Keeping Your Private Life Private: Why Silence Is Your Superpower During Life Transitions

You Don’t Owe Anyone Your Story: Why Privacy Matters During Major Life Changes

What This Is: Permission to protect your tender, transforming self from well-meaning interrogators, social media pressure, and the exhausting expectation that you owe everyone an explanation. This is about choosing wisely who gets access to your unfinished story.

What This Isn’t: Advice to become a hermit, cut everyone off, or hide under your bed. This isn’t about secrecy, isolation, or pretending everything’s fine when it isn’t.

Read This If: You’re tired of fielding invasive questions, you’ve been oversharing out of obligation, or you’re wondering why you feel worse after “updating” people about your divorce, illness, job loss, or other major life shift.

5 Key Takeaways

1. Privacy creates the psychological space needed for authentic transformation – constant explanation keeps you stuck in the past rather than writing the next chapter.
2. You’re not obliged to satisfy others’ curiosity – their discomfort with your silence is not your emergency to solve.
3. Selective sharing with trusted friends deepens genuine connection – whilst broadcasting to everyone dilutes your energy and invites unhelpful input.
4. Protecting your privacy isn’t the same as hiding – it’s a strategic choice that honours the sacred work of rebuilding.
5. The right people will respect your boundaries – and those who don’t are showing you exactly who shouldn’t have a front-row seat to your next chapter.

Introduction: The Questions That Corner You

You’re in the supermarket queue, mentally calculating whether you have enough energy to cook tonight, when someone from your old life spots you. Their face lights up with that particular mix of curiosity and concern that makes your stomach drop. “So,” they say, leaning in, “how are you? I heard about… everything.”

If you’re over 40/50/60 and navigating a major life transition—divorce, redundancy, illness, loss, an identity shift that’s shifted your world sideways—you know this moment intimately. The expectation hangs in the air like humidity before a storm. They want the story. The details. The drama. And somehow, you’re supposed to package your messy, unfinished transformation into a tidy two-minute update whilst your frozen peas defrost.

You don’t have to do that.

Not with colleagues. Not with distant relatives. Not with Facebook friends or the yoga instructor or your neighbour who “just wants to check in.” You are allowed—gloriously, unapologetically allowed—to keep your private life private.

This isn’t about shame or secrecy. It’s about something far more valuable: protecting the tender, uncertain space where real change happens. It’s about recognising that your life transition isn’t a spectator sport, and that the people who truly love you will respect the boundaries you set.

What you’re feeling right now—the exhaustion of explaining, the resentment of intrusive questions, the guilt when you don’t want to share—is completely normal. You’re not being difficult or closed off. You’re being wise. And by the end of this article, you’ll understand why privacy isn’t just acceptable during major life changes; it’s essential.

You’ll gain clarity on who deserves your trust, strategies for protecting your energy, and permission to build your next chapter without a live studio audience. Because the truth is, the most profound transformations happen in the quiet spaces we guard carefully.

Sarah Mitchell’s Story: The Woman Who Learned to Close the Door

Sarah Mitchell had always been an open book. As a secondary school teacher and mother of three, she prided herself on her transparency. “I’m an authentic person,” she’d say, posting candid updates about parenting struggles, marriage challenges, even her mother’s dementia on social media. Her friends called her brave. Her followers called her relatable.

So when her 22-year marriage ended—not with betrayal or drama, but with the quiet, mutual acknowledgement that they’d become strangers who happened to share a mortgage—Sarah did what she’d always done. She shared.

She posted about it on Facebook (a thoughtful, mature announcement). She told her book club the whole story over Pinot Grigio. She explained the details to concerned parents at the school gate, to the hairdresser, to her dentist. Within three weeks, she’d told the story of her marriage’s ending perhaps forty times, each retelling a performance that left her more depleted than the last.

The breaking point came on a Sunday evening. Sarah sat in her newly rented flat—the one that still smelled of paint—and realised she couldn’t remember what she actually felt about her divorce. She’d been so busy narrating it, explaining it, reassuring everyone else that she was “fine, really,” that she’d lost touch with her own experience. The story had calcified before she’d had a chance to understand it.

