Going Solo | What I Learned From a Year of Doing Things Alone

I used to think doing things alone meant I was a loser or unworthy — like I hadn’t figured out how to make a life that looked like the group selfies I scrolled past online. But in 2024, I set out to challenge that. I spent a year embracing solo adventures, from theatre trips to quiet lunches, and what I found was far more freeing than I ever expected.

Here’s what happened when I stopped waiting for company and started showing up for myself.

New Year’s Day, 2024.

Another year, another half-hearted resolution. Did anyone even make them anymore? They’ve become a bit of a joke, right? Something we announce on January 1st and quietly abandon before the end of the month. But still, I felt drawn to the tradition. So I made one.

Do more things that scare me.

Not jump-out-of-a-plane or swim-with-sharks levels of scary — just everyday things that stretch the boundaries of my comfort zone. Like making a phone call without rehearsing for two hours. (Terrifying.)

But one area stood out: doing things solo.

I’ve never been a social butterfly. I’m more of a socially anxious turtle — comfortable inside my shell, observing the world from a safe distance. But as I scrolled through endless posts of spa days, themed parties where everyone dresses as the first letter of their name, and girls’ nights in, I found myself longing to do the same kinds of things. Not necessarily with a crowd. Just… to do them.

And I realised, who says I can’t?

Some things are trickier to do alone — I’m not sure dressing up as the letter R is quite as fun without a group theme — but plenty of others were within reach. So I made a list, and started booking.

Lunches. Theatre trips. Historical sites.

Image of the lake at Bletchley Park, England. Across the lake, bathed in sunshine, you can see Bletchley Manor — Enjoying the lake at Bletchley Park

The freedom was addictive. I didn’t have to wait for someone else’s schedule to align. I could be spontaneous. I could sit by the pond at Bletchley Park for as long as I wanted, read quietly in a café over a bacon sandwich, or book the weird and wonderful theatre show that nobody else wanted to see. (Bonus: solo theatre tickets are often cheaper — apparently, single seats are harder to sell!)

Of course, I worried what people might think. That they’d see me sitting alone and whisper, “Poor girl — must not have any friends.” That familiar cocktail of social anxiety and societal conditioning kicked in: the idea that doing things alone is somehow sad.

But here’s the thing. Most people? They don’t care. They’re too busy living their own lives to judge mine. And sometimes, being alone even led to unexpected connection — like a woman at the theatre who offered to share her sweets (I politely declined, but we ended up chatting about the show), or someone asking about the book I was reading (it was ‘Selling Hitler‘ by Robert Harris, and yes, I absolutely recommend it).

Strangely, those small moments of interaction felt warmer than some group outings I’ve had in the past. Maybe being alone made me seem more approachable. Or maybe, free from the mental load of entertaining someone else, I was just more present.

That said, the shame still crept in.

I posted photos from my solo adventures — a theatre programme here, a shot of a lovely view there — and the messages started rolling in. Kind, well-meant offers of company: “If you ever want someone to go with, just let me know!” I was touched… until the third one arrived and I realised: they all felt sorry for me.

And that hurt. Because I wasn’t doing these things alone out of sadness or loneliness. I was doing them because I wanted to. Because I liked it. And yes, because I was challenging myself.

So I reminded myself why I started: not to appear a certain way, but to grow. To move beyond the fear. And in doing so, I realised that not having a huge group of friends doesn’t mean I’m unworthy. It doesn’t mean I’m unlovable or broken. It just means I sometimes do things on my own. And that’s okay.

In fact, it’s more than okay.

Image shows playbills and programmes from various theatre shows on a green background — Just some of the shows I might have missed if I didn’t just do it!

Because once I had the space to really look around, I noticed something else: plenty of people weren’t alone… but may as well have been. Scrolling through their phones during lunch, sitting side-by-side at the theatre with barely a word between them. It made me wonder how many of us are more afraid of being seen alone than of feeling lonely with someone.

As I write this, it’s early 2025. I’ve spent a year doing things that scared me — including calling the vet and taking my cat in all by myself (very brave, I know). I’ve become a regular solo theatre-goer, and I’ve even booked tickets up until May 2026. Next on my list: a solo spa day. Just me, a lounger, and zero obligation to make small talk.

Maybe someday I’ll stumble into an Instagram-worthy gang of gorgeous girlfriends. Maybe I’ll end up in someone else’s sun-drenched stories. But for now?

I’m happy being the solo turtle.

What do you think of doing things alone? Join the conversation below.