“I need some peace.” A colleague said this to me three years ago as he declined yet another coffee invitation.
Six months later, his wife called to tell me he’d been hospitalized for severe depression. What he’d been calling “peace” was actually a systematic withdrawal from life that none of us recognized until it was almost too late.
I’ve been thinking about him lately, especially as I watch other friends and former colleagues make similar retreats under the banner of “simplifying” or “finding peace.”
At 64, having spent decades observing human behavior in high-stakes negotiations, I’ve learned that what people call things matters far less than what those things actually are.
And what concerns me is how many people are mistaking isolation for tranquility, withdrawal for wisdom.
The psychology research on this is clear: There’s a profound difference between choosing solitude for restoration and withdrawing from life due to deeper issues.
Yet our culture often celebrates the latter as the former, especially as we age. We applaud people for “slowing down” without asking if they’re actually shutting down.
1) They stop answering calls but say they prefer texting
When someone consistently avoids phone conversations in favor of text messages, they’re often managing how much emotional energy they have to expend.
Texting allows them to control the interaction, respond on their timeline, and avoid the immediacy of human connection that phone calls demand.
I noticed this pattern in myself after retirement. The shift from being professionally needed to choosing what matters personally left me screening calls I would have eagerly taken before.
But there’s a difference between being selective and being avoidant.
People withdrawing from life use technology as a buffer, not a tool. They’re not choosing efficient communication; they’re dodging real connection.
2) They’ve stopped making future plans
Ask someone who’s withdrawing about their plans for next month or next season, and you’ll often get vague responses. “We’ll see how I feel” becomes their standard answer. They’re not living in the present; they’re avoiding the future.
This isn’t the same as being flexible or spontaneous. It’s an inability to imagine themselves engaged with life beyond the immediate moment.
When pressed, they might say they’re “keeping things open,” but what they’re really doing is closing doors before anyone can invite them through.
3) They call old interests “phases” they’ve outgrown
Listen carefully when someone dismisses activities they once loved. “I used to be into that” becomes a refrain, as if passion itself was something childish to be abandoned. They’re not evolving; they’re emptying.
A former colleague recently told me his woodworking was “just a phase” – this from a man who spent 20 years perfecting his craft.
When I pressed him, he admitted he couldn’t remember why he ever cared about it. That’s not growth; that’s the flattening of experience that comes with emotional withdrawal.
4) They spend excessive time on low-stakes activities
Organizing the garage for the third time. Rewatching entire TV series. Spending hours on routine tasks that could take minutes.
When someone fills their days with activities that demand little and risk nothing, they’re often avoiding the parts of life that require genuine engagement.
I keep returning to one question in my notebook: “What am I optimizing for now?” People who are withdrawing optimize for minimal friction, not maximum meaning.
They choose activities that won’t challenge them, disappoint them, or demand emotional investment.
5) They’ve developed rigid routines they won’t break
Structure can be healthy, but when someone becomes unable to deviate from their routine without significant distress, it’s often a sign of something deeper. They’re not creating rhythm; they’re building walls.
Watch how they respond when plans change or someone suggests spontaneity. The person calling it “peace” will claim they simply prefer their routine.
But underneath, there’s often anxiety about engaging with unpredictability – which is to say, with life itself.
6) They’ve stopped sharing personal information
Conversations become increasingly one-sided. They’ll ask about your life but deflect questions about theirs. “Nothing new” becomes their standard response, even when you know that can’t be true.
I’ve noticed my own tendency to under-share because privacy once felt like safety. But there’s a difference between being private and being closed off.
Dr. Ahmed M. Al-Khater, psychologist and author, notes that “Withdrawal inherently violates these norms, leading to strained relationships and diminished social support networks.”
When we stop sharing, we stop connecting, and isolation becomes self-reinforcing.
“I’m being more selective” sounds reasonable until you realize their selection criteria eliminates everyone. They’ll say they’re focusing on quality over quantity, but somehow even quality relationships start feeling like too much effort.
Former friends get categorized as “draining” or “complicated.” Family members become “difficult.”
Eventually, their world shrinks to just the people they absolutely cannot avoid, and even those interactions become increasingly superficial.
8) They mistake numbness for contentment
Perhaps the most troubling sign is when someone describes the absence of feeling as peace. They’re not unhappy, they’ll insist, because they’re not feeling much of anything.
This emotional flatlining gets packaged as Buddhist-like detachment or mature acceptance.
But Dr. John M. Grohol, psychologist and founder of Psych Central, reminds us that “Depression’s close cousin is grief, where the undertow is the same, but is a response to loss.”
What looks like peace might actually be a response to losses we haven’t fully acknowledged or processed.
Closing thoughts
Real peace doesn’t require withdrawal from life; it comes from engaging with life on your own terms. The difference is crucial. One is about choosing how to participate; the other is about choosing not to participate at all.
If you recognize these patterns in yourself or someone you care about, understand that calling withdrawal “peace” doesn’t make it healthy.
True peace coexists with connection, purpose, and even occasional discomfort. It doesn’t require us to systematically eliminate everything that makes us feel.
The move from obligation to intention in retirement – or at any life stage – shouldn’t mean moving from engagement to isolation.
If someone you know is slowly closing doors and calling it peace, they might need someone to gently suggest that what they’re experiencing has another name.
And more importantly, that there’s help available when they’re ready to acknowledge it.
