All scenes, characters, and emotional disasters depicted here are fictional or exaggerated beyond recognition. Any resemblance to real people, living or texting you at 2 AM, is purely accidental or the result of cosmic comedy.
Last weekend, I walked into what can only be described as my personal version of Survivor: Romance Island Edition. Three exes. One party. Zero escape routes. And me, standing there in my favorite boots like I'd accidentally stumbled into the most chaotic episode of The Bachelor ever filmed.
Here's the thing about running into exes: it's not the seeing them that gets you. It's the split second where your brain goes completely rogue and starts playing a highlight reel of every cringe moment from your past while simultaneously trying to calculate if your current outfit screams "I'm thriving" or "I definitely cried in my car before coming here."
Spoiler alert: I survived. Not just survived, I THRIVED. And now I'm here to share the unhinged wisdom I gained from what felt like the most dramatic social experiment of my life.
Before we even talk about what happens IN the room full of exes, we need to discuss the preparation. Because honey, walking into that situation unprepared is like showing up to a Real Housewives reunion without receipts. You're going to get destroyed.
First, I had to get my head right. And by "get my head right," I mean I spent approximately 47 minutes staring at myself in the mirror while having a full therapy session about why I was even worried about people who are quite literally in my past for very valid reasons.
The research backs this up, actually. Being genuinely unbothered isn't about performing indifference, it's about cultivating real self-assurance. Your self-worth can't be contingent on how your exes react to seeing you. Which sounds very mature and enlightened until you're actually standing in front of your bathroom mirror at 6 PM, having a full breakdown about whether your lipstick choice is sending the right message.
But here's what I learned: the most unbothered thing you can do is actually invest in your own presence. When you show up to an event already energized by your own life, your own friendships, your own chaos, you're not preoccupied with managing how other people perceive you. You're just... existing. Confidently. Like the main character you actually are.
Walking into that party was like stepping onto a stage where everyone knows the script except you're improvising. The key to nailing this moment? Strategic calm mixed with just enough flair to remind everyone why they fell for you in the first place.
I chose my outfit like I was dressing for the Met Gala of petty revenge. Nothing too obvious, nothing that screamed "I bought this specifically to make you jealous," but everything that whispered "I have excellent taste and my life is clearly together." The boots were the perfect finishing touch, comfortable enough to make a quick exit if needed, but striking enough to be memorable.
The entrance itself was pure theater. I didn't scan the room like a security camera looking for threats. I walked in like I belonged there (because I DID), said hello to the people I actually wanted to see, and let the universe handle the rest.
And then it happened. Eye contact across a crowded room like we're in the world's most awkward romantic comedy. Ex number one, standing by the kitchen island, looking exactly the same except somehow smaller than I remembered.
This is where most people panic. This is where the internal dialogue goes completely feral and starts spiraling about what you should say, how you should act, whether you should pretend you didn't see them or march over there and demand to know why they never returned your favorite sweater.