I stopped being available to everyone and lost 80% of my relationships—that was the point

Last year, I made a decision that shocked pretty much everyone around me: I became ruthlessly selective about who I gave my time and energy to. Within six months, about 80% of my "friendships" had faded away.

And honestly? That was exactly what I needed to happen.

If you're reading this thinking I'm some kind of antisocial hermit now, that's not it at all. This isn't about cutting people off or becoming a loner. It's about something much more fundamental: recognizing that constantly being available to everyone is a one-way ticket to burnout, resentment, and living a life that's not really yours.

The always-on trap I didn't see coming

For years, I prided myself on being the guy everyone could count on. Need someone to help you move? I'm there. Want to vent about your job for the third time this week? Sure, let's grab coffee. Random acquaintance needs advice at 11 PM? My phone was always on.

I thought this made me a good person. A good friend. What it actually made me was exhausted.

The turning point came during a particularly overwhelming week when I realized I'd spent more time dealing with other people's problems than working on my own goals. I was living in reactive mode, constantly responding to whatever fire someone else needed put out.

Sound familiar?

We live in a world that celebrates being busy and available. Our phones make us reachable 24/7. Social media creates this illusion that we need to maintain hundreds of relationships. But here's what nobody talks about: this constant availability is slowly draining your life force.

When I was growing up as the quieter brother, I naturally preferred observation and reflection. But somewhere along the way, I lost that. I got caught up in the idea that being a good person meant being endlessly available. The introvert in me was screaming for boundaries, but I kept ignoring it.

Why losing relationships was the goal

Here's the thing about being selective with your availability: it acts like a filter. A really effective one.

When I stopped immediately responding to every text, stopped saying yes to every invitation, and stopped being everyone's go-to problem solver, something interesting happened. The people who were only around because I was useful? They disappeared pretty quickly.

But the real friends? They understood. They respected the boundaries. They were still there when I emerged from my cocoon of intentional unavailability.

This reminds me of a concept from Buddhism that I explored in my book Hidden Secrets of Buddhism: How To Live With Maximum Impact and Minimum Ego. The idea is that attachment to being needed by others is often just ego in disguise. We think we're being selfless, but really we're feeding our need to feel important.

Letting go of that need was liberating.

The 80% of relationships I lost? They were mostly surface-level connections. The colleague who only texted when they needed a favor. The friend from college who only reached out to complain. The acquaintance who treated our friendship like free therapy.

These weren't bad people. But they were energy vampires, whether they meant to be or not.

Setting boundaries without being a jerk

Now, you might be wondering: how do you actually do this without coming across as cold or uncaring?

First, recognize that boundaries aren't walls. They're more like gates. You decide when to open them, for whom, and for how long.

I started small. Instead of immediately responding to non-urgent messages, I'd wait until I had dedicated time for them. I began declining invitations that didn't genuinely excite me. I stopped offering help before being asked.

The key was being honest but kind. "I'm focusing on some personal projects right now and need to be more selective with my time" became my go-to explanation. Most people understood. Those who didn't? Well, that told me everything I needed to know.

Remember, you're not responsible for managing other people's reactions to your boundaries. You're only responsible for communicating them clearly and kindly.

What happened when I reclaimed my time

The first few weeks were weird. My phone was quieter. My calendar had gaps. I actually had time to think.

But then something shifted. With all that reclaimed time and energy, I started doing things that actually mattered to me. I finally had the headspace to work on projects I'd been putting off. The mental clarity to make big decisions, like eventually leaving Australia for Southeast Asia to completely change my life.

My remaining relationships became deeper and more meaningful. When I did spend time with people, I was fully present because I wasn't stretched thin. Quality over quantity became my mantra, and it transformed everything.

The people still in my life appreciate that when I'm with them, I'm really there. Not checking my phone every five minutes or mentally running through my to-do list. Just present.

The unexpected benefits of selective availability

Beyond the obvious benefits of having more time and energy, being selective with my availability taught me something crucial: most "emergencies" aren't actually emergencies.

When you're not immediately available, people often figure things out themselves. Problems that seemed urgent suddenly become manageable. Drama that needed immediate attention somehow resolves itself.

This isn't about being unsupportive. When real crises hit, real friends know they can count on you. But the daily fires? Most of them burn out on their own if you don't rush in with a bucket of water.

I also discovered that being less available actually made my time more valuable to others. When people knew that getting time with me wasn't a given, they appreciated it more. Conversations became more intentional. Hangouts became more meaningful.

Final words

Looking back, losing 80% of my relationships was one of the best things that ever happened to me. It forced me to confront the difference between being needed and being valued, between being busy and being productive, between having many connections and having meaningful ones.

If you're feeling overwhelmed, exhausted, or like you're living everyone else's life but your own, maybe it's time to become less available. Start small. Set one boundary. Decline one invitation that you're dreading. Take an hour longer to respond to that non-urgent text.

The people who matter will understand. The ones who don't? Well, maybe that's the point.

Your time and energy are finite resources. Spend them wisely. Not everyone deserves access to you, and that's not selfish. It's necessary.

Trust me, on the other side of that initial discomfort is a life that actually feels like yours. And that's worth losing a few superficial connections for.