Her Loneliness Is a Problem, His Is Poetry

Her Loneliness Is a Problem, His Is Poetry

When a man lives alone, people say he’s independent.
They call him a thinker, a deep soul, someone who enjoys his freedom.

When a woman lives alone, they start asking questions.
“Is she okay?” “Why is she alone?” “Did something go wrong?”

His solitude is seen as strength.
Hers is treated like sickness.

A man can go years without attachment — and he’s praised for being focused.
A woman who does the same is pitied, judged, or worse — completely misunderstood.

Because in their eyes, a woman must always be needed.
She must be someone’s daughter, someone’s wife, someone’s mother — never just someone.

If she walks alone, it must be because no one wanted her.
If she lives on her own terms, she must be cold.
If she says she’s content, they assume she’s lying.

But they are wrong.

There is power in her solitude.
Not the loud kind that seeks validation — but the quiet kind that builds resilience.
The kind that comes from knowing herself deeply, without interruption.

She has chosen silence over noise, peace over performance, truth over convenience.
And yes — it gets lonely. But it is a loneliness she owns. Not one she fears.

The world doesn’t know what to do with a woman who needs no one.
So it tries to fix her. Define her. Break her.

But she keeps living.
Keeps walking.
Keeps writing.

Her life is not missing anything.
It is simply full of space that no one else was ever meant to occupy.