Home Alone

Both of my home-mates were out of town last week, so I had our apartment to myself for five days. I’ve never lived alone, so having a space entirely to myself is out of the ordinary. Though, being home alone does happen periodically. Every one of my past and present home-mates leaves at some point for a multi-day vacation, a work trip, or to visit distant family. 

Leading up to my most recent solo time, I had plans. One was to spend lots of unhurried hours in the kitchen, preparing elaborate meals and baked goods. I had to freeze most of them for later, since I was the only one around to eat them. I also planned to set up a collapsible card table in front of the living room television, so that I could complete a jigsaw puzzle while streaming whatever TV shows and movies I wanted.

Sure enough, I took advantage of last week’s alone time, completing a 500-piece puzzle and taking over the counter space in the kitchen, all while playing my favorite music and podcasts on full volume instead of using headphones, like I usually do when others are home. 

I was a little messier than usual,

…leaving my backpack on the floor in the hallway, my keys on the dining room table, and a bag of (unperishable) groceries on the kitchen floor.  One afternoon I took a long bubble bath, luxuriating in the knowledge that no one would potentially be knocking on the bathroom door to say “Hey, no rush, but let me know when you’re done!”

It was fun, and relaxing, to spend a few days not thinking about accommodating anyone else or worrying about getting in anyone’s way.  

However,

…all the TV, movies, music and podcasts couldn’t fill the silence. I am so unused to complete silence in the apartment, and it was strange. 

It’s not that my home-mates are noisy. It’s just that one or the other of them is usually around – taking a Zoom call on their computer, fixing lunch in the kitchen, reading a book in their bedroom, or watching a football game on the living room TV. 

The glaring emptiness of the apartment especially struck me every time I returned home and unlocked the door to a complete, resounding quiet, instead of the usual “Hello?” or “Heya!” I enjoy my own company, so I didn’t feel lonely. But, my days of fun and relaxation were tinged with discomfort. 

Bumps in the night

I felt particularly ill-at-ease at night, and found it somewhat challenging to fall asleep–especially for the first few nights of being home alone. I knew from past experience that it helps to leave a light on. In this case, the hallway bathroom light. Complete darkness plus a completely empty apartment leaves me too uneasy, but being able to see my surroundings is some comfort. 

Still, it took a while for me to drift off. When I woke up in the morning, I felt like I hadn’t slept as soundly as usual. 

I knew I was perfectly safe. Our apartment building has a locked entry door that requires a computerized key fob to enter. And the front door to our unit is always locked. Even so, I double-checked to make sure it was securely bolted each night before I climbed into bed. 

My logical mind told me: nothing will happen! This is a completely safe environment. In the unlikely chance that I was in distress, there were plenty of fellow residents just a few doors down who could come help me. 

And yet, for some reason, my logical mind couldn’t will my body to fully relax. I was alert to every small noise: footsteps thumping in the apartment unit immediately above, car doors slamming in the outside parking lot. 

To be home alone, on some level, felt like a threat.

Isolation had an immediate effect on my well-being. After so many years of living with home-mates, my established homeostasis is to be surrounded by people.

Switching from shared living to temporary solo living always gets me thinking about adaptability. I often think that human beings are more flexible than we give ourselves credit for. Dealing with a major (or minor) life change can be difficult, but much of the difficulty comes from the anxiety of anticipation. Once the change actually occurs, we surprise ourselves by how quickly we’re able to adjust to our new reality.

It’s just like the dark, silent alone-ness of my apartment which made me so nervous. It wasn’t a matter of physical safety; I was just out of my usual, established ‘comfort zone.’ My fear was made of shadows, not substance. 

Speaking of adaptability…

Within a mere five days, I was already adjusting to being home alone. My fourth night’s sleep felt easy, and my fifth night’s even easier. During the day I made an effort to spend extra time outside of the apartment, with people. Working on my laptop at the local library, attending yoga class, meeting a friend for coffee.

The day of my home-mates’ return, I hurried to tidy up. As I consolidated all of my stuff back to its usual place in my bedroom or on designated shelves, I was reminded of why I consistently choose to live with home-mates. The reliable, familiar presence of people under the same roof keeps me grounded, organized, and feeling a consistent sense of security. In other words, feeling truly ‘at home’ when I am home. 

If nothing else, my home-mates help me choose what to watch on TV. Amidst an overwhelming amount of choices on Netflix and Amazon, it helps to have multiple people giving input and making a decision. 

If you’re ready to make the change to living with others–but are perhaps feeling anxious about that change–you’re not alone! Explore the resources here at Sharing Housing. Read more on the blog, including Living Alone is Overrated.

Image by wirestock on Freepik.