Solitude Is My Sanctuary: A Personal Journey of Self-Love, Loss, and Liberation

 

The Quiet Place Within

In a world obsessed with noise, validation, and speed, I found peace in the most unlikely of places—myself. Not in a romantic partner. Not in accolades. Not in the crowd's approval. But in the quiet hum of my soul, in the space where my thoughts roam free, and where love no longer demands a form outside myself.

Solitude is my sanctuary.
And I have built a fence around it—not to isolate myself from life, but to guard my heart from the reckless tides of a world that too often values chaos over clarity, and appearance over authenticity.

I haven’t always lived this way. My journey toward self-possession began with loss, love, and the slow unraveling of expectations. I have traveled the world in search of the impossible—love that lasts forever. I once believed love was a destination, only to learn it was a moment, fleeting and beautiful like the last light of day. What remains when the moment fades is the echo of your own heartbeat—and in that echo, you might just hear yourself for the first time.

This is my story.

I was a hopeless romantic once. I believed in serendipity, soulmates, and the idea that love was an eternal flame. From Paris to Marrakesh, from Rio to Tel Aviv, I wandered not only through cities but also through dreams, chasing a warmth I had once felt briefly and could never seem to recapture.

I met someone once—someone who felt like home. The first weeks were magic: laughter that danced in the air, glances that spoke entire volumes, and silences that felt safe. But love, like all intense things, has its half-life.

Love, I learned, is like a narcotic. The first high is transcendent. It spins your world with colors you never knew existed. However, the problem with euphoria is that the body becomes accustomed to it. You crave more, you expect more—and eventually, it stops giving you what it once did. You begin to chase ghosts of emotion. You look at the person next to you and wonder: Were they always this quiet? Were you always this lonely?

After a while, love evaporates—like water at 100°C. It's not that the person changes. It's that the mirage fades.

Perhaps love isn't forever. Perhaps nothing is. Maybe life is just a collection of moments, and what matters most is learning to hold those moments gently and release them gracefully.

I built a fence around my heart—not out of bitterness, but out of wisdom. Giving your heart in a world that has forgotten how to handle tenderness can be fatal. People love you until it’s inconvenient. They cherish you until your vulnerability becomes too real.

I grew tired of handing over my softness to those who didn’t know how to protect it. So I stopped. I turned inward.

Solitude is not loneliness. Solitude is space. Solitude is freedom. Solitude is the power to hear your own voice without the noise of others shaping it. I stopped waiting for someone to complete me. I started completing myself.

 Life in Trinidad and Tobago—A Beautiful Routine

I live a simple life now in a small apartment in Trinidad and Tobago. Every morning begins the same way: at 5:30 a.m., I brew a strong black coffee, no sugar, no milk, just as I like it. That bitter strength in the cup mirrors the strength I’ve cultivated in my spirit.

Then I head out for a walk to the free market in San Fernando. The smell of fresh produce, the laughter of the vendors, and the sounds of life happening around me—they ground me. I buy fruit, maybe some ripe mangoes or golden papayas, and chat with the locals about politics, weather, or simply the joy of a good “doubles” with hot pepper. The heat jolts me awake—reminding me that I’m alive.

By 9 a.m., I’m back home, ready to dive into work.

I run a small travel company—Caribbean Quest Travel. It started as a dream, a spark of independence, and now it’s my lifeline. I help people plan their escapes, their honeymoons, and their family reunions. There’s something fulfilling about helping others experience the joy of discovering new places—especially when you’ve spent so long searching for a place to belong yourself.

Each booking is personal. Each itinerary is a story waiting to unfold.

This business isn’t just about income—it’s about impact. It’s my way of saying, "The world is still beautiful. Go see it. Go live with it."

At 6 p.m., I close the office and treat myself to a slow, sacred ritual: I walk the colorful streets of San Fernando. There’s a rhythm here that’s hard to explain—a melody in the way people greet each other, the way the sun sets like a painter’s final brushstroke across the sky.

I eat, I drink, I laugh. Some nights I dance. Other nights I simply observe. And by midnight, I’m home again. My mother always told me, “Nothing good happens after midnight,” and somehow that little proverb stuck.

By 12:30, I’m curled up on the couch, watching a movie or reading something that stretches my soul.

Do I feel lonely? Yes. Of course. But it’s a sweet kind of loneliness—a silence that has taught me how to love myself more deeply.

I no longer wait for a lover to bring me flowers. I buy them myself.
I no longer wait for words of affirmation. I speak to them in my own reflection.
I no longer ask anyone to see me. I see myself—and I am no longer afraid of what I see.

This is not self-absorption. It is self-respect.
Loving yourself is not selfish—it’s survival.

Solitude is where I recharge. It’s where I write, think, create, and rebuild. I’m no longer the person who waits to be chosen. I am the person who chooses.

I’ve come to believe that everything is ephemeral—love, happiness, even life itself. And that’s what makes it precious.

Moments are fleeting. Feelings come and go. People arrive and leave. But when you understand that nothing lasts forever, you begin to savor everything more deeply.

You hold someone’s hand with more presence.
You laugh with more gratitude.
You cry with less shame.
You live with more urgency and grace.

I’ve stopped trying to make everything permanent. I’ve started showing up fully—for whatever this is.

My Fence, My Freedom

That fence I mentioned—it’s not just emotional. It’s spiritual. It’s the boundary between my peace and the world’s chaos.

The world outside can be greedy, cold, loud, and unpredictable. But inside my fence, I choose what energy enters. I decide who gets access. I give my heart slowly now—if at all.

But within these walls, I have discovered something sacred.

Freedom.

The kind of freedom that isn’t loud or public. The kind that doesn’t ask for applause. The kind that wakes up early, walks through the market, works hard, loves quietly, and sleeps peacefully.

This, I’ve learned, is enough.

Living for Me

I am not waiting anymore.

Not for love.
Not for success.
Not for someone to tell me I’m enough.

I already am.

My life is not perfect. But it is mine. And in the sacred sanctuary of solitude, I have found the rarest thing of all—myself.

So if you ever feel like the world is too much, too fast, or too loud—build your own fence. Brew your coffee. Take a walk. Start something for yourself.
And know this:

There is beauty in being alone.
There is strength in stillness.
There is love in solitude.

And maybe, just maybe, the freedom you’ve been searching for is already within you—waiting to be noticed.

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By Mackenzie Lodimus
Founder of Caribbean Quest Travel, Writer, Explorer, Solitude Enthusiast