My mum reminded me the other day that the clocks go back tonight, and I was absolutely thrilled. It means I can get into my PJs at 6pm, lock the front door, eat soup with chunks of bread and butter, drink hot chocolate and feel no guilt whatsoever about spending the evening indoors.
Do that in July, however, and I feel guilty, as though I ought to be making more of the beautiful evening. Come November, it’s practically self-care, and who am I to argue with that?
When I mentioned this to a couple of friends, though, their reaction was very different. They were dreading the early dark evenings. They explained that, as single people, they find the darker mornings and evenings quite lonely. Everyone disappears behind closed doors, photographs of cosy couples seem to pop up everywhere, and the outside world looks as though it’s shutting up shop at 4.30pm. I could understand what they meant, even though it hadn’t really occurred to me before.
It got me thinking, because I’m single too. Very, very single, in fact. Not even the sort of single where I’m secretly scrolling through dating apps while telling everyone how happy I am on my own. I’m not on the apps and I don’t go out looking for anyone; I’m very much an if it happens, it happens kind of person. Yet being on my own during the darker months doesn’t usually leave me feeling lonely, which made me wonder why.
Some people would probably say it’s because I’m a Cancerian and therefore apparently programmed to be happiest at home under a blanket. There may be something in that, although I suspect there’s a little more to it. Somewhere along the way, I’ve become comfortable with my own company. That doesn’t mean I never feel lonely, because I do, but I’ve noticed that being alone isn’t always what brings it on.
Alone and lonely aren’t quite the same thing
I wouldn’t want to make light of loneliness or suggest that a cup of tea and a podcast can put everything right. Sometimes you want someone beside you on the sofa, someone to tell about your day, or someone who notices that you’re a bit quieter than usual without you having to explain. Enjoying your independence doesn’t stop you wanting those things, and I can be perfectly happy on my own while still thinking it would be lovely to have a cuddle.
Thinking about my friends did make me notice the little things I do, often without giving them much thought, that help me feel content at home. I listen to podcasts and audiobooks, I write and journal, and I talk to myself out loud an awful lot. Every morning I ask, “How are you feeling this morning, Emily?” and at night it’s usually, “Did you have a good day, Emily?” I realise that might sound a little odd written down, but I suppose I’ve got into the habit of checking in with myself as I would with someone I care about.
I also regularly chat to Mrs Aloe Vera, my favourite plant, who lives in the kitchen. Shirley Valentine had her wall and I have a plant, so I feel I’m in perfectly respectable company. Mrs Aloe Vera is an excellent listener, although admittedly the conversation is fairly one-sided. Between her and my own running commentary, it’s rarely completely silent in this house.
Making a little effort for yourself
I send voice notes to my friends because hearing somebody’s voice makes them feel that bit closer, especially when we haven’t managed to see each other for a while. I read constantly, usually with about five books on the go because apparently committing to one at a time is beyond me. I take myself for coffee, go for long walks and listen to things that make me laugh. None of it is particularly remarkable, but it gives my days little things to look forward to.
I also like cooking something lovely just for myself. It’s easy to think, “Oh, it’s only me,” and decide dinner doesn’t warrant much effort, but I still have to eat it, so it might as well be something I enjoy. The same goes for making the room cosy or putting on something comforting to watch. I don’t need to wait until somebody’s coming round to make being at home feel nice.
When the children aren’t here, I occasionally schedule myself a weekend nanny nap, which I consider a very sensible use of my time. Everything feels considerably more tragic when you’re tired. A minor inconvenience after a decent night’s sleep is usually manageable; the same inconvenience when you’re exhausted can have you questioning every decision you’ve made since 1997. Before I start unpicking my entire life, it’s sometimes worth checking whether I simply need a lie-down.
Of course, there are times when I need company too. A phone call, a walk with a friend or a proper catch-up over coffee can make such a difference, and being happy on my own doesn’t mean I want to do everything alone. I think part of feeling comfortable with it is knowing when I’m enjoying the peace and when I’ve had enough of my own thoughts and could do with hearing somebody else’s.
Perhaps we’re allowed to slow down
I tend to think of those quiet evenings as a chance to recharge and hibernate a little. The garden slows down, the evenings draw in and suddenly staying under a blanket seems a far more appealing prospect than going anywhere that requires proper trousers. Yet I can still catch myself expecting to have exactly the same energy and enthusiasm I had on a warm summer evening, which seems a slightly unfair expectation in November.
This winter, I won’t be forcing myself out of bed at 5.30am just to feel as though I’m getting ahead of the day. If I can have a little lie-in until 7.30am, I’ll happily take it. Wild behaviour, I know, but I’m learning that I don’t have to make every spare hour useful. Sometimes it’s enough to be warm, rested and pleased that there’s nothing in the diary.
There’s plenty I enjoy about this time of year: warming food, a good book, early pyjamas and watching something familiar for the seventeenth time because I know perfectly well I’ll enjoy it. I like phoning someone while I potter about, making a hot chocolate and hearing the weather outside when I’m safely indoors. They’re small pleasures, but they’re a large part of why I look forward to the clocks going back.
My little winter loneliness toolkit
If the darker days sometimes leave you feeling a bit lonely, these are a few of the things I find helpful. It’s a very unofficial list, based largely on being a woman who talks to her houseplants, so please take from it whatever suits you.
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Give yourself something to listen to. A podcast or audiobook can be lovely company while you’re cooking, tidying or settling in for the evening, particularly if the quiet is getting to you.
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Make time for a proper conversation. Send a voice note, phone a friend or arrange a coffee. Sometimes I don’t realise how much I’ve needed a chat until I’m having one.
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Take yourself somewhere nice. You don’t need to wait for someone to be free before you visit that café, go for a walk or spend a happy half-hour browsing a bookshop.
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Make an effort for your own comfort. Cook something you fancy, put fresh sheets on the bed, hot bath or get the room cosy. You’re allowed to enjoy those things even when there’s nobody there to admire your efforts.
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Check in with yourself. Writing things down or asking yourself how you’re feeling can help you work out what you need, whether that’s company, a good cry, some fresh air or an early night.
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Give yourself permission to rest. I remain a firm supporter of the nanny nap, although a quiet afternoon with a book is also perfectly acceptable if you’re not ready to commit to my level of expertise.
I know my friends and I will probably always greet the clocks going back a little differently, and I’m glad they told me how they felt. It reminded me to check in, make plans and remember that an evening I’m happily spending under a blanket might feel quite different to somebody else.
As for me, I’ll be getting my pyjamas ready and deciding which soup to make. Mrs Aloe Vera will no doubt hear all about it, although after years of listening to me, I imagine she’s rather grateful I occasionally put a podcast on.
P.S. How are you feeling today? I’d love to hear, whether you’re looking forward to the cosy evenings or finding this time of year a little harder, I’d love to hear from you, so do leave me a comment below.
All my love,
Emily xxx