I don’t know who needs to hear this, but we are not available for every text, every call, every invitation to chaos this season.

Welcome to The Protecting My Peace Era.

Where “No” is a complete sentence, and your inner peace is more important than that last-minute dinner invite or a random group chat meltdown.

I think my personal shift started one Sunday afternoon when I found myself running around town like a contestant on a game show. I had agreed to help a friend move (who, by the way, only had two boxes packed when I got there), promised a friend I’d drop by for brunch, told my coworker I’d pop in at her kid’s birthday party, and somehow also thought I’d have the energy to meal prep for the week.

By 8 p.m., I was standing in the grocery store clutching a bag of kale I knew I was never going to cook, looking like I had just been through an emotional car wash. That night, I got home, collapsed on the couch, and had a deep, tearful conversation with my ceiling fan.

It hit me: I couldn’t keep living like this.

Thus began The Protecting My Peace Era, where I became the main character of my own life instead of the unpaid supporting actress in everyone else’s drama.

At first, setting boundaries felt like trying to do a TikTok dance in public, awkward, self-conscious, and mildly terrifying. I’d say “no,” then immediately backpedal: “Oh wait! Unless you really, really need me… I can maybe move some things around…”

But then I started small.

I stopped answering FaceTimes at 6 a.m. from my friend who always wanted to discuss her date from the night before (spoiler: it’s usually the same plot every time). I unfollowed accounts and people that made me feel like I was perpetually behind in the race of life. I even started leaving my phone in another room at night so I could reconnect with my actual self instead of endlessly scrolling and comparing.

Oh, and family?

That was my final boss level.

There’s a special kind of guilt that comes with saying no to family. As if you’ve personally canceled Christmas. But I learned that loving them deeply didn’t mean sacrificing my mental health on the altar of every group text or last-minute favor.

I started filling my mornings with quiet walks, journaling, and slow cups of tea instead of rushing to fix other people’s problems before I even brushed my teeth. I learned that rest isn’t a reward for burning out; it’s a necessity. That solitude isn’t loneliness; it’s sacred space to hear your own thoughts without an audience.

In this era, I choose softness over hustle. Solitude over constant social obligations. Long, intentional “yes” moments instead of hundreds of lukewarm “sure, I guess” ones.

Someone recently told me, “Wow, you’ve changed,” as if that was an insult.

And to that I say: Thank you.

I worked really hard for this change.

I am no longer available for emotional labor that doesn’t pay me in joy, growth, or peace. And if someone calls it selfish, let them.

Protecting your peace isn’t selfish; it’s survival.

It’s the ultimate self-love flex. It means understanding that your worth is not tied to your availability, your busyness, or how many fires you can put out for other people.

If you’ve been feeling exhausted, overstretched, or like you’re constantly living life for everyone but yourself, consider this your official invitation to join me.

Welcome to The Protecting Your Peace Era.

Here, you say “no” unapologetically, cancel plans guilt-free, and remember that you do not have to set yourselves on fire to keep others warm.

Here’s to quiet mornings, deeply felt joy, guilt-free rest, and loving ourselves fiercely enough to finally choose peace.

You deserve it.

-🦩