Unavailable is a Boundary, Not a Flaw

I’m not cold. I’m just unavailable for expectations that drain me.

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This has been in the drafts for a while. And I’ve not written on it because it was difficult and, quite frankly, too painful to accept.

Recently, I answered the clarion call (for non-Nigerians reading this, it’s something called the National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) Scheme).

Because I wasn’t looking forward to the whole thing, writing chronicles about my daily experiences was the last thing on my mind.

Sorry not sorry, guys. The only thing I miss about that place are the friends I made, who thankfully are all in my city now, so… win.

In my honest opinion though? Skip camp if you can. It’s just unnecessary stress. As long as you’re in this world, you’ll make friends as you go.

Now, back to the reason for this newsletter.

Network in that place was shit. Utter rubbish.

MTN—Everywhere you go?

Not in Nonwa Gbam Tai (Rivers State orientation camp)

I feel sorry for the people posted there.

How does anyone survive without good internet? That’s like a death sentence.

I planned to use the SAED lectures to work a bit… the little I could do from my phone.

But when I say I couldn’t even browse?

I’m not even kidding.

How do you build a beautiful hall, with state-of-the-art facilities, but somehow internet access didn’t make the blueprint?

You built heaven on earth but forgot network? Who does that?

Shouldn’t that be a crime?

Wait let me show you some pictures.

Do you get it now?

Imagine sitting quietly under perfect air conditioning and fan, for a boring 5-hour lecture, every single day, and not even being able to doomscroll to pass time.

If you wanted to torture us, just say so.

I was enraged, to be honest.

Everything that required data demanded serious patience and perseverance.

The P in my name? It stands for Patience.

Do you see it?
That’s right.

But as frustrating as it was, there was nothing I could do about it. So I decided not to dwell and just accept my fate.

The lighting system there was also pure shit.

I charged only my power banks, but for some reason they never lasted more than a day. At best, two days.

Charging two different power banks every day for almost three weeks at the cost of 400 naira each?

You do the math.

I’m not going to talk much about food.

Of course, I never used my meal ticket.

The food at the mammy market was slightly bearable, though everything in that place was ridiculously overpriced for the very poor quality of items sold.

Shit.

I remember saying no chronicles. Well, I was making a point.

(Just realized I’ve been saying “shit” a lot more than usual since camp. Hmm)

….

Because of how unnecessarily hard it was to keep my two power banks up and running, thanks to my poor battery health, I was forced to stay away from apps that drained my battery.

Top on the list? Substack.

Followed closely by Snapchat. Then X.

And LinkedIn.

Bummer, because I only recently started taking the whole social media presence thing seriously.

But oh well.

Guys, I got gigs in camp. (I smiled when I typed this.)

It’s funny, but somehow people reached out to me to help them write stuff… optimize their LinkedIn, etc.

Let me just put this out there once and for all.

Let it be known by all and sundry, that I did not participate in parade.

Thankfully so, because I didn’t even march, and yet, my feet were swollen the entire last week of camp.

I stayed at OBS for a while before I ran; too much stress, little reward.

Joined drama and dance and got to perform on stage.

Joined all the non-voluntary organizations I ever came across. Because why not?

Safe to say I actively participated in all camp activities (except cooking and parade).

But in the midst of all these, I felt overwhelmed.

Not necessarily because of all the activities I was participating in, but because I couldn’t do everything I intended to do while in camp.

I had drafts.

Planned content because I wanted to at least keep up with my A to Zen Series and Friday stories.

But I couldn’t.

couldn’t think straight.

couldn’t focus.

couldn’t function for some reason.

It was painful, really.

I’m so used to doing everything I say I’ll do, and not being able to keep up with my regular life?

That was a new and uncomfortable experience for me.

I didn’t have the slightest drive to post on X, LinkedIn, or whatever.

So I decided to tell myself I was taking a break, until I found out I was really taking a break.

I love writing and posting twice a week on Substack.

But somewhere between working three remote jobs and building my brand…

I got burnt out.

I didn’t even realize at some point I’d started performing.

Showing up not because I wanted to, but out of fear of what would happen if I didn’t.

Until I got to camp.

Someone texted me one random afternoon and said:

“Shey e don clear for your eye?”

On another day I would have laughed and said something funny back.

But that day, I came to the slow realization that I really couldn’t do this.

And I had to stop holding onto the glimmer of hope that I could, for the sake of my mental health.

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We live in a world that expects you to be available like a 24-hour customer service hotline. Every. Single. Time.

At work? Always on.

In friendships? Always there.

In family? Always reachable, fixable, reliable.

And when you're not?

