The Engagement Party I Wasn’t Invited To

My sister sent me a document titled “My Engagement Budget.” I paid ten thousand dollars, but couldn’t find my name on the guest list. When I realized I wasn’t invited, I decided I wasn’t paying. So I canceled everything I had paid for. The next morning, the storm began.

My name is Kelly, and I’m thirty years old now. Looking back at my life, I can see the pattern clearly—how everything started going wrong when I was just a kid, when the invisible contract was written that would define my relationship with my family for decades to come.

My parents always told me that taking care of my little sister, Meline, was my job. She’s six years younger than me, so when I was in elementary school, she was just a baby. But even back then, I noticed something wasn’t right. The imbalance was subtle at first, easy to dismiss as normal sibling dynamics or birth order privileges.

Meline got pocket money every week for candy and toys. When I asked Mom why I didn’t get the same, she’d just shrug and say, “You don’t need it. Your sister does.” I watched other kids buy snacks after school while I had empty pockets and empty hands. It hurt in a way I didn’t have words for yet. But I learned not to complain. Complaining only made things worse at home, only highlighted my ingratitude, only proved I didn’t understand what family meant.

The Invisible Contract

When I turned fifteen, I couldn’t take it anymore. The feeling of being perpetually overlooked, of my needs being secondary to Meline’s wants, had festered into a quiet resentment that threatened to consume me. I got a part-time job at a local grocery store, stocking shelves after school and on weekends. The pay wasn’t much—minimum wage for maximum effort—but it was mine. Or so I thought.

Funny thing is, even with my own money, I still bought things for Meline. She’d see me with cash and give me those big, pleading eyes that had been perfected through years of practice. “Kelly, can you buy me that new doll, please?” Like an idiot, like someone who still believed in the promise of eventual reciprocity, I’d say yes.

I bought her toys, candy, clothes, whatever she wanted. Meanwhile, I wore the same three outfits to school on rotation and ate peanut butter sandwiches for lunch every single day. My parents never noticed how hard I was working or how little I kept for myself. They were too busy fussing over Meline, too absorbed in her needs to see mine.

Every family dinner was about her grades, her friends, her activities. I could have disappeared, and they probably wouldn’t have noticed until Meline needed something carried or paid for or fixed.

High school was more of the same, the pattern deepening like grooves worn into wood. I worked twenty hours a week and gave most of my money to my sister. My parents acted like this was completely normal, like this was what older siblings did, what good daughters did. “Kelly, such a good sister,” Mom would tell her friends at church. “She takes such good care of Meline.”

But they never asked how I felt about it or if I needed anything. I was just expected to provide and stay quiet. It was a silent agreement, a burden I carried without realizing how heavy it was becoming, how it was shaping my spine into a permanent curve of accommodation.

I was lucky enough to get a full scholarship to college. My grades were good because I studied hard, mostly to escape the house and all the responsibilities that waited there like hungry mouths. I chose computer science because I knew it would lead to a decent job, to financial security after years of scraping by on the edges of everyone else’s abundance.

College was the first time I felt free. I lived in the dorms, ate in the cafeteria, and didn’t have to worry about anyone but myself. I made friends who didn’t know about my family situation, who saw me as just Kelly, not Kelly-the-provider or Kelly-the-responsible-one. For four years, I almost forgot what it was like to be constantly needed for money, constantly depleted for someone else’s benefit.

But that freedom ended the day I graduated.

Meline was starting college, too, and my parents made it abundantly clear what they expected. The invisible contract was being renewed, the terms non-negotiable.

“Kelly, you have a good job now,” Dad said during my graduation dinner, his voice carrying an expectation I knew all too well. “Meline is going to need help with expenses. We can’t afford to pay for everything.”

“You know how expensive college is,” Mom added, her gaze pointedly fixed on me, as if my degree had been earned for the express purpose of funding my sister’s education.

I wanted to remind them that they never paid a dime for my education, that I’d worked and studied and sacrificed while they focused on Meline. But I kept my mouth shut. I’d learned long ago that fighting with them was pointless, that resistance only made the pressure more intense.

The Silent Bank Account

At twenty-four, I got my first real job as an IT specialist at a major bank. The salary was good, better than anything I’d ever imagined making. But instead of enjoying it, instead of building the life I’d dreamed about during those long nights of studying, I immediately started sending money to Meline.

First, it was just help with rent. Then groceries. Then textbooks. Then clothes. Then entertainment money. Before I knew it, I was paying for her entire lifestyle while I lived in a cheap studio apartment with secondhand furniture and ate ramen noodles most nights.

The worst part was family gatherings. Every Sunday dinner, every holiday, every birthday party was all about Meline—her classes, her sorority, her boyfriends, her plans. I’d sit there like furniture, like a ATM in human form, only getting attention when someone needed to discuss how much money my sister required.

“Meline needs new winter coats, Kelly. Her old ones are practically rags.”

“Her car broke down again. She really needs a new one. Can you help her out?”

Each request felt like a chip away at my own future, my own dreams, my own right to exist as something more than a funding source.

