If you can do these 7 things alone, psychology says you’re mentally stronger than most

We don’t talk enough about what you can do on your own.

Not to prove you don’t need people—but to build the kind of inner steadiness that makes every relationship, job, and goal easier. Solitude is a skill. When you practice it, your nervous system learns that you’re safe with yourself.

Your decisions sharpen. Your self-respect grows roots. And the next time life throws something wobbly at you, you don’t immediately reach for a distraction or a savior. You reach inward first.

If you’re wondering where your mental muscle actually shows up, look for it in the quiet places—those ordinary moments with no applause and no audience. That’s where strength is forged.

Let’s get specific. If you can do these seven things on your own, you’re further along than most people realize.

1. Make a significant decision without polling the crowd

Do you text five friends for “thoughts?” before you choose? Many of us crowdsource because we fear regret. I get it—I spent years as a financial analyst where the default was “more data, less risk.” The catch? Endless input can turn into avoidance disguised as diligence.

Strong minds build a simple process: clarify the criteria, feel the body’s yes/no (it often whispers first), make the call, and own the outcome. Try this: write the decision at the top of a page, list three must-haves and three nice-to-haves, and give yourself a 24-hour deadline. Then decide—without another opinion.

When you do this regularly, you teach your brain you can survive imperfect choices. That’s confidence, not recklessness. And ironically, people trust you more when you stop outsourcing your judgment.

The bonus? You’ll realize that most decisions aren’t permanent anyway. They’re experiments. And experiments always come with a next step if something doesn’t pan out.

2. Spend a day alone—and actually enjoy your own company

Here’s a quiet litmus test: can you spend an unstructured day by yourself without numbing out on your phone or planning every minute? Solitude isn’t punishment; it’s cross-training for your attention.

Start small: a solo breakfast, a long walk, a museum hour, then a phone-free afternoon doing one nourishing thing (read, sketch, weed the garden, tinker with a playlist).

If loneliness creeps in, name it. Loneliness says, “I want contact.” Solitude says, “I want space.” Both are human. When you choose solitude and fill it with things that refill you, you stop treating your own presence like a last-resort option.

I often get my best ideas on solo trail runs—the mental chatter thins, and what actually matters floats up. No performance. No audience. Just honest signal.

And here’s the bigger payoff: if you can feel grounded when you’re alone, you’ll stop clinging to relationships or social settings that drain you just to avoid silence.

3. Sit with difficult emotions without rushing to fix or numb

Most people try to outthink anxiety, outwork grief, or out-scroll boredom. Strength looks different: you pause, you listen, and you let the body help you metabolize what the mind can’t. Box breathing, a two-minute body scan, or journaling “I feel ___ because ___ and I need ___” are simple, powerful moves.

As Rudá Iandê writes in Laughing in the Face of Chaos—a book I’ve mentioned before and that genuinely nudged me to relate differently to discomfort—“You have both the right and responsibility to explore and try until you know yourself deeply.”

That line reframed emotions for me: not errors to troubleshoot, but messages to translate.

Try this tonight: set a timer for ten minutes, sit, notice where the strongest sensation lives, and breathe into that place. No fixing. Just befriending.

Psychologists call this “affect labeling”—naming what you feel. It lowers the amygdala’s reactivity and creates just enough space for clarity. Mental strength isn’t about silencing emotions. It’s about learning their language.

4. Hold a boundary when no one is there to applaud you

Boundary strength isn’t measured when someone is watching; it’s measured in the quiet “no” you text and then stick to. Turning down a weekend plan you don’t have capacity for, closing your laptop at the time you promised yourself, leaving a chat that’s drifted into gossip—those are reps.

A quick script helps: “I’m not available for that, but thanks for understanding.” If guilt pops up, remember guilt isn’t a compass; it’s a habit. Mentally strong people separate kindness from compliance. You can be warm and still be done.

Keep a “non-negotiables” list somewhere visible: sleep window, workout, therapy, slow morning, budget cutoff, whatever matters. Every time you protect something on that list, your self-trust ticks up. Over time, self-trust compounds like interest.

Think of it this way: if you can’t keep promises to yourself when no one’s looking, why would you expect others to keep theirs?

5. Do public things alone without shrinking (meal, movie, event, mini-trip)

Ever worried everyone’s noticing you dining solo? That’s the spotlight effect—our brain’s bias to overestimate how much people are watching us. The cure is exposure with compassion. Start with a coffee, then a lunch, then a concert or day trip. Wear headphones if it helps. Bring a book. Or don’t.

I once ducked into a farm-to-table pop-up after volunteering at the farmers’ market—no friend available, still went. The chef seated me at the counter; I chatted with the line cooks, savored each course, and left feeling oddly taller. Not because I proved anything to strangers—because I proved something to myself.

Tip: set a simple solo ritual (order the dish you actually want, take a photo for yourself, jot three sensory details). You’re training your nervous system that being seen alone is safe.

And the side benefit? You’ll find new doors open—conversations with strangers, spontaneous invites, or just deeper self-knowledge—when you aren’t hiding behind the comfort of company.

6. Take a small risk without waiting to feel fearless first

Courage isn’t a mood; it’s a sequence: notice fear, name it, right-size it, act alongside it. Waiting to “feel ready” is how months disappear. Mentally strong people design tiny, reversible experiments: ask a question in the meeting, raise your prices by 5%, post the thread, pitch the podcast, sign up for the open mic.

Use a 1–10 fear scale. Anything under a 7? It’s an action item. Over a 7? Break it into smaller parts until it drops. Then move.

When fear flares (it will), thank it for trying to keep you safe, then get on with your plan. You’re not eliminating fear; you’re building tolerance. That tolerance makes your world larger—one micro-risk at a time.

Research backs this up: exposure therapy works by gradually facing fears in tolerable doses. The same principle applies to everyday life. Fear shrinks when you stop treating it like a stop sign and start treating it like a speed bump.

7. Keep a promise to yourself every day for 30 days

Not big, not flashy—just something that requires consistency: write 200 words, stretch for ten minutes, track your spending, study one page, walk after lunch. Pick one. Same time, same trigger (after coffee, at 8 p.m., post-run). Put a month’s worth of boxes on paper and cross them off.

Two rules: (1) Never miss twice. (2) If you miss, shrink the task for the next day (200 → 50 words). Consistency builds identity, and identity drives behavior. After a month, you won’t just believe you can rely on yourself—you’ll have receipts.

For me, this practice started when I left finance to write. I promised myself 45 minutes at the keyboard before opening email. No fanfare. Just the daily vote for who I wanted to become.

Psychologists call this “self-efficacy”—your belief in your ability to influence outcomes. And it grows through repeated proof. Every checkmark on your list is another brick in the foundation of mental strength.

Final thoughts

Here’s the throughline: mental strength isn’t loud. It’s a series of private choices—some boring, some brave—that slowly rewire how you relate to yourself.

You decide without polling, you relish your own company, you metabolize emotions, you protect your energy, you show up solo, you take small risks, and you keep your word when no one’s grading you.

If you want a companion for this kind of inner work, Rudá Iandê’s Laughing in the Face of Chaos inspired me to treat solitude as a laboratory, not a punishment. The book doesn’t hand you a script; it nudges you back to your own authority.

Start with one practice from this list today. Then another tomorrow. Quietly, you’ll realize you’re already stronger than you thought—because you’ve been practicing in the moments that count.