The Soft Life Ain’t Always Soft: A Journey to Doing Things Alone
I used to think “soft life” meant candlelit baths, satin pillowcases, and saying “no” to things that stressed me out. And in many ways, it does. But what nobody tells you is that soft doesn’t always mean easy. Sometimes, softness means unraveling the lies you’ve told yourself about who you are and what you deserve.
Like the lie that said I couldn't go out alone.
For years, I avoided eating at restaurants by myself. I was convinced people would see me sitting there, no plus-one in sight, and think, Damn, she ain’t got nobody? The thought of it made my skin itch. But I wasn’t lonely—I was just scared of being seen as lonely. And when you’re an introvert society already loves to act like you’re some tragic figure if you’re not, out with friends, or playing the role of caretaker.
So I stayed home. I let life shrink to the size of my comfort zone. Until one day, I got tired of waiting for a “plus-one” to give me permission to enjoy my own life.
The first time I took myself out to eat, I overthought everything. I worried about what to wear. I picked a table in the corner where I could blend in. I fidgeted with my phone to look busy. But then, something wild happened—I actually enjoyed it. I ate slow. I people-watched. I realized nobody was paying me any mind because (plot twist) most people are too wrapped up in themselves to care about what I’m doing.
After that, I started testing myself. Could I go to a movie solo? Yes. A museum? Yes. A whole-ass weekend trip? I wasn’t there yet, but the idea didn’t make me want to crawl out of my skin anymore.
See, the real “soft life” isn’t just about comfort. It’s about freedom. It’s knowing that you don’t have to wait on someone else to live fully. It’s walking into spaces alone and knowing you still belong there.
And if I can do it, trust me, so can you.