This year, I decided to stop doing things I didn’t want to do—unless I was getting paid for them (yes, I even wrote about it). No more obligatory events, no more forcing myself to go to parties just to make an appearance, no more agreeing to activities I knew I’d hate (escape rooms, public speaking, sharing a room, bowling, big group trips—honestly, anything involving large crowds, cold weather, sports, or aimless pop-up gatherings… the list goes on).

I adjusted my social life, too. I stopped reaching out to people who didn’t put in effort or who didn’t really understand me. I stopped responding to those who only messaged when they needed something. It was a cleanse—a purge of everything that didn’t align with how I wanted to spend my limited time.

This might sound extreme, like some late-capitalist self-help mantra straight from an Instagram therapist, but it was really just a reaction to a lifetime of people-pleasing and worrying too much about what others thought. I figured I had to swing hard in the opposite direction to eventually find balance.

And honestly? I’ve been happier. Endless socializing has been replaced with quality time, and I don’t feel guilty about skipping a trendy dinner-and-club night to rewatch The Osbournes instead. But my life is also much quieter. Last Saturday, I don’t think I spoke a single word outside of brushing my teeth. I rarely take risks anymore—no risky texts (I’m married, to be fair), no ending up in strangers’ homes (a staple of my 20s). I prefer it this way, but sometimes I wonder: have I taken “protecting my peace” too far?

TikTok is full of people who’ve done the same and now feel isolated. One user wrote, “Protected my peace so hard I don’t think I ever want a relationship again.” Another: “POV: you protected your peace a little too much and now you only hang out with your mum.” And another: “Protected my peace so much I now have the life of an 85-year-old woman.”

The idea is that everyone’s so focused on stability and avoiding discomfort that they forget to actually live. Isolation is the opposite of community, which isn’t healthy—for society or for individuals. But how do you find balance, especially if you’ve always struggled to say no?

I wonder if age plays a role. It’s depressing to think of 21-year-olds hitting the gym before bed at 10 p.m. with mouth tape (why is everyone always at the gym? What are they training for?). Shouldn’t they be making questionable life choices—kissing the wrong people in new cities, crying at house parties, showing up to work hungover? Your 20s are for mistakes, for figuring out what you like and how you want to live. You can’t protect your peace if you don’t even know what threatens it. One user put it perfectly: “Protected my peace too much [I’ve] never even had a first anything.”

But just because I’m in my 30s doesn’t mean I should live like a monk. Looking back, the most satisfying moments usually involved some risk or initial hesitation. The first time I rode a rollercoaster (random example, but bear with me), I was terrified—but it ended up being the most thrilling thing I’d done in years.It almost feels intentional! Lately, I’ve been wondering if my focus on protecting my peace this year means I’m missing out on life’s ups and downs. Perhaps there’s a happy medium—where I avoid dull events and fake friendships, but don’t isolate myself completely either.