The Freedom That Makes People Uncomfortable

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I’ve noticed something.

When I speak honestly about my ability to be alone—not lonely, but truly at peace in my own company—some people get uncomfortable.

Even seasoned therapists. Even people with spiritual practices or long-term relationships. They hesitate. They question. Some even hint that it’s unhealthy.

And I wonder… why?

I think, sometimes, it’s because they know—deep down—that they’ve stayed in relationships or dynamics they shouldn’t have.
Not because they were good. But because they were afraid to be alone.

So when someone like me says, “I chose solitude, and it’s been one of the most healing things I’ve ever done,”
what it stirs up isn’t doubt about me—it’s doubt about them.

But rather than face that doubt, it’s easier to turn the mirror outward.
To question my mental health.
To quietly wonder if my past psychosis means I might still be deluded.
To think: “No one who is truly well could be this okay being alone.”

But that’s projection.
Or at least, part of it is.

And I’m not immune to that either.
Maybe I’m projecting something too—some unconscious expectation that people will always misread me, always doubt me, always look for the cracks.

But the truth is likely somewhere in between.

Yes, people project their fear of solitude onto me.
And yes, I sometimes brace for judgment because of my past.
But here’s what I know now:

My ability to be alone is not a red flag. It’s a reflection of my freedom.

It’s the result of hard work, self-inquiry, and choosing to let go of relationships that didn’t nourish me—even when that meant facing the ache of emptiness.

And not everyone is ready for that kind of freedom.
Because true solitude doesn’t just bring peace. It brings up everything you’ve been avoiding.

So when others squirm in response to my stillness, I don’t need to shrink or explain.
I can just remind myself:

This isn’t about me being unwell.
It’s about me being unwilling to live untrue.

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Some people stay in noise because silence scares them.
I stayed in silence until it became sacred.

That doesn’t make me broken.
That makes me whole.