I play my cards close to the vest these days. Not because I don’t believe in transparency, but because I’ve learned how valuable it is to protect my peace.

There was a time when I was an open book in all the wrong ways. I shared too much. I posted vague, passive-aggressive thoughts hoping certain people would see them. I let the words of others on social media get under my skin, and I’d spend too long stewing over what someone might have meant or who they were talking about. I was easily offended, quick to react, and slow to let things go.

I’m woman enough to admit that.

But growth has a way of humbling you. It teaches you that not everything needs a response, and not everyone is entitled to a front-row seat in your life. I’ve come to understand that peace is something you have to protect on purpose. It is not a default setting. It is a decision. Sometimes that means not posting your every thought. Sometimes it means letting people wonder, staying silent, or simply not engaging.

It means learning the difference between being honest and being impulsive. Between being open and being vulnerable in ways that invite chaos. These days, I speak when I feel led, not when I feel triggered. I share what feels purposeful, not what feels petty. And I’ve learned that some of the strongest people are the ones who are content to keep their journey sacred, quietly doing the work without demanding validation from anyone else.

There is a kind of peace that comes from not needing to be understood by everyone. There is a quiet strength in not explaining yourself. And there is wisdom in knowing that sometimes, the most powerful thing you can say is nothing at all.

Still, this becomes a double-edged sword for someone like me. I love a good story. I always have. I’m a writer, a storyteller at heart, and part of me has always wanted to share every chapter as it unfolds. But I’ve had to set boundaries.

I’ve learned that just because something is true does not mean it has to be told. Some stories are still unfolding. Some belong to others. Some are sacred, meant to be held close and handled with care. And some are just not ready to be written.

It is a strange thing, learning to balance the urge to tell with the wisdom to wait. Especially when storytelling feels like breathing. But I’ve come to understand that discernment is just as important as expression. Knowing when to speak, when to pause, and when to hold something in your heart instead of placing it in the hands of the internet.

I still believe in the power of vulnerability, but now I practice it with purpose. Not everything has to be public to be powerful. Sometimes the most honest moments happen in the quiet, in prayer, or in one-on-one conversations with the people who really matter.

These days, I’m learning to honor the sacred spaces in my life and to cherish the silent pages. Not every part of the story has to be told to be meaningful. Some chapters are better lived than published.

And that, I’ve found, is where peace begins.