Why is it that one of the scariest sentences we can say is, “Table for one, please?”

What about the idea of dining out alone is so scary? Well, if we’re being honest, there are a lot of things.

Mainly, there’s the judgement of other people. A restaurant is a lot scarier than the comforts of your living room, where you can order your pizza or Thai right to your door and enjoy your party-of-one status in private. Just you and the new season of Orange is the New Black, the way God intended it.

One of my New Year’s resolution for 2016 was that I was going to start eating out by myself. It’s only July, so I’m only half a year late. (Or early, depending on how you chose to view it.)

I tried eating out solo three times to really get the full effect – no friends, no boyfriend, no causal calls to mom to check in on her day. Just me. By myself. Eating in a crowd of coupled-up people.

Here’s what I learned after those three times eating out all by my lonesome.

Day 1

I approached the sushi place near my apartment with what can only be described as dread. This had been my idea, hadn’t it? I was a strong, independent woman, wasn’t I?

Then why did I feel like I was about to pass out next to the complimentary valet service?

When I entered, the hostess hurried over and caught sight of me. I watched her face morph from pleasant to surprised to seemingly non-judgmental within a matter of milliseconds. Impressive.

“Just a table for one?” I asked, more boldly than I would have imagined.

I was lead awkwardly to the back corner of the restaurant, quite far from the first dining room, which was bumping with music and conversation. The back room, which only contained two twenty-somethings and a pair of older women, was significantly quieter. The hostess quickly took the second setting on my table, as if to spare me the sight of watching it happen, and then gave me the most uncomfortably apologetic smile I’ve ever seen.

After giving my drink and sushi order, my waitress (who was much more chill than the hostess) left me for a long stretch of time. This gave me a few minutes to really sink into the experience.

Two things were clear off the bat: both pairs of people in the room were looking at me shiftily. The older women, in particular, were giving me uncomfortable, maybe even sympathetic, side glances.

Maybe it was the wine, but I had never felt so blissfully in control of what I was doing. There was no rush, no one to accommodate to. Just me.

I was tense as a board. I tried to keep on a calm, composed face. I tried to look around and observe the room. But in the end, I found myself fiddling with my phone during every awkward moment, like any true Millennial would.

I checked Snapchat, took some notes, answered a text, checked Snapchat again – eventually, I had to force myself to put the security blanket of my phone away. That was harder than I thought.

It became easier when my food arrived. With my phone out of reach and no small talk to distract me, I found myself intensely focused on my food. And although I had gotten sushi from this restaurant at least a half a dozen times, my yellowtail never tasted so damn good. It was like I now had the ability to taste my food with enhanced intricacy.

So what did I do? I took my goddamn time. I took twenty minutes to savor that sushi roll, taking deep sips of wine in between and making sure to enjoy my ginger, too. And by the end, I felt absolutely fantastic.

Maybe it was the wine, but I had never felt so blissfully in control of what I was doing. There was no rush, no one to accommodate to. Just me.

And by the time I paid the bill, I ended up walking out of that restaurant feeling like I owned it rather than feeling like I was about to be chased out with pitchforks.

Day 2

My second go at it was at my lunch hour two days later. This time I went to a more bustling place, a rustic brick oven pizza joint about a half hour away from my apartment.

This time, I felt notably less nervous as I walked into the restaurant, presumably because my first try ended so well.

I was greeted by an empty hostess stand and no line, but at least half the restaurant was filled with groups of business people, chatting over pizza on their lunch hour. When the hostess returned, she looked confused by my presence.

“Can I help you?” She asked, looking politely concerned, like maybe I needed to use the phone to call a tow truck or something.

It took everything I had not to deadpan, “Yeah, I came for the food?”

Instead I smiled and said, “Could I get a table, please?”

This did not ease her confusion.

“Just you?” I nodded quickly and she took me farther into the restaurant, where at least a half dozen two-person tables were open among the already filled seats. She struggled for a while, looking around as if puzzled, and then finally said, “I don’t know…I guess you could always join me at the bar?”

