From Fear of Being Alone to Loving My Own Company

Welcome to my Unmasking Autism series. This is where I share what I’m learning as I begin to understand my autistic experience and gently come home to myself. These posts are personal, honest, and written with tenderness for the parts of me that have spent years surviving.

For a long time, solitude sounded like punishment to me.

Not because I didn’t need quiet, but because being alone used to activate something deep in my nervous system. If I had too much empty time, my mind would spin. If I wasn’t connected to someone, I would feel unsettled. If there wasn’t a plan or a person or a reason to be “needed,” I would feel this uncomfortable ache that I couldn’t explain.

I thought it meant I was lonely.

Now I understand it was anxious attachment.

And I had to heal through it.

Autism, Overstimulation, and the Need to Recoup

One of the clearest things I’ve learned while unmasking is how much alone time I actually need to function well.

Not as a preference. As a requirement.

When I’m around people, when I’m in public, when there’s noise, conversation, movement, expectations, decisions, eye contact, small talk, even connection I genuinely enjoy, my brain is working overtime. I’m processing everything. I’m reading the room. I’m tracking tone. I’m managing input. I’m regulating in real time.

And it takes energy.

So solitude is where I recoup.

Solitude is where my nervous system gets to unclench. It’s where I stop performing and start recovering. It’s where my thoughts slow down and my body stops bracing. It’s where my sensory world becomes predictable again.

In solitude, I can finally hear myself.

When Being Alone Used to Scare Me

The complicated part is that I didn’t always feel safe alone.

There were seasons of my life where I would fill every moment with something, anything, just so I wouldn’t have to sit with myself. I’d reach for my phone. I’d make plans. I’d keep noise on in the background. I’d attach myself to people and conversations because stillness felt like being abandoned.

If I’m being honest, I confused constant connection with safety.

I thought if I was alone, something was wrong.I thought if I was alone, I was missing out.I thought if I was alone, I would spiral.

And sometimes I did.

But healing has a way of exposing what you were using to cope.

And for me, I had to face the truth that part of my discomfort wasn’t just autism. It was attachment. It was fear. It was a nervous system that didn’t fully believe it was safe to be by itself.

So I began healing through it slowly.

Learning to sit in quiet without panic.Learning to let a text go unanswered for a bit.Learning to not rush to fill every moment.Learning to be alone and still be okay.

And over time, solitude stopped feeling like rejection.

It started feeling like relief.

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Now I Enjoy My Own Company Endlessly

Now, I love my own company in a way I never thought I would.

I enjoy the peace of a quiet home. I enjoy doing things slowly. I enjoy my routines and my little comforts. I enjoy being able to move through the day without explaining myself to anyone.

Solitude is where I can regulate on purpose.

It’s where I can read for hours.Journal.Color.Tend to my plants.Declutter.Sit in the sun like a lizard. Take a long shower and don't rush. Eat safe foods without feeling watched. Wear my earplugs and let the world be softer.

It’s not loneliness.

It’s restoration.

And the more I honor it, the better I function in every other part of life. I show up more present. I have more patience. I have more capacity. I recover faster. I feel less resentment. I feel less overwhelm.

Solitude isn’t me withdrawing from life.

It’s me taking care of the nervous system God gave me.

What I’m Learning

Unmasking autism is teaching me that my need for alone time is not a flaw to fix. It’s a need to honor. And healing anxious attachment is teaching me that being alone is not something to fear.

I can be alone and still be loved. I can be alone and still be safe. I can be alone and still be whole.

And honestly, I’m grateful I’ve learned that.

Because there is something powerful about enjoying your own company. Something holy about feeling at peace with yourself. Something deeply healing about realizing you don’t need to chase connection to prove you’re okay.

You’re okay because you’re with you.

xo,

jd

Thank you for being here. If any part of this resonated, I hope you feel a little less alone. I’m still learning, still unmasking, and still choosing compassion over shame one moment at a time.

If you’re new here, welcome. I share honest, lived experience posts on unmasking autism, including signs of autistic burnout in adults, regulating sensory overload, safe foods and picky eating, noise sensitivity supports, and what it looks like to unmask as an adult woman.