When self-preservation becomes a reflex, who gets left in the wreckage? We’re diving into the TikTok-fueled individualism epidemic, where “protecting your peace” is rebranding social abandonment.
“Oh, we’re not talking anymore. I blocked them.” It still catches me off guard, hearing myself say this about someone who once felt permanent: my college best friend. At the time, the decision felt like a pivotal turning point, the kind you’d see in movies. Like the many Gen Z narratives looping through my TikTok feed, this simply meant I was protecting my peace: choosing myself, setting a boundary, moving on. At least, that’s how I framed it. Lately, distance has sharpened my perspective on this mindset, which has grown into something else entirely under a culture of hyper-individualism .
Lately, distance has a way of sharpening perspective. What once felt like self-preservation is now a little more complicated, shaped by a culture that often centers the self as both protagonist and priority. That realization led me to unpacking how this “main character” mindset (so easily romanticized) reshapes the way we hold our relationships, whether in friendship, family, or love.
Our algorithm is telling us that what we’re doing is just “self-care.” But in reality, it’s more of an extreme hyper-individualism that views all social ties as optional, or relationships as burdensome the moment friction or inconvenience make an appearance. So, people sever all ties under the guise of “empowerment” that’s actually social abandonment in a trench coat. To put it simply, TikTok indoctrination is eroding our sense of collective moral duty, the kind that’s essential for human flourishing.
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How Individualism Fractures Relationships
A lot of videos and creators on your For You Page love to talk about “red flags.” They point out patterns they’ve noticed in relationships, which are usually different forms of inconveniences, and by the end of the video, the advice is almost always the same: leave. Choose yourself. Walk away. In a culture that constantly reminds you to put yourself first, above the unglamorous work that’s part and parcel of maintaining any relationship, it becomes easy to follow instructions from someone you’ve never met. The moment a friend, family member, or even partner shows signs that resemble those so-called red flags, the instinct kicks in. You leave, you block, you delete them from your life like a contact you no longer need.
Instead of helping us better understand ourselves, language started turning into “therapy talk,” adopting words used in psychology and giving them entirely new meanings. Terms like “toxic,” “gaslighting,” and “boundaries” have slipped into everyday vocabulary, losing their weight in the process. What once required context and care is now thrown around with casual certainty, often used to shut conversations down instead of opening them up. It’s easier to slap a label on someone and their behaviors than to sit through the discomfort of working things out. Harder still to admit that not every misstep is manipulation, and not every conflict is harm.
There was a time when cutting someone off was a last resort: a response to real harm, to patterns that refused to change, to situations that demanded distance for survival. Now, the line feels blurrier. Discomfort and inconvenience can look like danger or incompatibility. A missed call, a poorly worded message, a difference in expectations—small things begin to carry the same weight as something far more serious. While choosing yourself is important, it starts to lose meaning when it becomes a reflex, instead of a major decision you spend time contemplating on.
The algorithm doesn’t help, of course. Your For You Page learns quickly, feeding you stories that echo your own, affirming your choices in a loop that rarely asks for the full picture. You hear one side, then another that sounds eerily similar, until it feels like a consensus. Suddenly, leaving feels not just valid, but necessary. The other person’s perspective fades into the background, replaced by a chorus of strangers who all seem to agree: you’re better off without them. Over time, the connection starts to feel conditional, even disposable. People become easy to remove and harder to keep.
Maybe that’s the shift we don’t talk about enough. We’ve grown used to frictionless interactions thanks to our social media-bestowed capabilities: muting, unfollowing, curating our feeds until everything feels aligned. Real relationships can feel exhausting by comparison because they demand patience, compromise, and the willingness to sit in moments that aren’t immediately resolved. They ask more from us than a quick exit ever will.
The irony is, the very things that make relationships difficult are also what make them meaningful. Not every moment of tension calls for the severance of ties. Not every inconvenience is a sign to walk away. Being a part of each other’s lives entails messiness and imperfection, but it’s worth the effort anyway.
