Some People Don’t Deserve Access to Your Peace

There was a time I believed keeping the peace meant keeping people around.

Even the ones who made me anxious.

Even the ones who drained me.

Even the ones who never gave back what they took.

I thought being “kind” meant always being available. Always being understanding. Always giving second, third, fourth chances.

But here’s what no one tells you:

There’s a difference between being kind and being a doormat.

And some people bank on you not knowing the difference.

I had a friend once—let’s call her Carla.

Carla was the kind of person who made you feel like you had to earn her approval, like her silence was power and her attention was a reward. She’d show up when it benefited her and disappear when I needed her most.

But I kept letting her back in.

She was always going through something. And I’m the kind of person who never wants anyone to feel alone.

So I stayed. I comforted. I let her vent. I picked up every call, even the ones that came past midnight. And every time I was falling apart, she had an excuse. A reason she couldn’t be there. A way to make my pain feel smaller than hers.

One day, I was sitting across from her at brunch listening to her complain about a man she chose to stay with and I realized something:

She hadn’t asked me how I was. Not once.

She didn’t notice I’d been quiet. That my hands were shaking. That I had barely touched my food.

She didn’t know I had cried in the car the night before. That I was at my breaking point. That I didn’t have anything left to give.

Because she never asked.

Because she didn’t care.

And in that moment, something in me snapped.

Not in anger. Not in bitterness.

In clarity.

That was the last brunch. The last phone call. The last time I’d allow someone to trample through my life like it was a hotel lobby just somewhere to stop by when it was convenient.

I’ve worked too hard to find peace in this chaotic world.

Too hard to quiet the noise inside my own head.

Too hard to learn how to breathe when life feels like a storm.

Too hard to be calm when my body still remembers every time I wasn’t safe.

So no.

Some people don’t deserve access to that peace.

They don’t deserve the healed version of me when all they ever did was wound me.

They don’t deserve the loyal version of me when they couldn’t match an ounce of my effort.

They don’t deserve front row seats in my life when they couldn’t be bothered to clap for me when I was hurting and still showing up.

This isn’t about holding grudges.

This is about holding standards.

And my peace?

It’s sacred.

It’s not a shared resource.

It’s not a group project.

It’s not something I’m handing out just because someone knows my name.

You can love people from afar.

You can forgive them and still block them.

You can care and still cut ties.

That’s not being cruel. That’s being clear.

So if someone makes you feel like you’re too much…

Or not enough…

Or only valuable when you’re useful to them…

Remember this:

You don’t have to burn your peace to warm someone who never brings you fire.

Some people don’t deserve access.

And it’s okay to close the door.

You’re not heartless.

You’re healing.

And healing requires silence, space, and people who know how to treat you like the rare light you are.