The Power of Being Alone

For as long as I can remember, I’ve cherished my own company. I grew up in a tumultuous household where quality family time was rare, and in some ways, that solitude became a precious thing. From a tender age, I learned how to keep myself engaged: exploring music, getting lost in writing, and finding comfort in the stillness of being alone. Writing, especially, became a way for me to make sense of the world and its many mysteries.

I was raised on classic rock. The lyrics of bands like Pink Floyd, Supertramp, and Uriah Heep felt almost spiritual to me, rich with emotion and meaning. I didn’t realise it then, but those melodies and words were quietly shaping the joyful path I now walk.

It’s not that I didn’t have friends. I did, and many of them remain my closest companions to this day. I was never drawn to large crowds, always the girl with a small circle, each friend a rare gem, brilliant and irreplaceable. But my alone time was sacred, simple, and utterly mine.

I lost myself a little in college. A not-so-wise relationship, nights of partying, the kind of chaos that feels thrilling until it doesn’t. I was constantly surrounded by people, yet felt strangely disconnected. The essence of who I was remained, but like a distant echo, familiar yet hard to reach.

Those years were marked by poor choices, a lifestyle that dulled my spirit, and a growing discomfort in the noise around me. I was still the girl who wrote, who searched for meaning in a confusing world. But solitude, once my sanctuary, had become unfamiliar.

Eventually, I had enough.

I closed the door on a multitude of surface-level friendships and found myself completely, unapologetically alone. I’ve always been someone who makes bold, irreversible decisions and stands by them. When I walk away, I don’t return. If someone leaves my life, it is never without reason. That clarity is a virtue I still hold dear.

So there I was, on my own after years of losing and finding parts of myself. Living away from home, trying to make things work, slowly beginning the quiet work of rediscovery. Learning how to be a young woman with both feet on the ground and a soul once again rooted in truth.

It was during this slow transformation that I fell in love with a man both relentless and grounded, yet dreamy in all the ways that made my heart feel at home. He would become my life partner, a quiet anchor in the sea of becoming.

Shortly after, I walked into my first yoga class. And the rest, as they say, is history.

Through yoga, I came to understand that the aloneness I had always loved was not loneliness. It was solitude. Sacred, nourishing, necessary. It showed me that while having loving people by your side is a precious thing, there will be times, inevitable and painful, when you’ll have no one to rely on but yourself. That is life. It will test you. It will try to break you. And in doing so, it will reveal your strength.

When everything falls apart, where does the power come from to rise again and stand tall? It comes from a lifetime of learning how to be with yourself. From building a sanctuary within, through practice, through silence, through being selfish with your energy and gentle with your spirit.

So do things for yourself. Take time for yourself. Even if it doesn’t make sense now. One day, when the storm arrives, as it surely will, you’ll understand. You’ll thank the version of you who built this unshakable core.

Because that inner light, once lit, becomes inextinguishable.
And that spirit, steady, soft, and strong, is here to stay.

Class update: 

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Listen to this. Thank me later. 🧘‍♀️