The art of leaving early

I used to get a gentle push from my parents when I hesitated at the edge of something new. A party. A pool. A school trip. That first nudge over the threshold. It worked. Most of the time.

But now? I’m the one who has to do the pushing. And I’ll be honest: it doesn’t always happen.
There’s a quiet pattern I’ve spotted in myself over the years: if something feels emotionally high-stakes, I tend to hover. Delay. Sometimes, avoid. I can bluff my way through low-impact moments just fine. But when my heart’s a little too involved, my avoidant mode throws a party. And I… don’t show up.

It’s not even fear of failure, really. It’s more the fear of discomfort. Rejection. The slight sting of being exposed in some way I can’t fully control. I know I can handle it. I always do. But there’s a flicker of doubt that shows up anyway, whispering, Are you sure this is worth it?

Here’s what I’m learning: sometimes it absolutely is. Sometimes the minor awkwardness is the gateway to something beautiful. Growth. Joy. Perspective. But only if you show up for it. And showing up, when no one else is nudging you forward anymore, is a whole skill set.

And sometimes, I leave early.
Not always because I want to go read under a blanket with my two clingy sphynx cats (though let’s be clear: that is a very valid reason). Sometimes it’s because something inside me flinched. The vibe shifted. A look was exchanged. I misread a silence and suddenly thought, You don’t belong here.
I’ve left things I maybe shouldn’t have. Fun nights. Honest talks. Opportunities that required just five more minutes of presence.

I didn’t leave because I didn’t care. I left because I cared too much. And other times, I left right on time. Before the small talk turned forced. Before the internal spiral began. Before I needed to pretend I wasn’t already halfway out the door emotionally.

It’s an art.
Knowing when to stay a little longer and when to gracefully ghost. Knowing when you’re honoring your energy versus avoiding your potential. Sometimes the answer is clear. Often, it isn’t.

I don’t really get FOMO. I get the social pressure to show up. But I don’t always want the thing itself. I’ve learned to check: do I want to go, or do I want to be seen going? And if I do go, I’m usually the one mentally scanning the exits, plotting a subtle escape.

I love a shared exit strategy. I love the friend who catches my glance and nods, yep, time to go.
That said: you won’t catch me leaving early from a dinner with good food. I have boundaries, not delusions.
But the rest? Borrels. Birthday drinks. Networking things. I try. I really do.

And sometimes I even enjoy it. Sometimes I plant myself near a familiar face and coast. Sometimes I talk too much, mixing metaphors and making zero sense, hoping my smile carries the sentence through. And sometimes I say something that sounds completely normal, but walk away convinced I’ve ruined my reputation forever.

I’m learning to stay a little longer when it matters. To lean into the conversations that might feel vulnerable. To stop interpreting every eyebrow raise as disapproval. To remind myself that no one is keeping score but me.

And if all else fails: there’s always a latte, a window seat, and a cat who thinks I’m perfect just as I am.

— Sophie Quinn