6 Surprising Things Living Alone in Paris has Taught Me About Myself

In 2016, I did everything in my power to avoid the deafening silence of my apartment. I was begrudgingly single, navigating heartbreak horribly, and not being very kind to myself. (More details about that in my book.)

Suffice it to say, I hated the stage of life I was in and tried doing everything in my power to change my circumstances at the time. Meaning replace my old roommate (ex-husband) with anyone who would distract me from the pain. 

Paris remained beautiful, as she always does, even when you’re in the trenches of life. A part of me knew how lucky I was to be starting over in such a place. But I didn’t want to start over. I wanted the picture-perfect life I had imagined. Life, of course, had other plans. 

Over time, as I got used to the quiet, I started hearing myself more clearly. I listened to my body,  my thoughts, my intuition. And slowly, I came back to life. Here are six things I didn’t expect to learn but am so happy I did.

1. I actually love my own company.

I used to equate solitude with sadness. A Friday night at home alone meant I was a loser without any friends. But back in 2016, forced by the consequences of overindulging (also in my book), I had no choice but to stop running from myself. I had to start caring for me, not in a conceited or performative way, but in a “I see you, and I love you” kinda way.  

I did nice things for myself that made me happy.  I leaned into selfishness that isn’t possible when you’re partnered (or at least not in the kind of partnership I want). And that led to radical self-acceptance and realizing that I am truly that girl.  I started lighting candles just for me. I’d make a little apéro platter, pour a glass of red, and sit by the window in my red chair. During those moments of treating myself and listening to myself, I made myself feel seen and cherished.

In those moments, I learned that being alone doesn’t mean being lonely. I was funny. I was kind. I was there for myself. I wasn’t waiting for anything or anyone. I was just… there. And it felt good.

2. I’m more resilient than I ever gave myself credit for.

Navigating French bureaucracy, French neighbors, French men, French customer service, French anything will leave you with many life lessons, mainly patience is key and the power of not taking no for an answer the first three times, but also how to stand up for yourself and be confident in your desires and needs in a language you’re fumbling through. 

When I could no longer rely on my own personal Emmanuel Macron (aka, my ex-husband), I was surprised by how much I could handle solo. It felt like a small win when I was understood the first time I expressed myself. A triumph when people stopped correcting my French. 

For me, living alone isn’t just about independence; I can be independent wherever I am.  But not having any of the familiar comforts of home and culture, and bumbling through anyway, confirmed that I can fall apart a little, regroup, and keep going. No one person or location is going to fix your life for you. But you can, if you just keep going. 

3. I don’t need a partner to live a full, romantic life.

It’s easy to romanticize the everyday when you live in a stunning city like Paris. Sometimes it’s like living in a movie.  My walk to the boulangerie regularly includes passing a café with Parisians sitting outside smoking cigarettes, drinking red wine, having intense conversations, looking so cool with their non-coiffée hair. 

And while those ‘pinch-me’ moments are always nice and welcome, it was actually embracing the fact that I have a second chance at designing the life I want and not being scared of it is when everything started to shit. I had a second chance to make things right (for me), a second chance at love, and, the most precious gift, getting to know myself as an adult and grow into my womanhood without any influence or distractions. 

I started cooking for myself like I was someone worth impressing. Not quick meals devoured over the countertop, but real dinners. Table set. Jazz on. Dessert, too. I became both the cook and the date, and that felt (and still is) so satisfying. 

I also realized that romance doesn’t only come in the form of romantic partners; my friendships are some of the most love-filled relationships in my life. At my lowest, my friends displayed, and continue to show, an abundance of tenderness and generosity. They leave voice notes just to say ‘hey girl’, and check in to see how I’m doing. They invite me into their homes when I need comfort. And they always celebrate my wins like they’re their own. Over the years, they’ve consistently shown me love in a thousand small, beautiful ways.

Even without a partner, the truth is, I have love all around me. I give it to myself, and I receive it from the people in my life. And for that, I’m forever grateful and indebted.

4. I’m more okay with uncertainty than I ever thought I’d be.

I was always someone with a plan and thrived on taking calculated risks. I gave myself just enough wiggle room to be creative and explore my interests, but I always had a safety net to rely on just in case. One of my favorite jokes was that I’m totally fine with going with the flow as long as I know exactly where the flow is going. That version of me found comfort in predictability and the illusion of control.

But these past few years have been anything but predictable. Life unraveled in ways I didn’t expect, and everything I thought was certain—my marriage, my future, my career, even my sense of self—evaporated. I was left with two choices: fight it or surrender.

I chose to surrender.

Not gracefully, not at first. It was hard and felt demoralizing. I had to let go of timelines, of outcomes, of ideas of success that I once clung to in search of happiness and peace. I had to be vulnerable in ways that were raw and uncomfortable. But in that discomfort, I found what I was looking for, but in all the wrong places. I found freedom. Letting go of needing to know what’s next opened up space for trust in myself, in my creativity, in my instincts.  I stopped gripping so tightly to the idea of how things should be and started staying present with how things are.

Although this is something I’m still working on (and probably always will be), I feel different within myself. On the surface, my life may not look wildly different from a few years ago, but internally, things are very different. I feel a profound sense of acceptance and peace that I’ve woven into a practice of generosity and gratitude. For this experience. For the opportunity to live in Paris. For the privilege of designing a life that actually resembles who I am.

I try to live every day doing good for others and myself. That’s all I can really control. Everything else is a bonus.

5. I carried more cultural conditioning than I realized.

I didn’t realize how deeply I’d internalized certain American ideas about productivity, success, and “having it all.”  In New York, I was a lunatic. Really. I was usually at the gym by 6 am, before putting in a full day at work.  I was always producing, always doing.

Here, I watch people linger. I also linger. I sit at a cafe for hours without being asked to leave. People here don’t apologize for resting. Now, dinner lasts a minimum of 4 hours. I regularly tell my Dinner for One Supper Clubs guests that they need to be ready to lock in for an hours-long affair with no agenda other than enjoying each other's company. 

Before Paris, a lot of my self-worth was tied to how much I got done in a day. Now, almost 12 years into this wild ride, I feel more myself when I’m sitting, eating, talking, being.

6. I don’t need to be “fixed”.

There’s a certain narrative arc people expect from a woman after heartbreak: she falls back in love, usually with an EVEN BETTER man, THE REAL LOVE OF HER LIFE, and everything makes sense. 

But that wasn’t my story.

My story was that I found me. I found peace. I’m not perfectly healed, I’m just whole: flawed, honest, and growing. I’m also not desperately seeking. Just me, in my apartment, learning to trust myself again. I can’t stop people from trying to come into my life, but I don’t have to invite them in. That doesn’t mean I am anti-romance, au contraire.  I still believe in love, deeply. But I no longer believe I have to be “fixed” to be worthy of it. And when love does come again, I’ll know I didn’t wait for it to complete me. I welcomed it and made room for it in a life that was already full.

Living in Paris isn’t a fairytale. I still have to pay taxes, deal with the ups and downs of life, and ride out my moods.  But this opportunity, this chance, to figure things out alone has given me the stillness to hear myself, the space to come back to myself, and the courage to create a life on my own terms. And honestly, that’s more romantic than anything I could’ve hoped for.