That night, something shifted. She could taste the metallic anxiety in her mouth, feel the weight of expectation pressing on her chest like a sandbag. The next morning, when a colleague cornered her in the staffroom with “So, tell me everything,” Sarah heard herself say, “Thank you for asking, but I’m keeping things private whilst I figure it out.”

The colleague’s face flickered with surprise, then—was it disappointment? But Sarah felt something else entirely: relief flooding through her body like cool water.

She began practising what she came to call “strategic silence.” When her sister pressed for updates, Sarah said, “I’ll share when I’m ready.” When a Facebook friend messaged asking for “the real story,” she didn’t respond. She stopped posting altogether. The silence felt strange at first, like wearing someone else’s clothes. But gradually, it began to fit.

Within that protected space, Sarah discovered something remarkable. Without the constant obligation to explain herself, she could actually feel what was happening to her. The grief came—properly, messily. So did the unexpected moments of lightness. She started swimming at dawn, the chlorine sharp in her nostrils, the rhythm of her breath the only story she needed to tell. She filled notebooks with thoughts she’d never share. She had long, meandering conversations with two trusted friends who asked questions not out of curiosity but genuine care.

Six months later, Sarah barely recognized the woman who’d felt obligated to narrate her pain to anyone who asked. She’d learned that privacy wasn’t about hiding; it was about having the space to become someone new without an audience rating the performance. Her next chapter was being written in the margins, away from commentary and advice and the exhausting work of managing other people’s reactions to her life.

“I thought being private meant I was ashamed,” Sarah told me over coffee, her hands wrapped around the mug, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “But actually, it meant I finally had the courage to be honest with myself.”

Why Privacy Matters More Than You Think During Life Transitions

When you’re navigating a major life change, your psyche is doing extraordinarily delicate work. You’re not just dealing with external circumstances—you’re reconstructing your identity, questioning long-held beliefs, and discovering who you are when the old structures fall away. This process requires what psychologists call “psychological space”: room to experiment, fail, contradict yourself, change your mind, and slowly feel your way towards a new version of normal.

Every time you explain your situation to someone, you’re doing several things simultaneously. You’re activating the stress response in your body as you relive the events. You’re managing their emotional reaction (the shock, the pity, the unsolicited advice). You’re editing your experience to fit the social context. And crucially, you’re reinforcing a particular narrative before you’ve had time to truly understand what your story is.

As a GP for over 20 years with a particular interest in stress management, I’ve witnessed countless patients whose healing was complicated—not by their circumstances, but by the exhaustion of constant explanation. The nervous system needs calm to process trauma and transition. It needs predictability and safety. Broadcasting your unfinished story creates the opposite: an environment of vigilance where you’re constantly bracing for others’ reactions.

But here’s what’s even more profound: when you protect your privacy during transitions, you’re not just protecting yourself. You’re creating the conditions for genuine transformation that ripples outward.

The person who guards their healing space carefully becomes more present with their children because they’re not depleted by managing thirty different people’s opinions. They have energy for the friendships that truly matter. They model healthy boundaries, showing others (especially younger women watching and learning) that it’s possible to go through hard things with dignity rather than drama.

In my 15 years hosting transformational retreats on the Camino de Santiago, I’ve observed this pattern repeatedly. The guests who transform most deeply are those who initially resist the urge to text updates to everyone back home. They allow themselves to be unavailable, in process. They write in journals no one will read. They have conversations that stay on the path. And when they return home, they’re changed in ways that those who documented every step never quite achieve.

Your community doesn’t need a blow-by-blow account of your transition. What it needs is the healthier, more integrated version of you that emerges when you’ve had space to actually heal. Your silence now is an investment in the person you’re becoming—someone who knows the difference between authentic vulnerability with safe people and performative oversharing with everyone.

