So, if you read my last post you’ll know about the spiralling I did before Creamfields. All the what-ifs and the catastrophising that took place. And well… yeah my brain wasn’t completely overreacting.

I did feel overwhelmed and I did panic. The crowd, the chaos, the sensory overload – it all got a bit too much. But here’s the thing: instead of pushing myself to just get over it like I usually would have, I actually did the thing I promised myself I would.

I removed myself from the situation.

I asked the girls I was with if we could stand near the back – you know somewhere I’d have space, a bit more fresh air, and an easy exit if needed. Sounds reasonable, right? And at first it was acknowledged and agreed that’s what we would do, except when we went in this got completely dismissed and once again within minutes I was arm-to-arm with people like a sardine. And instead of anyone clocking how that might have felt for me, the focus has somehow landed more on my reaction – a sarcastic thumbs up and head nod behind the back of a girl who, honestly, has done far worse to me over the past few months.

I want to be clear: I’m not writing this to bash anyone. This blog is my safe space to process what affects me and how I get through it, and that’s what this post is. It’s about my experience, my boundaries, and my growth.

Old me would have apologised for that. Old me would’ve swallowed my feelings, said sorry for being ‘awkward’, and kept everyone else happy while I spiralled inside. But not anymore.

I didn’t apologise. And I won’t.

Because the new me knows that being selfish sometimes is the only way to survive. Everyone else puts themselves first all the time. Everyone else makes decisions based on their own comfort without thinking twice. So why should I be the only one breaking my back to prioritise everyone else while ignoring what I need.

So I left. I chose myself. And honestly? It was the best decision I could’ve made.

And just so we’re being clear, I didn’t try to make this anyone else’s problem. That was the only time I asked to be near the back, and I didn’t expect anyone else to leave with me or feel sorry for me. I told them to have the best rest of their night because I knew it wasn’t fair to bum everyone else out. This was about me taking care of me and that’s okay.

And yeah, maybe some people will spin that into me being dramatic or ruining the vibe. But what actually happened was I saw myself panicking, I respected my limits, and I took action to protect my peace. That’s not weakness. That’s strength. That’s growth.

The thing about crowds – and maybe this is just me – is how fast they flip from being fun and buzzing to claustrophobic and terrifying. One minute you’re moving around freely, laughing, vibing. The next, you look around and suddenly realise you’re trapped in a sea of people, shoulder-to-shoulder, no way to move forward or back. And then the panic creeps in. It’s like your brain hits the big red button labelled ‘danger’ even though nothing is technically happening.

Once that switch flips, it’s a full body takeover. My heart races, my chest tightens, my palms sweat, and suddenly every exit looks blocked. My brain starts screaming: you can’t move, you can’t breathe, you’re stuck, you’re stuck, you’re stuck. And even though my body is still standing there physically, mentally it’s like I’m trapped in a loop of terror with no way out.

Past me would’ve forced herself to stay. I’d have thought, “come on, don’t be the downer, don’t ruin it, just hold it together until it’s over”. And then I’d have smiled through gritted teeth, pretending everything’s fine, while my body screamed otherwise. That would’ve left me drained, anxious, and crying in silence while everyone else carried on around me. And honestly? That would’ve ruined the night more than actually leaving ever could.

Leaving didn’t feel dramatic. It didn’t feel like failure. It felt like survival. Like stepping back and saying, I’m uncomfortable in this situation and I matter enough to not let that continue. And the relief? Immediate. My shoulders dropped, my lungs opened, my head cleared – just from stepping away from that suffocating crowd. Proof that listening to yourself is always the right call, even if other people don’t get it.

And yes, the sarcastic thumbs-up got noticed. And yes, some people might see it as me being petty or rude. But here’s the reality: I had been dragged into exactly what I’d asked to avoid. I had been ignored. And then my reaction – a tiny, almost invisible gesture of defiance – got treated as the problem. That’s when it hit me how often my feelings get side lined. How often my anxiety just gets brushed off. And why should I let that keep happening? I don’t need people around me who dismiss my feelings. I deserve to be with people who respect my boundaries the same way I would with theirs.

Anxiety does something really sneaky: it makes you feel like a failure even when you’re doing the best thing you could possibly do. Walking away, taking a break, protecting yourself – all of that is strength, but anxiety twists it into shame. You feel selfish. You feel dramatic. You feel like you’ve let everyone else down. And that’s the hardest part. Learning to tell yourself no, this is not selfish, this is necessary and takes time, practice, and a lot of patience with yourself.

Because the truth is that protecting yourself is not dramatic. Knowing your limits is not dramatic. Walking away from a situation that makes you uncomfortable and panicky is not dramatic. What is dramatic is pretending everything is fine while your body screams at you to get out. What is dramatic is ignoring your own needs until you collapse.

Old me would’ve stayed. Old me would have apologised, swallowed her discomfort, and made herself the villain in her own story. New me walks away with peace. New me knows she is allowed to prioritise her own safety and sanity. New me knows that leaving isn’t failure, staying would have been.

And that’s the real takeaway here. My anxiety didn’t ruin Creamfields. My anxiety didn’t dictate the outcome. The only thing that would have ruined it was forcing myself to stay, pretending I was fine, and letting the panic spiral out of control. I walked away and I protected myself. That’s growth. That’s learning. That’s living with respect for yourself, something some people maybe don’t know how to do just yet.

So here’s where I’m at:

I will not apologise for being selfish.

I will not apologise for needing space.

I will not apologise for protecting my peace when no one else is looking out for it.

Because the only thing worse than leaving early is leaving myself behind.

— Lilly x