I agreed and took my lone seat at the empty bar.

I had a chance to take in the dim lighting and rustic décor and observe the various business people on their lunch break.

By the time this grueling thirty seconds was over, I was shaking with nerves. That self-confidence I had walking in? Yeah, it had just taken a flying leap.

Trying to steady to my hands, I pulled out today’s secret weapon: a pad and pen. I kept my phone away and instead kept my notepad out, scribbling constant notes about my thoughts, feelings, and surroundings.

When I was torn away to order, I realized I was immersing myself too deeply – I had to take the same time I had at the sushi place to absorb the fact that I was alone. So I put my notepad down and relaxed.

At first, this was fine. Besides making awkward eye contact with the bartender (who ignored me the entire time), I had a chance to take in the dim lighting and rustic décor and observe the various business people on their lunch break.

I had fun imagining who they were and what they were talking about – until I spied a table of middle-aged businessmen staring at me. All six of them, eyeing me with amusement.

Mortified, I looked away quickly and went right back to scribbling.

Once my food arrived, I regained some of my confidence. I put my pad away and ate silently, taking the time to enjoy my food and observe the new patrons walking in.

Over all, besides a few embarrassing jolts, I was more relaxed as a whole. There was no need for wine and I felt confident and assured of myself 90% of the time. It might have been the atmosphere: music was blasting and TV’s were all over the bar area. I felt more camouflaged than I did in the quiet, more intimate sushi bar. The time of day probably contributed as well; other than the table of cocky-looking businessmen, most people probably assumed I was just taking a break from work, something many people do alone.

Well… no one in that restaurant was enjoying a lunch for one, but people do. Somewhere. I think.

Day 3

For the last round of my experiment, I wanted to go somewhere much more commercial. Somewhere that you really never see people eat out alone at. Not a casual lunch date or a seat at a bar, but a full-on dinner spot. For one.

I selected Buffalo Wild Wings… mostly because I was craving wings. But also because I knew it was a spot where you went with large parties, or at least to meet a friend for a drink.

As I walked by the restaurant window, I saw the dining room looked pretty full. Mainly with couples. But, somehow, I felt relatively fearless walking in. Despite the blow to my ego from the pizza place, I couldn’t help but notice that I was composed walking into what felt like oncoming traffic.

And maybe it was that casual confidence that made this final dinner alone so effortless.

I had walked in confidently, maybe because I was fully braced for what I thought I was about to experience. And I think, because of that, everyone just treated me normally.

When I walked in, I didn’t get a funny look or remark from the hostess. When I ordered, I didn’t get a waitress asking, “Just you?” sadly. And when I looked around, calmly sipping on my ice water, I didn’t get a second glance from any of the surrounding couples.

Miraculously, it felt alright to be alone here. This was shocking, considering the fact that I had pegged this restaurant as potentially the most judgmental of all.

Walking out a half hour later with my leftovers in a box and my pride fully intact, I had to wonder what had just happened to me.

Maybe that Buffalo Wild Wings location is just a kind place, free of judgement? Yeah, right.

While it was hard to fathom, it started becoming clear that the encounter was so easy because of… me. I had walked in confidently, maybe because I was fully braced for what I thought I was about to experience. And I think, because of that, everyone just treated me normally.

Like it was okay to be out by myself because I was clearly okay being out by myself.

That, I felt, was the perfect note on which to end my experiment.

The bottom line: people are going to perceive you the way you perceive yourself. If you walk into a sushi restaurant cowering, the patrons and servers are going to look at you with pity and confusion. But if you go anywhere with a “this is perfectly normal, get over it” attitude, well, people will feel like it’s totally normal and get over it.

I’m not saying you won’t get judgmental glances if you try this yourself, no matter how confident you go into it. People are going to judge and it’s going to be scary at times.

But in today’s world of connectedness, it’s important to shed the antisocial security blankets we cling to and take the time to reconnect with the one and only person whose opinion really matters: you.