Solitude vs. Loneliness: When It’s Just Me on a Sunday Night
I know solitude when it’s peace and space. And I know loneliness when it weighs heavy on my heart. Sunday nights, when the door clicks shut and my children leave to spend the week with their dad, that’s when I feel it the most. How do I handle these moments? And why do cats, tarot, and movies sometimes help me through?
Alone Again
Sunday night. Silence fills the hallway, the backpacks are gone, the children’s laughter has faded, and the door has closed. My kids have left, and now it’s just me in this apartment, where the only sounds are the ticking of the clock and my own breathing.
The first few hours after they leave are always the hardest. I look at their empty beds, and sometimes I overcompensate—cleaning, working, making calls, scrolling through social media—doing anything just to keep my mind occupied. But no matter what, the night eventually brings the silence.
When Silence Hurts
I’ve had times when it was much worse. There were years when heavy depression knocked me to my knees, and these nights—when my children left, and silence filled the apartment—felt unbearable.
Yes, I had people around me who cared. My parents, my sister, a few friends. But you know how it is—sometimes, even when people love us, they don’t really understand us. Sometimes, they don’t say what we need to hear. Sometimes, they just stand by, unsure how to help. And sometimes, they step away—because even for them, witnessing someone else’s pain can be too much.
But a few of them stayed. Even when I didn’t know how to ask for help, they sensed that I was struggling. They called, made me get out of bed, took me for a walk or a coffee. They were the quiet light flickering in the darkness.
They reminded me that even when I was alone, I wasn’t worthless. That even when I lost sight of why I needed to be strong, I still had a place in this world—for myself and for my children.
I still feel them, even from afar. I hear my children’s laughter as they say before leaving: “Mom, don’t forget—we love you!” Or when they send a simple message: “Only five more days, Mom!” These little things keep me afloat. Suddenly, I realize that even though they’re not physically here, our bond remains. And it carries me, even when I feel like I can’t keep going.
Cats Are Therapists
And then, there are my furry therapists. I sit on the couch, lost in my thoughts, feeling the weight of the evening settle over me—and then one of my four cats curls up beside me. They notice everything. They sense when I’m fragile. They bring me a peace I sometimes struggle to find in people.
Cats keep me present. Here and now. Just one look from them, the sound of their purring, the warmth of their fur, and for a moment, I feel like neither of us are truly alone.
Creating a Safe Space
And when the loneliness really sets in, I light a candle, pull out my tarot or affirmation cards, and ask myself: "What do I need to hear?" I draw one card after another, letting them sink in. With each one, I slowly allow myself to breathe and accept what they have to tell me.
- "I have the right to feel all my emotions—even sadness."
- "I am here for myself. I am enough."
- "Every day that I breathe is a step toward something better."
- "Solitude teaches me to grow, even when it hurts."
- "Everything I seek is already within me."
And when that’s not enough, I take comfort in movies:
- Eat, Pray, Love – A reminder that the journey to finding yourself begins in moments of solitude.
- Bridget Jones’s Diary – Because sometimes, laughing at yourself is the best medicine.
- Under the Tuscan Sun – Proof that broken dreams can be rebuilt into something beautiful.
- Wild – A story about how, sometimes, we have to walk through the wilderness of pain to find ourselves again.
For Those Who See Themselves in This
Maybe you’re going through the same thing. Maybe you know the feeling—like the world keeps moving forward while you’re standing still. I just want to say: I see you. I understand.
Don’t wait until the loneliness swallows you whole. Even when it hurts and breathing feels heavy, remember:
"After every night comes the morning. And out of the darkness, light will rise."
And if you can’t see it yet, find your own anchors. Maybe it’s your children, animals, rituals, or words on a card.
I believe we all have a quiet lighthouse within us—we just need a moment of stillness to hear it again.
Take care.
With love,
Tony
A Woman Who Writes About Life As It Really Is
Antonie is a woman who knows the power of human stories and isn’t afraid to write about them. She has gone through burnout, loneliness, and the search for a balance between caring for others and herself. She is a mother who shares custody of her children, a partner, a friend, and a woman who sometimes doesn’t know what comes next. But it is this authenticity that gives her the courage to address topics that others often hide behind smiles. She herself says that writing is her way of naming things aloud and perhaps helping others feel less alone. In Antonie’s writings, you will find honesty, perspective, and motivation that you can rise again, even from rock bottom. She believes in the power of friendship, love, and simple rituals that help manage everyday reality.