5 Mistakes to Avoid When Protecting Your Privacy

Mistake 1: Confusing Privacy with Secrecy

Privacy is a healthy boundary; secrecy carries shame. You can be private about your divorce without pretending it didn’t happen. You can decline to discuss your illness without lying about it. The difference? Privacy says, “This is happening, and I’m choosing to process it privately.” Secrecy says “I must hide this because there’s something wrong with me.” One is strategic; the other is corrosive. When you catch yourself lying to avoid a conversation, you’ve crossed from privacy into secrecy. Instead, practice the simple truth: “Yes, things are changing for me, and I’m keeping the details private whilst I work through it.”

Mistake 2: Setting Boundaries Without Communication

Simply disappearing creates anxiety in the people who genuinely care about you. Your close friends and family aren’t mind readers. If you’re pulling back to protect your privacy, tell them explicitly. “I’m going through something significant, and I need some space to process it privately. It’s not about you; it’s about what I need right now. I’ll reach out when I’m ready.” This prevents the hurt feelings and misunderstandings that come when loved ones think they’ve done something wrong.

Mistake 3: Treating Everyone the Same

Not all relationships require the same level of boundary. Your best friend of twenty years who’s proven her trustworthiness deserves a different level of access than your colleague who’s essentially a professional acquaintance. Create tiers: inner circle (2-3 trusted people who get the real story), middle circle (people who get basic updates), outer circle (people who get “I’m fine, thanks for asking”). The mistake is either shutting everyone out or letting everyone in equally.

Mistake 4: Apologising for Your Boundaries

“I’m sorry, but I’m not really talking about it right now.” That apology undermines your boundary before you’ve even set it. You’re teaching people that your needs are an inconvenience you’re embarrassed about. Instead: “I’m not discussing the details right now.” Full stop. No apology. You don’t owe a justification for protecting your psychological wellbeing. The people who love you will respect this. The people who don’t… well, that’s information worth having.

Mistake 5: Filling the Silence with Substitutes

When you stop oversharing about your real struggles, there’s a temptation to fill that space with superficial updates—constant posts about your new hobby, your fitness journey, your redecorated flat. This is often a different version of the same problem: performing your life for an audience rather than living it privately. The goal isn’t to replace deep oversharing with shallow oversharing. It’s to reduce the need for external validation altogether and become more comfortable with the quiet, unseen work of transformation.

Intention Setting Exercise: The Circle of Trust

Find a quiet moment and take three deep breaths. On a piece of paper, draw three concentric circles.

In the innermost circle, write the names of 2-3 people who have earned your complete trust. These are people who’ve proven they can hold your story with care, who don’t gossip, who respect boundaries, who can sit with your pain without trying to fix it. These are the only people who get the full, unedited version of your transition.

In the middle circle, write the names of people who care about you but don’t need every detail. These are solid, well-meaning people who deserve to know the basics but not the nuances. They get the “I’m going through changes, here’s the broad outline” version.

In the outer circle, write categories of people rather than names: work colleagues, acquaintances, social media friends, distant relatives. These people get the most basic acknowledgement: “Things are changing, I’m managing, thanks for your concern.”

Now, here’s your intention: “I commit to honouring these boundaries. I will not upgrade people to inner circles they haven’t earned. I will not feel guilty for having these tiers. I will protect my energy by being strategic about who gets access to my unfinished story.”

Keep this paper somewhere private as a reminder that your story is valuable—too valuable to be given to anyone who asks.

Further Reading: 5 Books on Privacy, Boundaries, and Life Transitions

1. “Boundaries: When to Say Yes, How to Say No to Take Control of Your Life” by Henry Cloud and John Townsend

I’ve recommended this book to hundreds of patients over the years because it elegantly unpacks why boundaries aren’t selfish—they’re essential for healthy relationships. The authors use clear examples to show how setting limits actually creates more authentic connection, not less. For anyone struggling with guilt about protecting their privacy, this book provides both permission and practical tools.

