If you’re spending a lot of time alone, does that mean you’re a loner? Probably not. “Loner” is not a tightly defined word, but most people use it to mean not needing others. You’re alone because you’re so self-sufficient that other people aren’t on your emotional map.

But most of us do need other people – though to varying degrees. If you’re an introvert, a small social circle can meet your needs; if you’re highly sensitive, there might be a limit to the number of people and excursions you can handle.

Thanks to work done by writers such as Susan Cain and Elaine Aron, we no longer see introversion or high sensitivity as maladaptive states. If you don’t have a huge number of contacts but feel socially connected, you’re not a loner – you’re just a happy person who’s found the right balance between solitude and togetherness.

But what if your aloneness doesn’t feel like solitude? If you’re spending a lot of time alone, are you lonely? Lonerdom and loneliness are mutually exclusive states: real loners don’t need others, but loneliness is a signal that you need much more togetherness. The UCLA Loneliness Scale is a standard way of assessing loneliness, and taking this quiz is probably a good idea, since loneliness can cue aloneness.

That’s right – feeling alone can make you want to be alone – a key thing to note if you’re googling the word “loner”. Your sense of not wanting others around might flow from a sense of already being too alone. Think of it this way: you’re alone in a field and see a group of strangers walking towards you. If you’re like most people, your first instinct will be to retreat, not advance.

When 9/11 struck, ‘I remember lying on the floor that night and listening to the CBC – the station broadcasting from a thousand miles south – knowing I never wanted to be that alone ever again.’ Photograph: Alex Fuchs/AFP

Loneliness recreates this alone-in-a-field dynamic inside your head. If you see others as risky instead of safe, you might be reluctant to answer the phone, join a dating site or even socialise with people you already know. And if it’s loneliness that’s driving your need to be alone, you should tackle it, since it is a state that is said to be causally related to everything from dementia to high blood pressure or early death. (A good way to overcome the loneliness-needs-aloneness paradox is to start doing low-key activities – such as volunteering with a community garden – that allow you to rebuild your sense of trust without feeling too exposed.)

But what if you’ve taken the UCLA Loneliness Scale and you’re not lonely? If we intuitively and innately need others, why are you spending so much time by yourself? It might be because you’re trying to become someone new. When I made the decision to quit practising law in order to write, I had to ditch a big part of my social circle since being surrounded by lawyers was making me second-guess myself every day. Clearing out those career-based social ties gave me the emotional room I needed to become the person I wanted to be.

If you find yourself needing time away from your social ties, it might mean that you’re entering a new phase of your life – maybe coming out, or switching careers, or choosing to remain child-free as those around you start families. You might be at a point in your life where you just want more space. You might be young and craving adventure in the Arctic or some other far-flung place. That’s fine, but be aware that your need for others will kick back in at some point time, and when it does, it’s best to have people to turn to.

Real solitude is a high-risk activity. It can turn into social isolation in a blink. I actually did live in the Arctic when I was 30, and I loved it. The hiking! The tundra! The views! But then 9/11 struck, and I found myself alone. I had work acquaintances but no real friends, and I was living in a borrowed flat with no phone. I remember lying on the floor that night and listening to the CBC – the station broadcasting from a thousand miles south – knowing I never wanted to be that alone ever again.

Finally, the amount of time you’re spending alone might have nothing to do with you. We’re all spending more time alone. Loneliness rates are on the rise, and research shows that we know fewer people than our age-matched counterparts did 30 years ago. The reasons behind the rise in aloneness aren’t clear, but they likely involve the rise of precarious work, the loss of “third places” (such as neighbourhood pubs), and the closure or de-funding of public spaces like parks or libraries. In other words, you might be thinking that you’re a “loner,” when in fact everyone around you is pretty alone too.

Maybe the biggest problem with the word “loner” is that it’s an oversimplification. It says nothing about why we might want to be alone for a while, or why we might find ourselves alone despite wanting company. And “loner” sounds so permanent – it’s like someone describing their eye colour. But our social needs and circumstances are more like the weather – they change all the time.

The fact that you want to be alone today says nothing about how you’ll feel 10 years from now or even how you felt last month. You’re doing yourself a disservice in trying to label your needs as one thing and not another. It’s more interesting to think of all the different ways your social needs will make themselves known – through loneliness, happiness, isolation and longing – than to try to reduce them to a single state. Your social needs, after all, are social. You might call yourself a “loner,” only to have someone else down the road call you a lover, a partner, a friend.