You're cold.

You're distant.

You're selfish.

You're too much, or even worse, not enough.

But here’s a quiet truth that will save you years of burnout and confusion:

Unavailable isn’t broken.

It’s not a personality defect.

It’s a boundary. A very necessary one.

And you don’t owe anyone an apology for it.

Let’s Talk about Work

In the workplace, “professionalism” often looks like performative exhaustion.

You're rewarded for replying to emails at 2 a.m.

For never saying no.

For being “adaptable,” which somehow always means doing someone else's job without recognition.

When you draw the line, when you set a meeting boundary, protect your off-hours, or (God forbid) turn your phone off, you’re labeled as “rigid” or “not a team player.”

But let’s be clear:

Always being available doesn’t make you committed. It makes you a target for emotional labor exploitation.

Burnout culture loves to wear self-sacrifice as a badge of honor.

But you don’t have to die on that hill.

You can rest. You can close the tab. You can decline the “quick call.”

And no, your worth doesn’t decrease when your calendar isn’t fully booked.

If you’re a freelancer like me, you can say no to that client because you’re not mentally in the right headspace to work.

Stop feeling guilty about not being available 24/7.

Even God rested on the seventh day.

If they don’t get it, then maybe you shouldn’t be doing business with them in the first place.

Some clients only respect boundaries when they’re written in invoices.

Others think because you work from home, you must be available at all hours.

Don’t let that mindset rob you of your peace, or your creativity, which can’t survive under pressure and guilt.

Availability isn’t a skill.

It’s a choice.

And if someone can’t honor that, they don’t deserve your brilliance.

Now Let’s Talk About People

Not romantic partners, just… people.

Friends who think ride or die means never have a boundary.

Family members who expect unlimited emotional access because they changed your diapers in 1997.

Community members who confuse your silence for disrespect.

We’ve all met them.

Hell, maybe we’ve been them.

They don’t ask how you’re doing before dumping their drama.

They expect you to be available for every crisis, every venting session, every unprocessed feeling.

And when you’re not?

You’re changing.

You’re acting brand new.

You’re pulling away.

No, you’re just learning to honor yourself first.

There’s nothing noble about being everyone’s emotional safety net, especially when nobody’s checking if you’re tangled in your own mess, too.

If your friends can’t make peace with the fact that sometimes you need time off.

That it has nothing to do with loyalty or being a bad person,

That it’s just your way of recharging and coming back strong…

Then are they really your friends?

And Then There’s You

Sometimes, we label ourselves “unavailable” like it’s a scarlet letter.

We think we’re broken for not being emotionally present all the time.

But ask yourself this:

How many times did you have to shrink to stay liked?

How often were you emotionally available to people who never offered it back?

How many times did you say “I’m fine” while quietly drowning?

If you stopped showing up that way, maybe it’s not dysfunction.

Maybe it’s healing.

Maybe the wall you built wasn’t to push people out, but to finally keep you in.

Availability, like any resource, has a limit.

You’re not weak for not having the bandwidth anymore.

You’re just no longer volunteering your soul for scraps of approval.

Let Me Tell You

There’s a certain power in learning how to withdraw without guilt.

To stop overexplaining your quiet.

To stop apologizing for your self-protection.

To stop showing up out of fear and start showing up from truth.

Unavailability isn’t the absence of connection. It’s the presence of intentionality.

You’re choosing what you let in.

Who you let in.

And how far.

It’s not rejection.

It’s discernment.

It’s not emotional distance.

It’s emotional hygiene.

In This Life

People will call you unavailable when they no longer benefit from your over-accessibility.

They’ll call it “selfish” when they miss the version of you who never said no.

They’ll call it “cold” when they can’t control you with guilt anymore.

But here’s what they won’t say:

That your peace threatens their power.

That your distance reveals their entitlement.

That your silence exposes their noise.

And here’s what you don’t have to do:

Defend it.

You are allowed to set boundaries without becoming the villain.

You are allowed to stop performing presence for people who don’t notice your absence.

You are allowed to be unavailable.

Not because you’re heartless.

But because you finally understand:

Your peace is not up for public consumption.

And if choosing yourself makes you harder to reach,

then maybe you were too easy to access for too long.

Protect the version of you that had to survive without applause.

Honor the silence that saved you when noise demanded your attention.

This isn't withdrawal. It's return.

Not escape, but arrival.

Back to yourself.

Whole. Unrushed. Unavailable...

And deeply at peace.

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I’ve missed being in your inbox.

Can’t wait to be back here next Monday.

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Wishing you a refreshing and rewarding week ahead.

Happy new week! ❤️

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