I love people. But then, I just need everyone to sod off. In the nicest possible way. Please.
So, I’ve invented a new definition for the word:
De-people. What you need to do after you’ve had too much of… well, people.
I genuinely find people fascinating, from their stories, their experiences, their life lessons, their memories etc. I could talk to a stranger for hours and then say goodbye now knowing their mother’s family history and what happened on their holiday to Morocco with an ex-boyfriend in 1994.
You see, people are exhausting. Not all of them. I have some incredible, wonderful friends and family who are precious to me and I meet amazing strangers from supermarket cashiers to random people on the street. But, some people just have the emotional intelligence of a Tesco trolley with a wonky wheel. Some attract drama like a Desperate Beverley Hills Housewife. Some are just fickle and fake.
And then there are the ones where, when you’ve finished talking to them you’re thinking: I need to lie in a dark room asap.
My brain goes:
“Cue shutdown. Terminate all access points.”
So I De-People.
I’m not upset or angry. I haven’t suddenly decided I prefer trees to humans. Although… no. That’s another article.
I just reach my limit.
So how do I De-People? Well, it’s not that glamorous.
Pyjamas, mainly. Biscuits, many, obviously. A film, a book, a long hot bubble bath with candles and a bit of meditation if I’m feeling my spiritual woowoo come on. Sometimes I clean the hob. Not a euphemism. Sometimes I DIY then announce, “pffft, so the picture’s a bit wonky!” and then leave it like that for five years. And then perhaps some online shopping, because even when I’ve retreated, I still really need more shoes!
How I don’t De-People is on a £475 Spiritual Retreat in the Cotswolds, sipping flowery water and journalling by a scenic, tinkling river with some floating lager cans bobbing about.
Although I love a Spiritual Retreat. Message me with offers.
No, I just need to be at home to Sit and Sigh. That’s my technical term.
And here’s the weird bit. I can have an amazing night out, laughing, dancing, meeting fascinating people, hearing brilliant stories but come home thinking, what a bloody brilliant night. Then, my internal De-People siren is flashing red:
“CEASE ALL HUMAN INTERACTION.”
I’m an empath. I listen, I commiserate, I howl with laughter, I get genuinely excited about their news. But then it stays with me. I worry about them, keep laughing about their story, feel inspired by their adventures and my soul has absorbed all their energy like water on a paper towel.
I can go from Hero to Zero in 12 hours.
As a child, I knew loneliness. I was different from other children, physically, so hospital was my safe place. When home life was frightening, or lonely, I’d go to my bedroom, change Sindy into her 14th outfit of the day and play my Muppet Show record.
Or, I’d pray my next hospital visit would come quickly so I could be away from home again.
But don’t confuse loneliness with being alone. They’re different.
Being lonely is wanting someone when there isn’t someone.
Being alone can be a choice.
This two-minute video with Melissa Hogenboom, a Science Journalist, explains why there’s a link between solitude and mental focus.
I feel heard!
Silence is exquisite.
We live in a world where we’re expected to be permanently available or constantly connected. Message, call, meet, like, share, comment, reply, engage, organise. It’s relentless!!
Sometimes I don’t want to reply. Sometimes I don’t want to engage. Sometimes I don’t even know what dinner is, as I stare at my empty fridge, wondering if there’s a recipe for four small potatoes, sauerkraut, Greek yoghurt, dark chocolate and 300 condiments.
And sometimes it’s great just people-watching from our window, while we sip coffee and shove biscuits into our face at record-breaking speed.
It’s okay.
Look, we can love people but still need a break from them. We can adore being surrounded by others but then crave a padded panic room afterwards. I can easily cavort around a great bar on Saturday night like Liza Minnelli at an awards ceremony but then want everyone to sod off by ten!
This is what we forget. Solitude doesn’t always equate to loneliness. Solitude is simply our reset after a day of thinking, talking, organising, and soaking up ‘noise’.
So, if you fantasise about a day when nobody needs you, talks to you, messages you with “Can I ask…?”, “Are you coming…?”, “Did you read…?”, “Did you organise…?”, “Have you done…”, you just need to De-People.
Sit and Sigh with ice cream in bed at midday. Wear one sock around the house and no bra. Ignore your phone. Stare at the raindrops on the window. Shave your face. (Menopausal sisters: if you know, you know…) Do absolutely bugger all. For YOU.
And if you need me?
I’m unavailable until the day after tomorrow.
I’m De-Peopling.
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