You’ve probably heard it a thousand times: loneliness is an epidemic. But here’s what might surprise you – researchers have found that whether you’re single or partnered, living alone or with others, doesn’t actually predict loneliness as much as we think. The real culprit? It’s something much more subtle, and it lives in how we relate to ourselves when nobody else is around.
I discovered this the hard way a few years back. Despite having a partner, a busy social calendar, and what looked like a full life on paper, I felt profoundly lonely. Meanwhile, my neighbor – a single woman in her sixties who lived alone – seemed to radiate contentment. What was her secret?
The trait that changes everything
The answer lies in something psychologists call “comfort with solitude.” It turns out that how we feel about being alone matters far more than how often we actually are alone.
Bella DePaulo, Ph.D., explains it perfectly: “People who are comfortable with solitude are less likely to feel lonely than those who view time alone with trepidation.”
Think about that for a second. Two people can spend the exact same amount of time alone, but one feels peaceful while the other feels abandoned. The difference isn’t in their circumstances – it’s in their relationship with solitude itself.
I’ve interviewed over 200 people for various articles over the years, and this pattern shows up again and again. The startup founder working 80-hour weeks who feels desperately lonely despite being surrounded by people. The retired teacher living alone who feels deeply connected to life. Their external circumstances couldn’t be more different, but their internal experiences tell the real story.
Why we fear being alone
For most of my twenties, I used busyness as a shield. Deadlines, social plans, work events – anything to avoid sitting with myself. The moment things got quiet, anxiety would creep in. What was I running from?
Many of us learn early that being alone means being unwanted. When my parents divorced when I was twelve, weekends alone meant one parent didn’t want me that particular weekend. That association stuck, even though it wasn’t really true. We carry these stories into adulthood without realizing it.
But here’s where it gets interesting. Alexander Danvers, Ph.D., points out that “Being alone isn’t the same as being lonely, and it’s really only at the extremes of spending time alone that we expect people to start feeling more lonely.”
In other words, moderate amounts of alone time don’t automatically create loneliness. It’s our interpretation of that time that matters.
The introversion connection
There’s another layer to this that’s worth exploring. Arash Emamzadeh notes that “Introverted people are more likely to be involuntarily single and thus more likely to experience loneliness.”
But wait – aren’t introverts supposed to prefer being alone? This is where things get nuanced. Being introverted doesn’t automatically mean you’re comfortable with solitude. If you’re alone because you struggle with social connections rather than because you choose it, that’s a recipe for loneliness regardless of your personality type.
I’ve seen this play out with friends who identify as introverts. Some genuinely recharge in solitude and feel energized by their alone time. Others use introversion as a label to explain away their social anxiety, spending time alone not because they want to, but because social interaction feels too hard.
What actually helps
So how do we develop this comfort with solitude? It’s not about forcing yourself to spend more time alone or pretending you don’t need people. It’s about changing your relationship with yourself.
Start small. Next time you have five minutes alone – maybe waiting for coffee or sitting in your car – resist the urge to immediately grab your phone. Just sit with yourself. Notice what comes up. Are you anxious? Bored? Surprisingly peaceful?
I learned this lesson when I lost my best friend from college to a slow drift. For months, I threw myself into making new connections, terrified of the gap she’d left. But eventually, I had to face the quiet. In that silence, I discovered something unexpected – I actually liked my own company. I just hadn’t given myself the chance to know that.
The research backs this up in fascinating ways. Bella DePaulo, Ph.D., found that “People who are not married squeeze more happiness out of their individualistic values. For both unmarried and married people, the more they value creativity, trying new things, and freedom, the happier they are.”
This suggests that when we embrace our autonomy and individual interests, we’re less likely to feel lonely regardless of our relationship status.
The paradox of connection
Here’s the twist nobody talks about: the more comfortable you become with solitude, the better your relationships get. When you stop needing people to fill a void, you can actually enjoy them for who they are.
In my thirties, I finally understood that quality of friendships mattered far more than networking quantity. But I only learned this after getting comfortable being alone. When you’re not desperately seeking connection, you can be more selective about who you spend time with. You can have standards. You can walk away from relationships that drain you.
Think about the last time you stayed too long at a party or said yes to plans you didn’t want. Were you avoiding being alone? When we fear solitude, we make compromised choices about who we let into our lives.
Final thoughts
Loneliness isn’t really about being alone. It’s about feeling disconnected – from others, yes, but primarily from yourself. The personality trait that predicts loneliness better than any living arrangement or relationship status is simply this: whether you see time alone as a punishment or a gift.
The good news? This is a trait we can develop. Unlike being single or living alone, which might be circumstances beyond our immediate control, our relationship with solitude is something we can actively work on. Start where you are. Five minutes. No distractions. Just you. You might be surprised by who you meet.
