When I was a teen, my bedroom was routinely ransacked. The suspicion was that I was hanging out with bad kids and into bad things. I used to keep my posters, albums, everything that made me feel like a teen, in my closet. The posters were torn apart, I was made to tear them apart, my albums were broken. Notes from friends were read aloud and mocked. Friends were contacted and told to not speak to me again.
It was pretty dumb because I was pretty square. I didn't sneak out to parties, had no interest in alcohol, drugs, goofing with guys, none of that. I was like a fly on the wall, more interested in observing others. I was a teen with zero emotional support trying to figure shit out.
Back to the ransacking. It was traumatic, a forced detachment. It taught me I wasn't allowed to keep anything important and I'm not allowed privacy.
I wanted to be around friends at the time because home was miserable. I wanted privacy to enjoy what little freedom I had, for self-expression in drawing, writing.
I hated it but it became ingrained. I routinely go through my own stuff and get rid of things that have lost meaning or if they do have meaning which no longer serves me, I remove them. It's the same with certain things and social circles. If I start to feel weighed down or overwhelmed, I dip out into solitude.
On one hand, I see it as a flaw I want to fix and I try but an auto-pilot switch goes off. On the other, I've definitely put in dedication over long periods of time trying to make things that were important to me work.
Sometimes, it's best to step away and return to yourself.