A Quiet Exit from the Party

There was a version of me, not too long ago, who said yes to everything.

Yes to the late nights.

Yes to the extra drink.

Yes to the invite that came in at 10:47 p.m. when I was already showered, moisturized, and halfway in bed.

And I had fun. Real fun.

The kind where you laugh too loud, dance like no one’s watching, and let yourself be seen without overthinking every little thing. The kind that reminds you you’re still alive in your body after everything it’s been through.

For a while, I needed that.

After seasons of heaviness, grief, confusion, and survival, that version of me wasn’t reckless—she was recovering. She was finding her way back to joy in the only language she could access at the time.

And I don’t regret her.

But lately, something has shifted.

And this time, it wasn’t subtle.

Last night really did it for me.

We got guest-listed, comped tickets, the whole thing… and the party was dead. Empty. No energy. I said I’d leave and come back later for the set, and somehow that turned into me being “entitled.”

That moment told me everything I needed to know.

Because how did “this isn’t worth my time right now” turn into “you’re asking for too much”?

Then earlier, we’re pregaming and one of the men is drunk, doing the most: handsy, loud, not contributing anything, not even taking care of himself and I’m watching the women around him manage the situation. Again.... And then later, I’m in a debate with a man about spirituality, decolonization, and power… and he tells me I don’t have real power.

And I just sat there thinking… Like, why am I even here?

Because the truth is, I’ve experienced a different kind of “party.”

In Portugal, it was expansive. We drank, we danced, we had real conversations. We ate good food. We looked out for each other. It felt full. It felt human.

This? This felt performative.

And that’s when it clicked for me:

I’m not tired because I went out.

I’m tired because of what going out has become.

It feels like performance.

Like obligation.

Like energy being exchanged unevenly, over and over again.

And I’ve outgrown that.

I don’t want to argue with men about my power in loud rooms.

I don’t want to negotiate my worth for a “vibe.”

I don’t want to be in spaces where women are managing chaos instead of enjoying themselves.

I don’t want to feel like I have to prove anything just to exist comfortably.

I’ve learned what it feels like to be poured into.

So now, I feel the difference immediately when I’m not.

And I trust that.

So this is my quiet exit.

Not from joy.

Not from celebration.

Not from being outside.

But from this version of it.

I’m still going to travel.

Still going to dance.

Still going to dress up and step out.

But it has to feel intentional now.

It has to feel expansive.

It has to feel like something I don’t need to recover from.

Because I’m not leaving fun behind.

I’m just refining it.

And if that means the party only exists for me in new cities, new countries, or spaces that actually feel good…then I’m okay with that.

The party was beautiful.

But I’m done now.