2. “The Gifts of Imperfection” by Brené Brown

Brown’s research distinguishes between vulnerability (sharing with people who’ve earned the right to hear your story) and oversharing (using disclosure as a strategy to manage anxiety or seek validation). This distinction is crucial for anyone navigating life transitions. Her work helps you understand why you might be oversharing and how to choose connection over confession.

3. “Transitions: Making Sense of Life’s Changes” by William Bridges

This classic maps the psychological journey through life transitions with remarkable insight. Bridges identifies the “neutral zone”—that uncomfortable in-between space—as where the real transformation happens. Understanding this phase helps you see why privacy is so critical: you can’t rush through the neutral zone, and you can’t do it well with an audience.

4. “The Dance of Connection” by Harriet Lerner

Lerner offers brilliant guidance on staying true to yourself in relationships whilst maintaining connection. Her chapters on managing intrusive questions and protecting yourself from other people’s anxiety are particularly relevant. She helps you understand that setting boundaries is an act of respect—for yourself and for the relationship.

5. “Sacred Rest: Recover Your Life, Renew Your Energy, Restore Your Sanity” by Dr. Saundra Dalton-Smith

This book explores seven types of rest we all need, including “social rest”—the freedom from social obligations and performance. During major life transitions, social rest is often the most depleted resource. Dalton-Smith gives you permission to see privacy not as antisocial behaviour but as essential restoration.

PS: “Embracing Change: In 10 Minutes a Day” by Dr. Margaretha Montagu

My own book offers daily practices designed specifically for people navigating major life transitions. The ten-minute format acknowledges that when you’re in crisis or change, you don’t have hours to dedicate to self-improvement—but you do have moments. Many readers tell me the privacy-focused exercises were particularly transformative in helping them create space for authentic healing. Available here

A Voice from the Circle

“I joined Dr. Montagu’s virtual storytelling circle as part of the Purpose Pivot Protocol online course, thinking I needed to ‘share my story’ to heal from my divorce. What I discovered was the opposite. In our small, trusted group of five women, I learned the difference between sharing with strangers for validation and sharing with the right people for connection. The storytelling exercises taught me how to honour my experience without broadcasting it. For the first time in eighteen months, I felt permission to keep parts of my journey just for me. The circle didn’t push me to reveal everything—they created space for me to discover what was truly mine to keep and what was ready to be shared. That discernment changed everything about how I’m approaching my next chapter.”
— Emma, Manchester, Age 47

5 FAQs: What People Are Really Asking About Privacy During Life Transitions

How do I handle people who say “I’m just worried about you” when I set boundaries?

Recognize this for what it often is: anxiety disguised as care. Respond with warmth but firmness: “I appreciate your concern. The best way to support me right now is to respect that I’m processing things privately. I promise I’ll reach out if I need help.” Their worry doesn’t obligate you to manage their feelings by giving them access they haven’t earned.

What if keeping quiet makes people think I’m ashamed of what happened?

This fear is common, particularly for women who’ve been socialised to believe that silence equals shame. Here’s the truth: the people who matter know the difference. Your dignity speaks louder than any explanation. And frankly, what people speculate about in your absence says far more about them than about you. Focus on your healing, not their misinterpretations.

How much should I share on social media during a major life change?

Consider this guideline: only post what you’d be comfortable with a future employer, your children, or a stranger reading five years from now. Social media creates a permanent record of your most temporary feelings. During transitions, emotions are volatile. The angry post you make at 2am, the cryptic quote you share, the photo meant to show you’re “fine”—these often complicate your healing rather than support it. When in doubt, stay silent online.

What about people who helped me through hard times? Don’t I owe them updates?

Gratitude doesn’t equal obligation. You can thank someone sincerely for their past support whilst still maintaining boundaries now. “You were such a help when Mum died. I’m so grateful. Right now, I need to work through this next thing more privately, but please know your kindness hasn’t been forgotten.” True supporters will understand. Those who get offended were helping for the wrong reasons anyway.

How long should I keep things private? When do I “go public” with my new chapter?

