Many people honestly write that they can’t stand loneliness. And I understand them. It can seem cold, like a light left on in the bathroom at three in the morning. It reminds you that there is no one to share the news with, no one to cuddle up to, when the wind outside the window hits the glass, as if it wants to come in. And yet, I do not feel fear of loneliness. It does not take it away from me, but, on the contrary, gives it back.

When I am alone with myself, I suddenly remember what it is like to listen to your own thoughts. Without a filter. Without haste. Just sit on the balcony with a cup of tea, hugging a blanket, and watching the sky turn red at sunset. In such moments, I don’t feel lost. I feel at home.

I guess it’s a matter of habit. Or faith. I’m Catholic, and I’ve been told since childhood that we are never truly alone. Even when no one is physically around, the One who created us is always present. This is not a loud statement, not an attempt to prove something. It’s just a fact that I return to when the room is too quiet. I don’t need to prove anything to Him. I can just be. I can be silent. He will understand.

I’m not one of those who run into noise so as not to hear themselves. There were periods when it seemed to me that silence was an enemy. Then I turned the music up loud, called and texted anyone, just to fill the emptiness. And then I realized that maybe silence is not emptiness, but a space where something real can be born?

Being alone, I learned to take care of myself. Not in the sense of buying myself ice cream or treating myself to a new blanket (although that's not bad either), but in the sense of understanding my feelings. Sometimes we get so caught up in other people's lives, relationships, and tasks that we hide our emotions away, like socks under the bed - maybe no one will notice. And then they start to smell. Well, you get the idea.

There is something honest about loneliness. It doesn't pretend that everything is fine. It doesn't play a role. It just is. And if you're not afraid of it, you can find yourself in it - the real you, without filters and stories.

I like going to evening services when there aren't many people in the church. You sit in the semi-darkness, the candles crackle, someone sings quietly somewhere, and suddenly everything inside evens out. I don't feel lonely there. Quite the opposite - connected to everything that's important. With people, with God, with myself.

This doesn't mean that I don't want to share my life. I'm just in no hurry. I think if we can't be with ourselves, we can't be with others. Love is not a substitute for loneliness. It is an addition to the fullness that already exists.

Sometimes people tell me, "You seem closed off," or "You are probably too self-sufficient." Maybe. But I am not closed off. I am just used to listening first. To myself. To life. To God. And then to someone else. And, to be honest, I would like to find the same person - not running, not filling the silence in a hurry, but someone who knows how to share it.

Because the most amazing thing about loneliness is that when you share it with someone, it ceases to be loneliness. It becomes peace. A space in which two people can simply be calm. Without a show. Without loud words. With a cup of tea on the balcony, with silence that does not oppress, but embraces.

So if you're reading this and thinking, "I can be alone too, but sometimes I just want someone to sit with me in silence" — know that you're not alone.

Lana Banana