You asked: “With all that being said, do you find comfort in loneliness? “ *1

Yes, yes, yes!

Another death on my shift. My coworkers huddle together. I need to be alone.

One of my seven children reaches out for me one too many times. I have nothing left to give. The bathroom door has a lock. I remain there for an hour, perhaps. (This logic follows your personal space theory.)

Years ago, my ultra-extroverted social worker mother administered many a personality test while obtaining her Masters Degree. She diagnosed me as an extreme introvert, and her opinion of me plummeted accordingly.

Unlike many, alone allows me to recharge.

To process.

To heal.

To reflect.

To create.

To imagine the possibilities of every path before me.

It enables me to be the Listener.

The Comforter.

The Rock.

The Problem Solver.

My favorite ways of being alone: wandering the woods, witnessing the sun set from the beach, reading (I devour all sorts of literature, from magazines to novels to daily newspapers), exercising, and writing (I cranked out a whole novel while my husband was having his affair.)

That being said, there is one type of loneliness slowly crushing me. After 22 years, my abusive mate finally left me for another. I crave the intimacy my children cannot provide. The knowledge of someone knowing me inside and out and caring (or at least pretending to care for his own selfish means. Hey, I’ll take what I can get.)

Being alone does not heal that deep wound, but de-stresses me enough to cope with it. *2

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Footnote #1: I wrote up a much better reply but Medium and my too-touchy mouse deleted it before I could finish typing. Second drafts are never as spontaneous or heartfelt, sadly.

Footnote #2: I had a bit of a revelation while typing this: my love of being alone is certainly not helping to alleviate this situation.