Is monk mode the new era of wellness for women?

At some point between my third “I’m trying to heal” journal entry and cancelling yet another night out with my girlfriends, I realised I was deep in something the internet was calling Monk Mode. No, I didn’t shave my head or flee to the Himalayas in search of peace—but I did swap my spontaneous nights out for late-night walks, delete Hinge (again), and start scheduling my Sunday evenings just to reflect on the week.

What began as a “I’m having a quarter-life crisis, and I need to get out of this” moment eventually turned into a less chaotic lifestyle—one that made me feel more in control. And as I doomscrolled my way through Instagram Reels, I realised I wasn’t the only one retreating into discipline and wellness as the new form of self-care.

Everywhere I looked, women were quietly opting out of parties, dates, performative productivity, and the relentless pressure to keep up with everything, all at once. But this wasn’t depression or some tragic “falling off”—it was intentional and structured. Like we were collectively waking up to reflect on just how much time we’d spent stretching ourselves thin trying to be there for everyone else. In this constant loop of oversharing and hyper-social everything, silence and solitude suddenly felt radical.

From tech bros to boundary queens

Originally coined by Ben Oreinstein in 2002, “monk mode” was described as a focused, distraction-free period dedicated to deep work and self-improvement. The concept first gained traction among tech bros and entrepreneurs trying to build empires in isolation. But somewhere between the constant hustling and eventual burnout, women started reclaiming the idea—reshaping it not as a productivity hack, but as a boundary-setting lifestyle. Less “grind till you die,” and more “recalibrate before I lose my mind.” Unlike its original tech-world roots, this new version feels emotionally layered—it’s as much about healing and recharging as it is about focusing and levelling up.

But the more I leaned into it, the more I started to wonder—was this actual healing? Was I genuinely creating space for growth, or had I just found a prettier way to micromanage my life?

It’s the kind of trend that honestly sounds like a joke at first. I mean, Monk Mode? Are we medieval men in robes renouncing pleasure? But for a growing number of young women, that’s kind of the point. Growing up in a culture that constantly tells us to be busy, productive, social, sexy, self-optimised, and spiritually enlightened (all before breakfast), Monk Mode has started to look like the only sane response. It’s the digital-age version of going off the grid: no dating, fewer distractions, and more alone time to “focus” (on what, exactly, depends on who you ask—career, healing, skincare, a six-figure side hustle… or all of the above).

The performance of peace

On the surface, it really does feel empowering—like we’re finally prioritising ourselves instead of pouring our time and energy into things that don’t give back (men, mostly). But beneath this wellness-girl rebranding, I can’t help but wonder if we’ve just swapped one performance for another—if even in our solitude, we’re still being productive, palatable, and yes, thanks to Instagram, aesthetically pleasing.

According to Dr Prarthana Shah, health coach and founder of Buova Care, “It really depends on the intention behind it. When done mindfully, Monk Mode can help build healthy habits and create space for reflection. But when it’s driven by guilt, pressure, or the need to ‘fix’ yourself, it can easily slip into toxic productivity.”

This is exactly where the line between mindful solitude and performative isolation gets blurry. Our digital culture loves a good “glow-up arc,” and this trend fits neatly into that narrative—a transformation we can track, aestheticise, and hashtag on every social platform. But what happens when your healing starts to look more like a hustle or a to-do list in your everyday routine? When did rest become another metric of success?

The truth is, self-improvement has become a great spectator sport. We log off—but not too much. We rest—but only if it’s productive. We meditate—but make sure the lighting’s good for filming. The quiet we crave eventually ends up being curated. And somewhere between detoxing and documenting, we forget that the whole point is to feel better, not just look like we’re doing better.

How to go Monk Mode—without losing yourself

So, how does one adopt the positive aspects of going #MonkMode—focus, discipline, digital detoxing—without disappearing into isolation or turning growth into a performance? According to Dr Shah, starting small and staying connected is key. “You don’t need to disappear to reconnect with yourself. Set clear digital boundaries, protect your mornings, and create nourishing rituals that ground you—like journaling, movement, or mindful meals. And instead of broadcasting every change online, let your growth be something you live rather than something you show. Balance introspection with community; it’s often the people and pauses that keep us anchored.”

And while it’s easy to romanticise the stillness and structure this trend offers, Dr Shah warns that it can tip into unhealthy territory when self-care starts to feel like another checklist. “If social plans trigger guilt, or if you feel anxious about ‘falling off’ your routine, that’s a red flag,” she says. “Isolation, rigidity, or chasing a perfect version of discipline defeats the purpose. The goal isn’t to master your routine—it’s to feel more like yourself. Sustainable wellness leaves room for spontaneity, connection, and joy.”

Maybe that’s the real lesson here. Monk Mode doesn’t have to mean retreating from the world—it can simply mean returning to yourself. Not every season of your life needs to be shared, optimised, or branded as a glow-up. Sometimes, the softest kind of strength is found in the quiet moments no one else sees.

Lead image credit: Netflix 

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