Then, my brain, in its infinite wisdom, decides to play a little game called “What If Everyone Forgets About You?” It’s a real nail-biter. My anxiety whispers sweet (and by sweet, I mean terrifying) nothings in my ear: “If you’re not there, they’ll move on. They’ll forget you exist. You’ll become a social ghost.” Dramatic much? My brain is basically a telenovela writer.

DO. NOT. CANCEL. PLANS. WITH. ME. AND. THEN. GET. MAD. WHEN. I'M. BUSY. WHEN. YOU. FINALLY. DECIDE. YOU. WANT. TO. HANG. OUT.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with a bottle of champagne, a fabulous pair of heels, and a playlist that’s guaranteed to make you want to dance. Because, darling, life is too short to settle for vanilla.

This weekend is about self-care. Maybe I'll do a little writing – it's a creative outlet that helps me process my thoughts and feelings. But mostly, I plan on just being. Reading a book, listening to music, maybe even indulging in a movie marathon. Simple pleasures, enjoyed in the comfort of my own little world.

I've learned a few coping mechanisms over the years. Sometimes, it's as simple as stepping outside for a few minutes to catch my breath and find some quiet. Other times, I'll wear noise-canceling headphones to help filter out the excess noise. And sometimes, the best thing I can do is simply acknowledge my limits and leave the situation altogether.

The idea of spending an evening watching sports, making small talk about… well, I don’t even know what you talk about, probably sports, and enduring the constant barrage of casual misogyny is my personal definition of hell. No, thank you. I value my sanity, and frankly, my eardrums.

This leads me to the core of what I want to share: moving on isn’t just about forgetting someone. It’s about creating a new space for yourself, a space free from the toxicity of the past.