You’ll know. There’s a felt sense when a story shifts from raw and unfinished to integrated and yours to share. Generally, wait until you can talk about it without your nervous system activating, without needing validation, and without editing for your audience’s comfort. This might be three months or three years. Trust your gut, not the calendar. And remember: you never have to “go public” in any formal sense. Your life isn’t a press conference.

Conclusion: The Quiet Courage of Guarding What Matters

There’s a particular kind of bravery that our culture rarely celebrates: the courage to be unknown, to move through transformation without fanfare, to resist the constant pressure to explain yourself. This isn’t the loud, public courage of grand gestures. It’s the quiet, private courage of saying “This is mine to hold for now.”

When you’re navigating a major life transition, every ounce of energy matters. Every conversation you don’t have to have is energy reclaimed for your actual healing. Every boundary you set is a small act of self-respect that compounds over time. Every time you resist the urge to overshare, you’re choosing depth over breadth, quality over quantity, genuine transformation over performed recovery.

You are allowed to be a mystery, even to people who think they deserve your story. You are allowed to close the door on curiosity that isn’t rooted in genuine care. You are allowed to save your words for the two or three people who’ve proven they can hold them safely. This isn’t cold; it’s wise. This isn’t closed; it’s boundaried. This isn’t hiding; it’s growing.

Your next chapter deserves to be written without a live studio audience offering commentary on every sentence. It deserves the sacred space of privacy, where you can try on new versions of yourself, make mistakes, change direction, and slowly discover who you’re becoming when the old story falls away.

As Bruce Schneier says: “Privacy is an inherent human right, and a requirement for maintaining the human condition with dignity and respect.” – the kind of privacy that lets something new grow without being scrutinised.

You don’t owe anyone the unfinished chapters. Keep them close. Guard them carefully. Share them only when you’re ready, only with those who’ve earned the right to hear them. This is how transformation happens—quietly, privately, one protected moment at a time.

Walk Your Way to Clarity: The Camino Crossroads Retreat

Sometimes the most profound way to create private space for transformation is to physically remove yourself from the demands of daily life. My 7-day Camino de Santiago Crossroads hiking retreats in the southwest of France offer exactly this: a held, intentional space where you can process major life transitions without the pressure to explain yourself to anyone back home.

These aren’t typical wellness retreats with packed schedules and constant group activities. Instead, you walk short sections of the ancient Camino—your body finding its rhythm, your mind slowly quieting, your heart beginning to unpack what it’s been carrying. The landscape holds you. The silence restores you. And in our evening storytelling circles with my Friesian horses (whose non-judgmental presence has a way of unlocking things words alone can’t reach), you practice sharing your story with a small group of fellow travellers who understand the value of privacy and trust.

This retreat is specifically designed for people navigating crossroads moments—divorce, empty nests, loss, career changes, identity transitions—who need to step away from the questions, the pressure, the constant explaining. You’ll learn to distinguish between isolation and sacred solitude, between secrecy and healthy privacy. You’ll return home with clarity about who deserves access to your unfolding story and the confidence to protect the space your next chapter needs to emerge.

Discover the Camino Crossroads Retreat

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A question for reflection: What would become possible for you if you gave yourself permission to keep the next six months of your life transformation completely private from everyone except your most trusted friends? What might emerge in that protected space?

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Ready to gain clarity on your next chapter? Take my Turning Point Quiz to discover where you are in your life transition and what specific support might serve you best right now.

Research

Petelka J, Van Kleunen L, Albright L, Murnane E, Voida S, Snyder J. Being (In)Visible: Privacy, Transparency, and Disclosure in the Self-Management of Bipolar Disorder. Proc SIGCHI Conf Hum Factor Comput Syst. 2020 Apr;2020:10.1145/3313831.3376573. 

Ben Zefeng Zhang, Tianxiao Liu, Shanley Corvite, Nazanin Andalibi, and Oliver L. Haimson. 2022. Separate Online Networks During Life Transitions: Support, Identity, and Challenges in Social Media and Online Communities. Proc. ACM Hum.-Comput. Interact. 6, CSCW2, Article 458 (November 2022), 30 pages.