Ride or Die? Girl, Maybe It's Time to Call An Uber

Once upon a time, I had a jean jacket that had seen it all—concerts, job interviews, breakups, questionable nights out in college. It was ripped, faded, and about as structurally sound as my will to meal prep. But I held on. Why? Because it used to be perfect. Because it used to feel like me.

That jacket? It was a metaphor. (Also it smelled weird, but that’s not the point.)

We all have things we’ve outgrown—relationships, jobs, routines, beliefs, that one group text you keep muting but never leave because you don’t want to look like a bitch. And yet, we stay. We cling. We convince ourselves that real loyalty means staying until the bitter, soul-crushing end.

Spoiler: It doesn’t.

The Myth of “Ride or Die”

"Ride or Die" sounds romantic until you realize you're the one doing all the driving while the thing you're loyal to keeps slashing your tires.

Somewhere along the way, we absorbed this idea that quitting is weakness. That walking away makes us flaky, ungrateful, or God forbid, selfish. Especially as women, we’re told to stick it out. Smile through the discomfort. Be the bigger person. (Add glitter. Send thank-you notes. Bake cupcakes for your own damn going-away party.)

But here’s the truth: Sometimes the strongest, most badass thing you can do is leave.

Not with bitterness. Not with fireworks. Just with quiet confidence and the audacity to say: This no longer serves me. I’m allowed to choose peace over loyalty.

Let’s Talk About Blind Loyalty for a Sec

Here’s where it gets tricky. Blind loyalty is that deep, unquestioning devotion we give without pausing to ask, “Wait… is this still good for me?” We’re all guilty of it. Hell, I’ve stayed loyal to leggings with holes in the crotch longer than some actual friendships. Sometimes it’s loyalty to people. Sometimes it’s to a job, a belief system, a version of ourselves we’ve outgrown. We do it because it feels noble. Because we were raised to stand by our people. Because we’d rather suffer than disappoint.

And listen, there are things I’ll go down swinging for—my kids, my husband, my entire family, my best friends, the Oxford comma. That kind of loyalty is sacred. It’s not blind. It’s chosen, rooted, earned.

But for everything else? I’m learning to check in. To ask if the thing I’m clinging to still fits the life I want now. And if it doesn’t? I can love it, respect it, thank it for what it gave me, and then let it go.

So How Do You Know It’s Time?

There’s no magic alarm (though if your body has started breaking out in hives before work meetings, that might be a sign). But here are a few red flags that say “Uber, please”:

• You dread it more than you enjoy it.

• You’re staying out of guilt, not joy.

• You fantasize about escaping.

• You feel small, invisible, or utterly drained.

• The only reason you haven’t left is because... well, you haven’t left yet.

Sound familiar? Yeah, me too.

Why We Stay

Because we’re scared.

Because it’s familiar.

Because we used to love it.

Because we don’t want to hurt anyone.

Because we poured so much of ourselves in and we’re scared to admit it was never meant to last forever.

Sound human? Because it is.

And let me say this louder for the people in the back (and maybe my kids, who never seem to hear me the first time): Growth is not betrayal!

How to Walk Away Without Nuking Your Life

Let’s be real. I’m not out here telling you to abandon everything or quit your job with a middle finger and an Instagram farewell montage (though... tempting. And I'm halfway there).

But I am telling you that you’re allowed to:

• Set boundaries that protect your energy.

• Detach with love.

• Say “no more” without explaining yourself.

• Choose discomfort now to avoid destruction later.

Maybe it’s not a dramatic exit. Maybe it’s just slowly letting something go. Loosening your grip. Creating space for what’s next. Allowing silence where you once filled every gap with people-pleasing. And if you need a little mantra to whisper while you hit "leave group chat"? Try this:

"I can love something and still leave it. I can be grateful for it and still grow beyond it. I am allowed to change my mind."

Final Thought From Your Emotional Uber Driver

Look, maybe you were Ride or Die. Loyal to a fault. The last one clapping. The first one to show up and the last one to leave. But that doesn’t have to be your forever story.

You can get out of the car. You can choose a new direction. Hell, you can even walk for a while. Breathe, stretch, start fresh. No destination required. You don’t owe anyone an explanation for choosing yourself. Just tip your driver, grab your bag, and go.