Hear Me Out: I’m Not Anti-Social — I’m Just Appreciating My Rent

There was a time in my life when saying "no" to plans felt like a failure. A missed opportunity. An open invitation for guilt. People would ask me to come out—grab a drink, hit up a new spot, join a group dinner—and if I hesitated or declined, I’d instantly feel the need to explain myself. I’d scramble for a good excuse, something that sounded reasonable and not selfish. And if I just admitted that I wanted to stay home? Cue the awkward silence and raised eyebrows.

But here’s the thing I’ve come to realize, and maybe you’ll relate to this: I’m not anti-social. I’m not avoiding people. I’m just finally learning how to appreciate my rent.

Yes, you read that right. I am appreciating my rent. It’s my little mantra these days. And no, it’s not just about money—though, let’s be real, rent is no joke these days. It’s about more than the dollar signs. It’s about value, presence, and redefining how I see “a night well spent.”

The Mindset Shift

For the longest time, I bought into this idea that being busy and constantly social meant I was thriving. If I wasn’t out and about, surrounded by people, then maybe I was lonely or wasting my youth. And while I still love good conversation and shared experiences, I started questioning something that felt a little off: Why was I paying so much for a home I was barely enjoying?

We pour so much into where we live. Emotionally, financially, mentally. Whether it's a tiny studio apartment, a shared house, or a place we proudly live alone, our homes are our sanctuaries. We decorate, rearrange, invest in furniture and lighting and blankets that make us feel safe. And yet, so often, we leave it all behind because of this pressure to be “out there.”

So I started challenging that. Bit by bit.

The Beauty of Staying In

Now when I come home, I treat it like I want to be there. Not like it’s the place I crash in between more important things. I light my favorite candle. I make dinner with actual ingredients instead of eating on autopilot. I queue up music or a show that makes me feel something. Sometimes, I just sit with my thoughts, journal, or rearrange my bookshelf for no reason. It’s not extravagant. It’s not flashy. But it’s mine. And it feels good.

This isn’t about introversion vs. extroversion. It’s not about ditching friends or turning into a hermit. It’s about giving myself permission to choose my environment without guilt. Sometimes, appreciating my rent means saying no to a night out and saying yes to a night in with myself.

Letting Go of the Guilt

If you’ve ever said, “I’m just tired” or “I’ve got a lot going on,” when what you really meant was “I want to be home,” you’re not alone. We’re conditioned to think that unless we have a “good enough” excuse, we’re letting people down. But here’s a radical thought: resting and recharging in your own space is a good enough reason.

You don’t owe anyone your time just because you technically have it.

Your presence is a gift. And whether you give that gift to a group of friends or to yourself in the quiet of your home, it’s still valuable.

Reframing “FOMO”

There’s so much talk about FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out), but rarely do we acknowledge its quieter cousin: the Joy of Missing Out. I’ve started experiencing that more and more. Not in a smug or superior way—but in a grounded, content kind of way. When I see people out and about, I’m happy for them. And sometimes I join in. But other times, I’m just as happy being where I am, in a space that reflects who I am.

I still love my friends. I still love meeting new people. But I also love listening to my own rhythms. And right now, those rhythms often sound like soft music, the hum of my air purifier, and the bubbling of something cooking on the stove.

Final Thoughts

Socializing can be beautiful. Connection is essential. But so is solitude. So is peace. And so is the simple, grounded joy of appreciating the space you’ve worked hard for—the one that holds your memories, your quiet mornings, your late-night thoughts.

So if you need to hear it: it’s okay to not always go out. It’s okay to say no. It’s okay to want to stay in. You’re not weird, antisocial, or flaky. You’re just someone who knows the value of your time and space.

You’re not hiding from life—you’re living it, on your terms.

After all, that rent isn’t going to appreciate itself.

Always Stay Ward and Twisted as Ever!

Eve