Reclaiming Solitude in an Always-On World

There's a reason "table for one" gets such a bad rap. In US culture, solitude gets lumped in with loneliness — something to be pitied, fixed, or avoided entirely. But what if intentional alone time can actually be really helpful for your mental health?

That's exactly what Henry Emmons, MD and Aimee Prasek, PhD unpack in episode #259 of the Joy Lab podcast. And fair warning: by the end of it, you may start fiercely protecting your alone time (yay for boundaries!).

Solitude Is Not Loneliness (This Distinction Matters)

Loneliness is defined by lack — you're aware of who or what isn't with you. Solitude, on the other hand, feels full. It's the voluntary, intentional experience of being with yourself, free from devices and the noise of constant input. Same external picture, completely different inner experience.

Henry draws a useful parallel: solitude and loneliness look as similar on the surface as grief and depression do. But while loneliness depletes, solitude — when practiced well — restores.

Your Nervous System Is Probably Screaming for a Break

Here's where the science comes in. Aimee breaks down what researchers call arousal states — a spectrum from deep sleep all the way up to stress and agitation. Most of us in modern life are parked at the high end: overscheduled, over-stimulated, and under-rested. Add to that the cultural pressure to display constant high-energy positivity — what Aimee calls "high energy on top of high energy" — and you've got a nervous system running well past its limit. That, she argues, is where toxic positivity thrives.

Solitude offers the counterbalance. Research shows it can shift us into lower arousal states — awake, peaceful, at ease — giving both body and mind a chance to genuinely recover.

The Exhale You've Been Skipping

Henry frames solitude beautifully: it's the outbreath after the inbreath of connection and activity. Just like you can't keep inhaling, you can't keep pouring outward without finding a way to come back to yourself. For Henry, that discovery came during a grueling eight years of medical training, when he found his way — somewhat accidentally — to a Trappist monastery in rural Iowa. 

You Don't Need a Cave. You Need a Little Quiet.

A silent retreat is wonderful if you can swing it. But solitude can also look like a walk, a journal, a crossword, or — as A.A. Milne wisely put it — just sitting. The point is to get quiet enough to hear yourself.

Henry puts it simply: what you find below the surface when you stop running from yourself isn't scary. It's love.