Why solitude is essential for sensitive souls

Solitude after socializing: it’s what many introverted, autistic and sensitive souls crave. Yet how often do we truly honor this need?

For many of us, finding those precious moments of stillness after spending time with others is more than a preference – it’s a physical need.

After a hectic day in the office, a networking event, or a family outing, we can feel it in our body.

The sights, the sounds, the smells – all are like drops in a bucket, slowly filling with sensory and social input until it overflows.

And then, all we can do is step away to avoid drowning.

Early in my career, I never realized just how much I needed this kind of sensory decompression after spending a day surrounded by people.

I just kept pushing on, ignoring my own boundaries, adding more drops to my bucket, convincing myself it should be as big as everyone else’s.

I was afraid that if I said ‘no’ to another meeting or night out, I’d be rejected by the people I worked with or cared about. Even when I said ‘no,’ I still felt guilty for not meeting social expectations.

But we can’t change the size of our social bucket – or how much sensory input we can handle.

There’s no shame in acknowledging that our capacity for social interaction is different from others.

It’s simply who we are. And the moment we start embracing that, we can start setting boundaries that prevent us from burning out.

One way I personally practice this is by going for a long walk alone after every speech I give.

I love public speaking – but for an autistic introvert like me, it’s also incredibly draining on my senses and social energy.

That’s why I always seek solitude afterward – to empty my social bucket and reconnect with myself.

Last week, after a speech on the island of Jersey, I did just that, roaming the coastline with my camera in hand. And it was then that I realized something had shifted within me.

Guilt had given way to gratitude.

No longer did I feel bad for honoring the limits of my social energy.

Instead, I felt grateful to work with people who understand the need for solitude without judging it.

As the sun sank below the horizon that evening, leaving a purple afterglow in the sky, I realized I was exactly where I needed to be. Alone. In silence. Processing all impressions of the day and reflecting on the lovely people I had met. Emptying my bucket so I could start the next day afresh.

There’s a time for socializing – and there’s a time for solitude. Figure out what balance works for you. It’s different for everyone, including those who are more extroverted or not autistic. And there’s no reason to feel shame or guilt in honoring that.