When Being Alone Became Freedom: A Conversation About Learning to Love Your Own Company ft. Author Sonali Sharma

An intimate conversation with the author of “And suddenly a table for one is not scary anymore” about vulnerability, self-discovery, and the quiet revolution of choosing yourself.

There’s something achingly honest about a title that doesn’t try to dress up the fear. “and suddenly a table for one is not scary anymore” doesn’t promise you’ll love solitude from page one.

It doesn’t sell you independence wrapped in a neat bow. Instead, it offers something rarer: the truth that transformation happens in the middle of the mess, not after it’s cleaned up.

This book is a love letter to anyone who has ever felt the weight of an empty chair across from them, who has scrolled through their phone at a restaurant to avoid looking lonely, who has measured their worth by how full their social calendar is. It’s for those learning that the opposite of loneliness isn’t always togetherness- sometimes it’s coming home to yourself.

We sat down with the author to talk about the journey behind the book, the vulnerability required to write it, and what it really means when a table for one stops feeling like a punishment and starts feeling like peace.

Tell us a little about yourself as an author. How have your personal experiences, emotional journey, and life learnings shaped your voice and perspective as a writer?

I don’t think I became a writer because I had it all figured out. I became one because I was trying to survive the not-figuring-it-out. Writing was never about having answers; it was about creating a space where questions could breathe, where confusion could exist without needing immediate resolution.

My voice as a writer has been shaped by years of feeling things deeply and then apologizing for it. Years of being told I was “too sensitive,” “too emotional,” “too much.”

So when I write, I write for the part of me that needed permission to feel everything without shrinking. I write for the younger version of myself who thought being alone meant being unwanted.

My life learnings haven’t been linear or neat. They’ve been messy, contradictory, sometimes backwards. I’ve learned things, forgotten them, had to relearn them in different contexts.

And that’s exactly what shows up in my writing—the reality that growth isn’t a straight line. It’s a spiral where you keep meeting yourself at different altitudes.

What inspired you to write “and suddenly a table for one is not scary anymore”? Was there a defining moment, phase, or realization in your life that led to this book?

There wasn’t one single moment—it was more like a thousand small moments that accumulated into an undeniable truth I could no longer ignore.

But if I had to point to something specific, it was the moment I went to a restaurant alone for the first time without my phone as a security blanket. I sat there, at a table for one, and instead of the crushing loneliness I expected, I felt… calm. Present. Like I was enough company for myself.

That terrified me almost as much as the loneliness used to. Because if I could be okay alone, what did that mean about all the years I’d spent running from it? All the relationships I’d stayed in too long? All the plans I’d made just to avoid an empty evening?

This book came from that discomfort—the space between who I thought I needed to be and who I was becoming. It came from watching myself transform and wanting to document it, not as a finished product, but as it was happening. Raw. Uncertain. Real.

Can you briefly tell us about the book and its emotional core? What themes does it explore, and what do you hope readers feel or understand by the time they reach the last page?

At its heart, this book is about the journey from fearing your own company to finding freedom in it. It’s about unlearning the idea that your worth is measured by how needed you are, how busy your life looks, how rarely you’re alone.

The book explores themes of solitude versus loneliness, self-worth independent of external validation, the courage it takes to choose yourself, and the quiet rebellion of being okay when the world expects you to be seeking more, doing more, being more connected.

It’s also deeply about grief—grieving the versions of yourself you had to let go of, the relationships that didn’t survive your growth, the life you thought you’d have by now. There’s a mourning process in learning to be alone that nobody talks about.

By the last page, I hope readers feel seen in their struggles and empowered in their solitude. I hope they understand that choosing yourself isn’t selfish—it’s survival. And I hope they feel permission to sit at their own table for one without apologizing, without explaining, without pretending it’s temporary until something “better” comes along.

Vulnerability is a strong thread in your work. Why do you believe embracing emotional honesty and sitting with discomfort is important in today’s world?

