Once upon a time, the most overused word in my vocabulary was keen.

New bar opening? Keen. Groupon vouchers for a cocktail masterclass taking place in a dubious bar on the other side of London? Keen. House party thrown by someone I vaguely knew at University, sure to be a minefield of ex-flings and boring small talk? Keen guys, I’m so keen.

Keen was my FOMO, and it sucked. Because really, who needs the added pressure of being a yes-woman 24/7, constantly trying to out-fun everyone else at the party? Which members of our cash-strapped generation rent really need the peer pressure of buying another overpriced round of drinks for people they barely know?

I’ll forever be in debt to whoever made staying in the new going out and finally gave us a reason to reclaim our spare time, cleverly packaged up as a cutesy acronym we can bandy about on days when it’s dark, and raining, and we really can’t be arsed.

That’s not to say I don’t go out, to bars and cinemas and clubs, or see friends and generally socialise with other members of the human race. Last weekend, my best friend and I were even going to go out out, but three bottles of prosecco down we realised we were having more fun lolling on the sofa than queuing to get into a bar, then queuing to get to the actual bar, then queuing to use a grubby toilet.

And therein lies the true joy of JOMO - it finally makes it acceptable for us to do what we want, and only want we want. Embracing JOMO as a way of life doesn't make you a full-time recluse who counts Netflix as your only hobby, or automatically transform you into someone who would rather spend time with a mound of fleecy blankets than an actual human being.

JOMO laughs in the cruel face of FOMO. Turn down that invitation to a party where you know an ex will be lurking. Count yourself out of a day trip to Thorpe Park when you know you hate rollercoasters. Say no to going for dinner in an overpriced restaurant if all you really want to do is eat KFC in bed and watch Parks and Recreation on repeat (just me?)

Embracing JOMO doesn’t make you a smug loser. It soothes your inner, FOMO-ridden teenager, and means that when you do go out, you're bound to have more fun – because you actually want to be there.

And really, otherwise, what is the bloody point?

Feeling JOMO? Two women debate our new obsession with staying in