I read the story and – dare I say it – I was jealous. In 2022, amid a lingering pandemic, a war and a toppling environmental crisis, at times I feel an all-consuming desire to opt out of society – and, it turns out, I’m not alone.

It’s something my husband frequently teases me about if I begin talking in broad strokes about widening my social circle. “But you hate other people,” he reminds me.

He’s right, I do. Unconsciously, since lockdown I’ve all but purged my life of flimsy acquaintances, shit parties, uncomfortable social situations and the long-obeyed diktats that we couldn’t possibly get out of so-and-so’s baby-naming ceremony or yet another family gathering. Why can’t you? A social invitation isn’t obligatory; an RSVP isn’t a blood oath. Better yet: why don’t you politely decline in the first place? As Kim Cattrall recently taught us, ‘no, thank you’ is a worthy full sentence.

My friend, who is an emphatically charming gay man, says the problem with socialising in 2022 is that it’s loaded with a kind of pre-emptive regret. “I’ve noticed that I make plans with the best of intentions but pretty soon after saying yes, the excitement dissolves into ’Oh, god, what did I do that for?’” he says.

He’s not alone. For many of us, lockdown highlighted just how content we are to spend time by ourselves. I think of the texts pinging into my WhatsApp group. In my circle of friends we normalise talk of social anxiety, delight in cancelled plans and exchange comedic memes about never leaving the house: are we all hermits in the making?

We enjoy alone time more than we used to

It’s not so much that Covid has normalised being antisocial – rather, Covid has normalised checking out of social obligations sans guilt. Nowadays, my free time operates on a quid pro quo basis. For every social event I attend, I require at least a day or two of me-time as balance. Time for my introvert self to rest and, optimally, to do a facemask and watch reruns of Sex And The City on my phone as I scrub the bathroom tiles (my idea of bliss).

“Living alone in lockdown, I really enjoyed trying new things like learning how to garden, cooking a new recipe or listening to a podcast about a topic I wasn’t familiar with: something I wouldn’t have done if I hadn’t been forced to spend time by myself,” Laura, a 40-year-old stylist and ambivert, says. “After a while, I realised that putting time into myself was broadening my intellect and making me feel more grounded.”

Before, female hermits were seen as social pariahs or – whisper it – spinsters; people to be pitied by society. That’s flipped, according to Laura, who, even though the world has reopened, clings to solitary time as it makes her feel empowered to be so self-sufficient. “Investing in myself has benefited me in social settings, too. I feel more secure and I don’t have FOMO if I don’t go to something either,” she says.

Did the pandemic turn you into an unapologetic hermit? You’re not alone