Moral Individualism vs. Modern Egoism
In Sociology, Emile Durkheim conceptualized “moral individualism” as an essential feature of modern society. The concept affirms personal freedom, but still requires a deeply felt responsibility and cooperative interdependence toward others. This means society functions only when individuals learn to transcend their self-centered physical appetites and attach themselves to the broader collective.
Comparing Durkheim’s theory to the ego-fueled individualism we now experience today, it feels like we took the first half of the idea and conveniently forgot the rest. Yes, we’ve mastered the language of selfhood—boundaries, autonomy, self-respect—but responsibility toward others became optional. The collective was meant to balance the self, and vice versa; now, the scale weighs heavy on one side, tipping into egoism. “Empowerment” in this context becomes an insidious version of itself, framing disagreements and the slightest points of conflict as reasons to retreat or take offense.
Durkheim warned that our inherently self-serving instincts, when unchecked, make the “self” the sole reference point. This turns relationships into curated personal ecosystems, valued only for comfort. Any disruption results in immediate dismissal.
We rationalize that leaving is healthier than facing uncomfortable demands like patience or accountability. Over time, these choices accumulate, our social circle shrinks, and the ties that once grounded us weaken until they vanish.
Durkheim argued that detachment from social groups—family, friends, community—leads not only to independence, but also to the loss of essential anchors. These connections provide emotional support, limits, and guidance. Without them, accountability and external values diminish, making everything self-referential: the individual becomes the sole judge, jury, and main character.
Our Current State Of Anomie
Durkheim had a word for this state of disconnection: anomie. It’s what happens when the usual structures that guide our lives fall away, leaving us in a kind of social limbo. No clear standards, no shared expectations, just a vague sense that everything is up to you, but nothing feels quite anchored. In a hyper-individualistic culture, where leaving has become second nature, anomie creeps in quietly. You cut people off, you move on, you keep choosing yourself. At the onset, isolation can feel like freedom with fewer obligations, compromises, and accountability. However, the resulting lack of connection leaves you without support or the small challenges necessary to make decisions unclouded by solipsism.
We’ve been taught that independence is the goal, that the less we rely on others, the better. But Durkheim’s point warns us that a life built entirely around the self is unsustainable and disorienting. Whether we like it or not, we don’t exist in a vacuum, our very lives dependent on other people.
The question isn’t whether we should choose ourselves, because we should. But we need to choose others, too. We seem to have forgotten that we can do both at the same time.
Reclaiming The Collective
A life built solely around the “I” will always feel hollow. So where does that leave us? Well, if hyper-individualism teaches us to ask “What do I get out of this?,” it might be time to reframe it into “How do I give back to the people in my life?” Not in a self-sacrificial way, but in a way that understands care is seldom convenient.
Healthy interdependence isn’t about losing yourself. It’s about recognizing that who you are is shaped, challenged, and steadied by others. Boundaries still matter, of course. Not every relationship is meant to be kept. But there’s a middle ground between cutting people off at the first sign of discomfort and tolerating what harms you: it’s a space where you can be both self-respecting and deeply connected. Despite what the algorithm suggests, not everything is disposable. Not every relationship is replaceable. And not every version of growth requires you to walk away.
Frequently Asked Questions
Not always. Sometimes it’s necessary for self-preservation, especially in harmful or abusive dynamics. But it can become a reflex shaped by discomfort rather than actual harm. The distinction matters: self-care involves discernment, not automatic removal of anything that feels inconvenient.
In Durkheim’s sense, moral individualism is the balance between personal freedom and social responsibility. It allows individuals to assert themselves while still recognizing a duty to others and the importance of interdependence. It is not about prioritizing the self at all costs, but about sustaining the social ties that make individual freedom meaningful in the first place.
Platforms like TikTok often reinforce simplified narratives, especially around “red flags” and leaving relationships. Because content is personalized and repetitive, it can create an echo chamber that validates cutting people off without full context. Over time, this can normalize disposability in relationships and make long-term relational maintenance feel unnecessary or even outdated.
