What Happens To Women Who Live Alone For A Year? Something Pretty Amazing, Says Research
A lot can can change in a year of solitude, especially when you're your own roommate.
Diovana Papen | Canva Words hurtle my way — from crazy, cold, and snobby to amazing, strong, and resilient. Inaccurate, all. Except for the tag resilient, I earned that one. And, 'crazy' is subjective, which leaves room for error.
Six years ago, a friend looked deep into my eyes, desperately seeking understanding that I had left my 25-year marriage. Her head rocked side to side in bewilderment.
“You’re nuts. I could never leave my husband without another man lined up at this age. How can you live alone?”
I confuse people, always have and always will, I suppose. Enforcing boundaries equates to being cold and mean. Saying no to the offer of a lifetime, not, translates to crazy.
My stomach flip-flopped for years. I finally understood that what someone requires from me might not be theirs to have.
I never told my friend I was scared.
Can I live life alone without a man, a partner, a confidant?
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Frequent bouts of breathless fear overtook me in those early days. My angst involved far bigger things in addition to losing my supposed fairytale lifestyle. Uncharted territory loomed, like assuming care of a newborn on top of everything else, when I turned 53 years old.
“You’re so strong.” Am I? My fear of the unknown consisted of financing large purchases, procuring legitimate services, and trusting solo decision-making. I forced my hand to go it alone. Where am I going to live?
Thinking aloud rings out hollow toward an empty chair at the kitchen table. Whispers across the pillows, “What do you think?” no longer existed.
I peeled away the marital blinders and dove into my new solitary life on a wing and a prayer.
Tossing and turning in the dark of night got me nowhere. I needed to reinvent myself. Daunting endeavor, no? I recalled that most of my first 50 years were filled with new opportunities. Shying away from new ventures was not my style. Keep reminding yourself of that, I told myself.
Stumble and fall, reset, and try again. The imposed quiet was equal parts unsettling and comforting. My mind calculated my next moves, one step at a time.
Brain candy slowly became addictive. The more I dug in and tackled new mental or physical territory, the more paths I wanted to cut.
In the first year, I awakened sleepy neurons by finding and buying a home. I squared my shoulders, gripped the pen, and forged ahead — blindly trusting my gut. Six years and a few more homesteads have me building our final abode. And I smile. Feign confidence; it will come.
My lungs seize at times, but a mixture of excitement and fear always causes a physical upheaval. I unearthed the will and found a way to survive. Thanks to YouTube, home repairs and upgrade tasks began to run on autopilot.
I tackled despised tasks like taking out the trash and rehoming vile bugs without screaming for help, once I realized yelling echoed into nothingness. When I lived in a shared space with another alleged adult and had combined mental resources, finding solutions meant time-consuming negotiations. Circling wagons around needless compromises, only to land back on obvious answers, greyed the hair I didn’t pull out.
Alone, my brain viewed a problem as merely a challenge needing a solution. Alone, solutions came quickly. Who knew that each decision helped to strengthen my neural pathways?
Living alone actually changes one at the cellular level, and releasing the hazy, convoluted layers of external pressure unveiled my authentic energy.
That sounds crazy. Call me crazy, then dive into the reports of Dr. Joe Dispenza, who explains that "women who live alone consistently show stronger, more organized electromagnetic heart and brain coherence patterns." I fell into the rabbit hole of his blogs, and I’m not mad about it. Scientific studies indicate that women living alone for over a year develop internal reference points independent of external validation.
I live this truth, accidental lab rat that I am, and too often find myself explaining to frustrated friends, family, and cronies still seeking kudos from the crowds that ‘happiness comes from within.’ Never has that been more evident.
In living alone, we develop dopamine hits through independent achievements. I believe in the science. Sure enough, humble bragging, crowing, and flexing serve me no purpose.
For decades, I juggled conflicting emotional noise and societal opinions. My rearview mirror reflects that exhaustion. Somewhere along the way, I realized that little else matters outside my skin. Why not protect my energy and enjoy my bubble of positivity?
Contrary to criticism, I enjoy being a jack of all trades in life. I write to release and share. I create products I believe in and connect with people in groups that satisfy a need without absorbing criticism and naysayers. I can live alone or cohabitate. Ice cream for breakfast? Why not.
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I am me. I wear what I choose, leave the house despite a bad hair day, and sprinkle random kind words to strangers — all without quivering in puddles of self-consciousness.
People judge, and thankfully, it’s none of my business. I will never understand why some people take my life decisions as a personal affront or offer unsolicited advice, only to get mad when I don’t oblige.
Who cares? Removing social noise cleared my vision. I start new businesses, buy new houses, shift investments, or veg out doing nothing some days. The difference in who I am today is the growth and empowerment that stemmed from my desire to survive, solidified by living alone, not lonely.
Women like me who live alone no longer require external validation.
We shed the classic and common social dependency patterns. Our energy, no longer drained by constant social referencing, turned inward. Science says our nervous systems reset. Facing my life uphill climbs solo had the makings of a nightmare — when, in reality, it became a dream.
I still stumble, fall, and reset, but with more grace. A woman living alone invites growth and peace. A powerful miracle, a simmering confidence, comes with self-sufficiency.
A concept I feared turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Science doesn’t lie. Due to my circumstances, I grew. I didn’t shrivel up and die.
A quiet internal strength pays dividends beyond imagination and parts the sea of haters, dismissing them to the sidelines. My days of explaining myself ended. My energy is prioritized by default. I conquer hurdles one at a time without draining my resources.
Be you. It does a body good. Choose peace. Fly free. Make choices for yourself. Rewire your brain as you create new neural connections. Let people be confused. It’s none of your business.
I am me. A little bit crazy and a whole lot resilient.
Lisa Gerard Braun is a writer focusing on mental health, physical wellness, inspirational personal growth, and equality stories.