Because we’re drowning in a culture of performance. We curate our lives for consumption, filter our emotions for palatability, and measure our experiences by how they’ll translate on a screen. In all of that, we’ve lost the ability to just… be. To feel things that don’t have captions. To sit in discomfort without immediately trying to fix it, distract from it, or optimize it into a growth opportunity.

Emotional honesty is radical because it refuses to participate in that performance. It says, “This is messy and I’m not going to clean it up for your comfort.” It creates space for others to do the same.

And sitting with discomfort? That’s where all real transformation happens. Not in the breakthrough moments we post about, but in the quiet, uncomfortable in-between where you’re no longer who you were but not yet who you’re becoming. That space is excruciating. It’s also sacred.

In a world that constantly sells us quick fixes and five-step solutions, choosing to sit with complexity, to honor your pain instead of rushing past it, to admit you don’t have it figured out- that’s revolutionary.

The title itself suggests growth and self-acceptance. What does “a table for one” symbolize for you, and how does it reflect the larger message of the book?

A table for one is every moment you’ve ever been forced to face yourself without distraction. It’s the restaurant dinner, yes, but it’s also the Friday night at home when everyone else seems to have plans. It’s the vacation you take alone. It’s the decision you make without consensus. It’s the life you build that doesn’t fit anyone’s expectations.

For so long, a table for one felt like evidence of failure. Like I should be embarrassed. Like I needed to explain why I was alone, justify it, frame it as temporary. “Just waiting for someone.” “My friend is running late.” “I prefer it this way.” Always defending, never just being.

But the book’s message is that a table for one can be a choice, not a consequence. It can be freedom, not isolation. It can be the place where you finally stop performing and start existing. Where you don’t need to be interesting or impressive or effortlessly put-together. Where you can just eat your meal, think your thoughts, and take up space without apology.

The transformation from scary to not-scary isn’t about the table changing. It’s about you changing. About realizing you’re not waiting for someone to complete the scene- you are the scene, complete as you are.

What were some emotional or creative challenges you faced while writing this book, and what did the process teach you about yourself?

The biggest challenge was writing about transformation while still being in it. I kept wanting to wait until I had it all figured out, until I could write from a place of having “arrived.” But that moment never came. I’m still learning. Still growing. Still sometimes scared of tables for one.

So I had to make peace with writing from the middle. With being honest about the days when I backslide, when I feel lonely instead of peacefully alone, when I question if I’m really growing or just convincing myself I am.

Creatively, the challenge was resisting the urge to tie everything up neatly. To give readers the happy ending they might expect. Life isn’t like that. Growth isn’t like that. Some chapters of this book don’t have resolution, and that felt risky. But it also felt true.

The process taught me that I’m braver than I thought. That I can hold space for my own contradictions. That I don’t need to have all the answers to share the questions. And that sometimes the most powerful thing you can offer someone is not inspiration or instruction, but companionship in the struggle.

If a reader takes away just one lesson from “and suddenly a table for one is not scary anymore”, what would you want that lesson to be?

That your relationship with yourself is the foundation for every other relationship in your life- and it deserves the same attention, care, and intentionality you give to others.

You will spend your entire life in your own company. Every moment, every decision, every quiet evening. You can’t escape yourself. So you might as well learn to enjoy the company.

Being alone doesn’t mean you’re lonely, unwanted, or insufficient. Sometimes it means you’re finally secure enough to not need constant external validation. Sometimes it means you’re protecting your peace. Sometimes it just means you’re having dinner.

And that’s not scary. That’s freedom.

There’s a particular kind of courage required to write a book about being alone when the world is obsessed with connection. To say, “actually, I’m learning to be enough for myself” when everyone’s selling you partnerships, communities, networks, teams.

But maybe that’s exactly why this book matters. Because in all the noise about finding yourself through others, someone needs to whisper: you’ve been here all along. You just needed to sit down at your own table long enough to notice.

“and suddenly a table for one is not scary anymore” isn’t a manual for isolation. It’s an invitation to come home to yourself. To discover that the most important relationship you’ll ever have is the one you have with the person in the mirror. And that learning to love that person- flaws, fears, contradictions and all, might be the bravest thing you ever do.

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