Luxury Hermiting

There’s a kind of solitude that isn’t about escaping the world — it’s about returning to yourself.

I call it luxury hermiting.

I first heard the phrase luxury hermiting from Raecine of Owlmoon513, a creator whose dark feminine wisdom and poetic depth have quietly inspired me for some time now. Her words planted a seed — and the ritual became my own.

It’s the quiet morning with my favorite book, read slowly while steeping in a scent I chose not for the room but for the mood. It’s the ritual of preparing tea in silence, the way my hands move without hurry. It’s choosing to be alone not because the world has pushed me there, but because I want to feel myself, uninterrupted.

I light candles with intention. I pull cards not to ask questions, but to be in conversation. I soak in a sauna infused with sacred oils — sandalwood, rose, vetiver — each drop turning steam into a prayer. I stretch across my bed as if it were a temple floor. I perfume the hem of my robe with something only I will smell. I choose lingerie under my pajamas that no one will see. And I don’t rush to be witnessed. I don’t need to.

Luxury hermiting is not about hiding. It’s about reclaiming.

It’s giving yourself presence the way you would offer it to a beloved. It’s saying: this is a life worth tending to. And the soul that lives it? She deserves beauty.

I speak to my guides without speaking. I let the moonlight fall across the floor like an altar cloth. I write little notes to myself and tuck them into my pillowcase. I anoint my pulse points not for the outside world, but to remind myself: I am sacred. I am whole. I am enough.

For me, this practice isn’t occasional. It’s essential. I anchor my days with these moments. Not to make them ‘productive’. But to make them true. To make them mine.

If you’ve been craving quiet, but don’t want to disappear — what if you allowed yourself to indulge in it instead?

What if solitude wasn’t a symptom?
What if it was the salve?

What if you made a ritual of your aloneness?

Because you deserve to be your own sanctuary.

And sometimes, the most powerful thing you can do for your energy is not to share it at all — but to wrap it around you, like silk, like prayer, like home.