I've never been one of those people who was good at being on their own. The thought of evening by myself was difficult, anything more than that almost impossible.

Four months ago, I began living on my own. And despite that idea being absolutely hellish to me at the time, I'm actually okay. Happy, almost.

Don't get me wrong, it took a lot of adjustment. I spent the first few weeks bawling my eyes out at the thought of spending a full day by myself. If I didn't have plans with anyone for a day off, I'd go into a bit of a frenzy, wondering what on earth I'd do with myself, and how I was going to cope with no one else's company but my own.

What I've slowly come to realise is that actually, my own company isn't all that bad. I've had so much uni work to get done that my days off are quickly filled up, and sometimes I'm actually glad to have a bit of time to myself.

I do talk to myself a lot more, though. A LOT more.

Loneliness is still something that I experience frequently. Sometimes I think that it would be nice to have someone who's just around, to chat to or to watch Netflix with. And I just can't get the hang of cooking for one, I'm forever ending up with a mountain of food and living off bolognese for what feels like a lifetime.

But there's a strange kind of freedom that comes with living on your own. I can stumble in drunk at whatever time of the morning and not have to worry about waking anyone up. I can leave the dishes in the sink until the morning if I can't be bothered to wash up. I never have to fight over the TV remote. I have my own space, a sanctuary, that is no one else's but mine.

I've kind of amazed myself at how resilient I've been in what I thought was a nightmare situation. I guess it just goes to show that you're always stronger than you think you are. I thought I'd never be able to cope living on my own, but actually, I'm alright.

Love,
Sian Kathrine xo