You Don’t Have to Be Always Available: Boundaries Build Real Connection

(mouse clicks) (ethereal music) Headspace Studio. Hi, friends, it's Rosie here. Welcome to "Radio Headspace" and to Thursday. I was recently out to dinner with Tori, and I had my phone just sitting face up on the table, not because I was waiting on anything urgent, just out of habit. So today, I wanna talk about a habit that many of us have internalized without realizing it, being constantly available to text, to work, to everyone but ourselves. Let's be real, our devices and its alerts make it easy for us to engage. But when did instant response become the measure of being a good friend or a good colleague or a good anything? Midway through our meal, a text came in. A friend was asking for advice. Nothing critical, but my impulse was to respond right then and there. And Tori gently asked, "Can it wait?" And you know what? It could. But I still felt that familiar pull, like I owe people access to me 24/7. It made me pause and think, where did I learn that availability equals love or care, or even worth? This got me thinking about a recurring theme from my early 20s, always being the one who replies fast, answers the call, shows up even when I'm depleted. I wore my responsiveness like a badge of honor. I was the go-to, the one that you called because you knew I would answer. Part of that came from a job I had back then. My boss expected me to be available 24/7, literally, nights, weekends, even vacations. If my phone rang, I was picking it up. And that kind of urgency trains you. It wires your nervous system to always be on, even when nothing's actually happening. Eventually, that kind of responsiveness stops feeling like a choice, and it starts feeling like a responsibility. Over the years, especially as I've moved deeper into this work, teaching, writing, being more public-facing, I had to confront how unsustainable that pattern is. I remember a time not long ago, I was leading a course, hosting a retreat, and trying to maintain my relationships all at once. Every unread message felt like a failure. Every missed call felt like a betrayal, until I realized I wasn't protecting my relationships, I was performing in them. There's a difference between being present and being performatively available. One is rooted in intention, the other is driven by fear of letting people down, of not being needed, of being misunderstood. I remember a time when a friend texted me late at night, just to vent. I was already in bed, exhausted, but I picked up the phone anyway and stayed up way too late trying to help her process something I barely had the energy to hear. I wasn't really present, I was just performing. Showing up because I felt like I had to, not because I actually had the capacity. And after the call, I felt depleted, not connected. That was...