Until I started college, I hated the idea of prolonged solitude. It was never appealing, probably because my high school-ed perception confused being alone with being lonely — and who wants to look like a 17-year-old loner? The most alone I could get was sitting in my bedroom, door closed, reading for hours. Even then, there was a world beyond my own that I was falling into, another reality that surrounded me with remarkable characters and narratives. Or when I graduated high school and had weekday mornings to myself for one month, and had the luxury of sleeping in, catching up on television and really doing whatever I pleased without guilt.

On moving into school, I made it my duty to find friends and see them as often as possible. As a quiet, unassuming freshman, I didn't have the "guts" to sit in the dining hall alone. It was hard to separate the judgment in high schoolers' eyes from the oversight of college students.

Until I came to find students alone at the dining hall, reading in the Boston Common, taking coffee in the corner of a cafe, going off to take fitness classes. And in the off chance I couldn't find someone to get lunch with, I would take class assignments along and, quickly, stopped worrying about others' perceptions of me. It became something I desired every so often — relished time to focus on me. Time for nothing but my own thoughts, a movie night in, an afternoon walking through the gardens with a notebook.

I struggled with aloneness because I wanted, so badly, to be accepted. If I was spending too much time by myself (which, in my mind, equated to three hours), I wouldn't create meaningful relationships with anybody. The establishment of myself was priority number one — and if I wasn't maintaining said friendships, then I feared they would slip from my grasp as easily as they had in the previous chapter of life.

It was letting go of that worry that I came to find a great love for taking time to myself. It is important to remember that you are loved, you are important and you need to be with yourself from time to time. We are complex beings who, through experiences with people, places and things, uncover the great mystery that each of us is. I knew the young woman in the capacity of family, friends, school, dance, words: but missing was the person I am when I am just with me. I've gained some thoughtful insights into that person who needs a recharge, one that can only be found within.

While abroad in the fall of 2015, I took a solo trip to Dingle, a seaside village on the southwestern coast of Ireland. It was an experience I wanted, and one that became terrifying as the weekend came closer. But what I took away was the ability to travel in foreign places guided only by my instinct and my research. I planned a removed three days that will always be some of the most beautiful days of that semester and of my college experience. The girl who once balked at the idea of sitting at her local Dunkin' Donuts alone for a treat had found herself biking along the 25-mile peninsula, and grabbing dinner at a restaurant lively with couples and families with just herself for company. And she couldn't have appreciated that time any more.

I love the time I spend with loved ones more than anything in this world, but I have learned that I need to recharge every so often and do something for me. Alone time is accepted selfish time, to be with yourself and peel away the layers that make you, you. And it is the only way you will ever get to fully know yourself.