I've always been comfortable with solitude. Even as a child I was happy to play all by myself. I remember getting up early - at about 6am - during school holidays so that I could play outside while the day was still fresh and shiny. I had friends in the neighbourhood and often played with them but being alone suited me just fine too.

Now, at 37, I'm still comfortable with my solitary state. Sometimes I wonder if it's normal to feel this way. Just last night, as I switched off the light and plumped up my pillows, I suddenly wondered why being alone in my bed made me feel so at peace.

I think the answer lies in this - it is only when I am alone that I am truly me. With everyone else I play a role, that of the employee, sister, daughter, aunt, friend, lover. That doesn't mean I am insincere. What it means is that I automatically evaluate everything I say and do, in case my (re)actions are not appropriate. When I'm alone I don't need to do that. The only person whose company I can handle any time is my best friend's. She gets what I mean about playing roles.

Being alone recharges my mental, emotional and spiritual batteries. A sense of contentment settles into my very core. I take pleasure in small things like having a cup of tea in bed while I read, without having to worry about anyone else.

A few people have told me they couldn't stand coming home to an empty house every day. I'm just the opposite - I like the silence and the emptiness. Sometimes I don't even switch on the radio or television.

Of course, there are times when I'm lonely. Winters are the hardest. The "Cape Doctor" (the South Easterly wind) rages through the city and sometimes my building trembles from the force of that wind. The howling of the wind unnerves me. There are times when I feel like I'm the only person in my neighbourhood - just me and the wind.

Occasionally I think of how nice it would be to watch a movie with someone special, or go out for a drink. I was supposed to have that with him, The Beast, but I rarely did. We didn't go to the movies because he said he didn't like the cinema and we rarely ate out because of money troubles. In any case, it's hard to use that relationship as an example of anything healthy.

Being alone feels right, it feels comfortable and comforting. I never really believed I would get married and as I get older, marriage seems less and less likely.

Being single is easier to deal with than being childless. I get so broody. There are times my body aches with the longing to hold my own child. I look longingly at pregnant women. Seeing a baby makes me melt inside. I adore my nieces and nephews and I admit to having favourites, those who effortlessly tug at my heartstrings. I like being with them. It's no real effort to listen to them chatter about anything and everything and it feels like the most natural thing in the world to cuddle them and tell them I love them - something I rarely do with adults. My nieces tell me I would make a wonderful mother.

So why don't I have a child? Many reasons. I doubt that I can fall pregnant. I haven't been in a steady relationship where we both wanted children. I couldn't afford to have children. I worry the effect my depression might have on my ability to take care of a child. I worry that I will not be able to cope with the responsibility. I worry that the loss of solitude and independence will affect me more than I can handle. I worry that I will be an inadequate mother. I worry that my need for solitude will disadvantage my child.

I seesaw between being grateful for the freedom my childless state affords me and wanting, longing, to have a little one call me "mommy".

For now I'll satisfy myself with spoiling my nieces, including my honourary nieces - my best friend's daughter and my grown-up niece's two step-daughters. I'll get to know my brand new nephew, the happiest, most charming baby on the planet. Maybe that will be enough to satisfy my maternal instincts.