For over a month now, I’ve been wrestling with an idea—quietly, personally, and now out loud: what does it mean to truly be friends with yourself? I don’t mean just “self-care” or “alone time” in the Pinterest-poster sense. I mean genuine companionship—with the self.
Let me explain where this started.
The Weight of Silence
Most of us have never really been taught how to be alone—not just physically, but emotionally present without anyone around. We’re born into a society that celebrates connection and fears solitude. Of course, humans are social animals—we thrive in relationships, we grow through community. But somewhere along the line, our dependence on interaction has evolved into an aversion to stillness.
Have you noticed how unbearable silence feels when you’re not doing anything? No phone, no music, no conversation—just you, with yourself. I’ve felt it too. I would sit down to simply be and feel an itch for distraction creeping in almost instantly. I wasn’t bored because there was nothing to do; I was bored because I didn’t know how to be with myself.
That’s the heart of this reflection.
Chasing the Feeling of Friendship
So, I asked myself a simple question: What are the moments in life I’ve enjoyed the most?
The answer was immediate—time spent with good friends. Those spontaneous conversations ranging from girls, careers, philosophy, religion, and life in general. We laughed, we speculated, we questioned, and we connected. During those moments, I wasn’t looking for distraction. I was engaged, alive, and content.
And then the thought hit me: If I can have such deep, fulfilling conversations with friends, why can’t I have them with myself?
That question changed everything.
The Birth of Inner Dialogue
It sounds strange, even silly at first. Talking to yourself? Isn’t that a sign of something…off?
But here’s the reality: the voice in your head already is your constant companion. You might as well get to know it. I decided I wanted to be friends with myself—not in theory, but in practice. Just like no friend enjoys all parts of my personality, I don’t expect my inner self to agree with every part of me. But that’s what makes it interesting.
And so began the experiment: regular, intentional conversations with myself.
Levels of Conversation with Yourself
Level 1: The Recounting
This is the easiest one. Like journaling. I’d ask, How was my day? And answers would follow:
“I felt good about this,”
“I didn’t enjoy that,”
“I hope tomorrow brings something different.”
It’s simple, honest, and a solid entry point.
Level 2: The Emotional Mirror
This goes a bit deeper. What am I feeling right now? Why does it feel that way in my body? Is it linked to something from the past?
Sometimes, it’s a childhood memory. Sometimes, a recent incident. These conversations offer clarity—and more importantly, awareness.
Level 3: The Playground of Ideas
My favorite. Here, I allow myself to wander into topics I find fascinating: black holes, time, evolution. I don’t need to be an expert—I just speculate, question, validate. I become both the student and the teacher. And it’s deeply satisfying.
Documenting the Present
Sometimes, I just narrate what’s happening around me. Like when I’m walking a trail and notice how the soundscape changes from forest to lake. Or when I see bats flood the sky every day at 6 PM. I talk to myself about it. Not because I expect answers—but because I enjoy the company. My company.
Most friends wouldn’t care for my ramble about bat flight timings. But I do. That’s the beauty of it—I get to follow my curiosity without judgment, without dismissal.
The Deeper Layers
Conversations are just the start. With time, I’ve found that I don’t need constant talk. I’ve grown comfortable in the silence too. Like sitting with a friend, not speaking, yet knowing everything’s okay.
That’s the magic of befriending yourself.
In Closing
This practice has become an unexpected source of peace, joy, and insight. I don’t claim to have mastered it—far from it. But even this note you’re reading (or the audio it came from) is part of that ongoing dialogue.
If this reflection nudges someone else to sit with themselves a little longer, talk a little deeper, and maybe—just maybe—smile in their own company, then I’ll feel that this sharing was worth it.
So go on—ask yourself: How was your day?
And keep going from there.
If you prefer to listen to me blabber, that’s an option too!