Living by Design, Not on Demand: The Boundary Shift I Didn't See Coming!

I Stopped Being Available to Chaos

There was a time when turning my phone off felt irresponsible. It felt rude, selfish, avoidant, and somehow wrong. Now I understand it was one of the healthiest things I could have done.

This was step two to cleaning out the excess noise that was polluting my ability to integrate into civilian life.  I once feared losing people, believing that I would never refresh a group and find a couple of people that I could call genuine friends.  I realized that my idea of friendship was bastardized by a high-octane- fueled, mess of serving the public in a time where police were still needed but hated for doing the essential service that keeps our communities from descending into chaos.   Many cops wound up like me, not just existing in chaos, but normalizing it.  Many learned how to flourish in it.  I was not so skilled. 

When I left policing, after nearly a year of allowing my nervous system to settle, learning how to slow down and understand that the social group I had at the time, I had outgrown.  They were immersed in excessive drinking, engaging in toxic relationships and seemed to center their lives around online dating sites and apps. 

I felt as though I’d been pulled into a cyclone of “help me, entertain me, I’m bored,” punctuated by a steady stream of unfiltered thoughts. It was draining, and I struggled to find space to speak. What I needed was connection, but what I was experiencing was something else entirely: a one-sided monologue where I wasn’t being valued as a friend or even a person. I wasn’t finding connection, and I wasn’t a valued part of a two-person conversation. I was just a sounding board someone talked at. I wasn’t a participant; I was a surface for someone else to offload onto.

For years, I had trained myself to be reachable. In my former career, being available mattered. Problems were urgent. People needed answers. Situations could escalate quickly and I had to adjust and respond accordingly, because lives were at stake. That mindset does not switch off overnight, not when it was all I ate, slept and breathed for nearly 20 years.

What I did not realize was that long after leaving that world, I was still treating every buzz, ping, call, and request as if it carried urgency. It didn’t. Many of them were just someone else needing a quick fix for: boredom, chaos, avoidance, outsourced thinking, or the desire for instant access to someone else’s energy.

When Availability Becomes a Drain

Some people do not want connection. They want access. The trouble with today’s society, most people do not understand access and the need to be seen at the expense of others shrinking to conform is just a different kind of exclusion.  Connection requires reciprocal interaction and mutual respect.  Access is someone imposing themselves on another to simply satisfy a desire to be the center of attention with zero regard for the suffocation this demand creates on others. 

People who demand access, want someone to fill an empty afternoon, organize their indecision, soothe their anxiety, listen to circular complaints, or act as a shield while they avoid learning how to stand on their own.

If you are capable, calm under pressure, and used to handling difficult situations, people notice. They may not say it directly, but they feel it. They drift toward competence.

I find myself regretting telling people what I used to do or that I am retired from it now.  But, secret’s out- no double life for me. I must learn how to manage as an adult, and I am discovering how challenging that has become. 

As I was dealing with the betrayal from my organization and the people responsible for my injuries, I found myself clinging to anyone who would give me attention. I was desperate for validation and to make up for the loss of life and experiences and set myself up for failure as people started to see the benefit of manipulating me in my weakened state.  They got access of my assets and availability, but it wasn’t me they wanted.   I mistook that desire for access to me as friendship. I said yes too often. Yes, to helping. Yes, to listening. Yes, to rides. Yes, to showing up. Yes, to things that left me depleted while my own priorities sat at the bottom of the pile.

Meanwhile, my own life still needed me. I had jewelry projects that needed to be finished so they could be posted to my website.  I also had specific projects earmarked for specific functions to get my work out to be seen.   Writing, as in this blog and other projects needed attention. My house needed care. My animals needed time. My body needed rest. My nervous system needed peace.

What Constant Access Was Doing to Me

I began noticing something important.

Every time I engaged with certain calls, texts, or social media posts, my body reacted before my mind did. It took years to recognize this internal change that was being triggered by these invasive grabs for access to me. 

My heart would pound. My jaw would tighten. I would feel anger rise. I would rehearse arguments in the car. I would drive faster. I would carry someone else’s nonsense for hours after the interaction had ended. I didn’t see it because I was used to the adrenaline rush of being a street cop.  I confused the two states.

That was not “being helpful.” That was my nervous system going into fight-or-flight over things that were not mine to carry. I could feel my body clenching and the frustration starting to boil. 

There is a major difference between being needed in a true emergency and being emotionally recruited into someone else’s unmanaged life.

I had blurred that line for years.

I had not found the ability to say, ‘no’. I needed to learn how to state myself and my needs but I had never learned to do that very well before. I needed me.  I needed something for myself, I need to be an equal in this conversation, I can no longer participate in circular internal monologuing.  I needed something deeper, meaningful and reciprocal.

What Silence Gave Back to Me

When I turned my phone off, something unexpected happened. After a day or so had passed, I found the pressure slowly release. I could think a little clearer and easier.

I could sit with a piece of jewelry for longer periods of time and focus on detail instead of interruption. I could write without feeling pulled into ten different people’s moods. I could read. I could clean my house. I could take my dog out and actually enjoy the walk, with out my brain cycling through the rumination log. 

Most importantly, I could hear myself again. Without the fog of constant entitlement from others, my instincts became clearer. I could tell the difference between compassion and obligation. I could tell who brought steadiness into my life and who only brought noise.

I also noticed that capable, grounded people communicate differently.

They do not demand constant attention or want to exhaust my entire energy reserve. They handled their own problems first.  Many looked at their problems as a source of learning pride.  They often took the challenge as proving that they could take care of themselves.  It was a beautiful thing to watch someone struggle but look at that struggle as an opportunity to prove they could master it alone. Their win was more than self advocacy; it was a personal moment of triumph. They ask for input without dumping responsibility. They enjoy connection without consuming it. They basked in the pride of saving themselves.

Being around people like that feels like fresh air.

The Adult Lesson I Had to Learn

There comes a point where we must let other adults carry their own lives.

That does not mean becoming cold. It means understanding that compassion does not require self-sacrifice. Support does not require enmeshment. Caring does not require constant availability.

I spent years learning how to survive chaos. For nearly 20 years, I was good at it. I saved lives, I was able to bring answers for those who needed it. I stood up for myself in a way that did not cost me my life, as it had done to many other police officers before me. But now, I needed to learn how to be a civilian and do this without a flag on my shoulder or badge in my wallet.

Now I am learning something harder: how to leave the only adult life I ever knew behind.  There are times I feel regret, but now the good times are starting to come back.  Those good times and good work I did is starting to mean something again. 

I know that I am not obligated to be the fixer, the carpool, the emotional sponge, the organizer, or the always-available backup plan.

Sometimes growth looks very simple!

Sometimes it looks like turning your phone off!

Sometimes it looks like turning your own life back on!

-Helen