Wool Goddess

There is a quiet joy in solitude, one that is often misunderstood. For me, being alone is not a sign of sadness, depression, or a problem to be solved. It is a sanctuary, a space where my mind can rest, my body can heal, and my soul can breathe.

Yet, time and time again, I find that others struggle to accept this. Some, out of love, try to coax me into the world, assuming that company or distraction will make me “better.” Others, out of their own discomfort, project their fears onto me, sure that my solitude must mean I am lonely, lost, or in need of rescue. But I do not need fixing. I am not broken.

I love being alone. Whether I’m curled up in my bedroom, wrapped in the familiar embrace of my home, or simply choosing stillness over social obligation, I feel most at peace in my own company. I feel most at peace when I am at home with my sons, whoever happens to be home that day. There is no loneliness here, only calmness, restoration, and the deep contentment of being exactly where I need to be.

Maybe this is why I love the crochet community so much, we can just be ourselves and appreciate our little creations that we make in solitude.

I don’t crave adventure. I am content in my little corner of the world. Truly, I could go anywhere and still feel happiest at home. And yet, people often struggle to accept this.

As a child, I never quite fitted in. I was happiest at home with my mum, surrounded by the things that brought me comfort. While other children played outside, I found fulfilment in my own quiet pastimes. As I grew into my teenage years, I abandoned those solitary joys, trading dolls, stamp collecting, and notebooks for a desperate attempt to fit in. I wanted to be accepted, to be like everyone else. But deep down, I knew that wasn’t me.

It took me a long time to return to the truest, most authentic version of myself. To stop hiding the things that bring me joy, crafting, reading, embracing the simple comforts of home. My hobbies have always belonged to a ninety-year-old grandmother, and honestly? That’s fine by me.

Susan Cain wrote in Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking:

“One of the risks of being quiet is that other people can fill your silence with their own interpretation: You’re bored. You’re depressed. You’re shy. You’re stuck up. You’re judgemental. When others can’t read us, they write their own story, not always one we choose or that’s true to who we are.”

How true this is. Such a good book and one I wholeheartedly recommend. In a world that glorifies busyness, extroversion, and constant connection, those of us who choose solitude are often judged for it. People who thrive on social interaction, who wear their packed schedules like a badge of honour, struggle to understand why I would choose a quiet evening over a bustling gathering. They see stillness as emptiness, silence as a problem to be solved.

But I do not retreat because I am sad. I do not withdraw because I need entertainment, advice, or company. I retreat because I need peace. Whether it’s to soothe a mind that never stops, to find relief from chronic pain, or simply because solitude is where I feel most like myself, I choose this.

And that choice is valid.

To those who love me, know that my solitude is not a rejection of you, but a return to myself. To those who do not understand, that’s okay, you don’t have to. Just know that I am not lost. I am not waiting to be fixed. I am simply being.

And in that, I am whole.

Love & hugs