotting it to the group chat. A man plans a date more than three hours in advance and we call him a unicorn. A man manages to listen, pay attention, and behave like a fully formed adult, and our nervous systems short-circuit because we genuinely don't know how to receive it.Here's the truth nobody is saying out loud. The bar has been dragged so low that Satan himself needs a chiropractor after a competitive round of limbo. We've been culturally trained to be grateful for behaviour that should not require gratitude. We've been told these things are bonuses when they're actually the entry requirement. And in the meantime, women have been quietly doing the basic decency thing forever, without applause, while men get standing ovations for outputs we generated for them.Today we're talking about why a great man is genuinely just an average woman, who benefits when the bar stays low, the invisible labour women have been performing for free for centuries, and the friend-test that cuts straight through every excuse we've ever made for mediocre men. Let's get into it.For more visit BryJaimea.com or follow over on IG @BryJaimea

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