(Headphones on-My Tears Ricochet-Taylor Swift)
I used to think walking away meant something had gone wrong.
That it required an explanation.
That I would feel guilty for it later.
None of that happened.
What actually happened was simpler.
People kept trying to hand me their mess like it was my responsibility to hold it.
Their drama. Their spirals. Their unfinished emotions.
The same stories dressed up as urgency, expecting my reaction to give them weight.
And I realized I didn’t have to take it.
Not because I was angry.
Not because I was cold.
But because it was bullshit.
I didn’t owe my nervous system to anyone else’s dysfunction.
I didn’t owe my peace to people who only felt alive when something was wrong.
I didn’t owe my presence to conversations that went nowhere and people who never cleaned up after themselves.
The part that surprised me wasn’t leaving.
It was how light everything felt once I did.
The high stopped working.
The rush of being involved.
The identity of being the one who listens, absorbs, fixes, understands.
It all started to feel cheap.
Like noise pretending to be depth.
I didn’t miss them the way I thought I would.
I missed who I used to be when I thought chaos meant connection.
Being alone wasn’t lonely.
It was clean.
No managing moods.
No anticipating reactions.
No shrinking or explaining or softening myself so someone else wouldn’t fall apart.
Just quiet.
And for the first time, quiet felt honest.
I learned something important in that space.
Being alone is better than being in shitty company.
Every time.
And once I understood that, regret stopped showing up.
I didn’t ask if walking away was okay.
I didn’t wait for permission.
I just left.
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