Learning to Be Alone (and Actually Liking It)
As I get older, I’ve noticed something I didn’t expect. It’s not that I want or need people around me all the time. I’ve learned to enjoy my own company; I actually find a kind of calm in that. The fact I am introverted plays a large part in that as well. But still, there’s this quiet ache that shows up sometimes, the kind that whispers, You don’t really have many people left.
And that’s a very honest realization.
When Life and Trauma Shrink Your World
Part of it, I think, is life itself. People move away, priorities shift, and friendships that once felt effortless now take planning, effort, and energy that some days I just don’t have. But another part, the harder part to admit, has to do with trauma. CPTSD changes the way you connect. It builds this invisible filter between you and the world, one made of old betrayals and the memory of unsafe people. You start trusting less and questioning more. You read between lines that maybe aren’t even there, just to keep yourself safe.
And over time, that filter starts to make your world a lot smaller.
Wanting Connection, But Fearing It Too
It’s not that I don’t want connection. I do, very much so. I want the kind of friendships where you can say, “I’m not okay today,” and they pull up a chair and sit with you however you need them to be. But after years of surviving, you learn that safety doesn’t come easy. You second-guess kindness. You brace for the moment someone pulls away. It’s exhausting, and eventually, it feels simpler to stay as you are, keep the circle tight, and hold on to what you can control: your own peace.
And yet, peace can be lonely too.
The Risk Hidden in the Quiet
The danger of that loneliness is how quietly it can pull you backward. You start missing connection so much that you forget what healthy connection looks like. You might reopen doors you already closed or tolerate behavior that doesn’t feel safe just to feel something familiar.
And sometimes, you slip into old habits: withdrawing too far, isolating before someone else can hurt you, or convincing yourself you’re “better off alone.” It’s a slow slide, one that can undo months of healing before you even realize what’s happening.
Avoiding these traps requires a lot of self-awareness. You have to notice when the pull of loneliness is steering you toward old, unhealthy patterns and make a conscious choice to pause, reflect, and stay grounded in what you know is safe and good for you.
That’s the thing about loneliness; it doesn’t always look desperate. Sometimes it looks calm, quiet, and deceptively safe.
The Gift Inside the Loneliness
Healing doesn’t make you immune to loneliness. If anything, it makes you more aware of it, more attuned to how rare genuine connection really is. But maybe that’s also the gift of it. You stop chasing noise and start craving depth. You stop collecting people and start looking for the ones who see you, not just the parts you want them to see.
Becoming the Person You Need
So yeah, getting older with CPTSD can feel lonely. But it’s a loneliness that teaches us something: that we don’t want more people, we want real people. The kind who meet you where you are, walls and all.
And until we find them, We learn to be one of those people for ourselves.