Years passed like this. I moved to a slightly better apartment, but still lived modestly because so much of my income flowed directly to my sister like water following the path of least resistance. She graduated college and got a job in marketing. But somehow, she still needed my help constantly.

Car repairs, security deposits, vacation money, designer clothes for work interviews. There was always something. My bank account, once a symbol of my hard-won independence, had become nothing more than a pipeline to Meline’s desires.

The Announcement

Then came that Sunday dinner that changed everything.

I walked into my parents’ house like I had hundreds of times before, carrying the dessert I’d been assigned to bring, prepared for the usual dynamics. Meline was there with her boyfriend, Jake, some guy she’d been dating for about two years. He seemed nice enough in the distant way that people seem nice when you barely know them, when all your conversations never last more than five minutes before someone pulls your sister away.

We all sat down at the dinner table, and Dad cleared his throat like he was about to make some grand announcement. “Meline and Jake are getting engaged!” he proclaimed with a huge smile, raising his wine glass.

I looked at my sister, who was practically glowing, her hand already extended to show off a ring I hadn’t noticed before. Jake looked nervous but happy, like he’d accomplished something significant.

I should have been excited for them. I should have felt joy or anticipation or sisterly pride. But all I could think was how much this was probably going to cost me.

“That’s wonderful,” I said, trying to inject genuine warmth into my voice. “Congratulations to both of you.”

“Thanks!” Meline beamed, her eyes sparkling in a way I envied. “We’re so excited! We want to have an engagement party next month. Something really special to celebrate with everyone.”

Mom nodded enthusiastically. “It’s going to be beautiful. We’ve already started looking at venues and getting ideas together.”

Then came the part I was dreading, the moment I’d been unconsciously preparing for since Dad cleared his throat.

“We’ll need help with the money for the event,” Meline said casually, like she was discussing the weather forecast or tomorrow’s lunch plans. “You know, for the venue rental, catering, and entertainment. You’ll help us out like always, right, Kelly?”

All eyes turned to me. This was my cue to smile and say yes, like I always did, like the script demanded. But something made me hesitate. Some small voice that had been growing louder over the years finally broke through.

“Sure,” I said slowly, carefully. “I can help if it’s not too expensive.”

Meline’s face lit up like Christmas morning. “Kelly, you’re the best! I’ll send you an estimate really soon so you can see exactly what we need!”

A cold knot formed in my stomach as I smiled and nodded. Not too expensive was clearly a phrase that held very different meanings for the two of us.

The Budget Revelation

The next day at work, I got an email from Meline with the subject line “My Engagement Budget—So excited!!!” Three exclamation points. I opened it during my lunch break, expecting to see something reasonable, something I could manage without completely draining my savings.

The document was attached as a PDF. When I opened it, my jaw literally dropped.

In bold letters at the top was the total: $10,000.

I scrolled through the itemized list, unable to believe what I was reading, each line item more extravagant than the last. Venue rental was four thousand dollars alone. Then there was a florist for fifteen hundred. Professional catering for twenty-five hundred. A DJ for eight hundred. Champagne towers for six hundred. Ice sculptures—actual ice sculptures—for five hundred. And fireworks for seven hundred.

My hands were shaking when I picked up my phone to call Meline. She answered on the second ring, sounding cheerful and completely oblivious.

“Meline, what the hell is this?” I said, trying to keep my voice steady even as my heart pounded. “Ten thousand dollars? Are you serious?”

“Come on, it’s not that much,” she said dismissively, like I was being dramatic about pocket change. “I kept everything really reasonable. I could have spent way more if I wanted to.”

I rubbed my forehead, feeling a headache starting to pulse behind my eyes. “Meline, I said I’d help if it was inexpensive. This is not inexpensive. This is more than I make in two months.”

“But you promised to help me!” she whined, her voice taking on that childish quality that had always gotten her what she wanted. “You always help me! And it’s my engagement, Kelly! This is a once-in-a-lifetime event!”

“You could get money from Mom and Dad,” I suggested, my voice rising despite my efforts to stay calm. “Or Jake could contribute. He’s going to be your husband.”

There was silence on the other end for a few seconds. Then Meline’s voice got cold, taking on an edge I recognized from childhood arguments. “Mom and Dad already gave us what they could, and Jake’s saving for the wedding. I can’t ask him for more money right now.”

“Then maybe you need to cut your budget,” I said firmly, finally finding my spine. “I want to help you celebrate, but I can give you three thousand dollars maximum. That’s it.”

“Three thousand?” she shrieked, the sound making me pull the phone away from my ear. “That won’t even cover the venue! Kelly, I already told everyone that you were paying for my whole party! I can’t change everything now!”

My blood pressure was shooting through the roof. “Meline, you can’t just assume I’ll pay for everything without asking me first! You can’t make commitments with my money!”

“But you always do!” she retorted, her voice full of genuine confusion, like she honestly couldn’t comprehend why this time was different.

“I’m saying no now. Three thousand dollars. Take it or leave it.”

“This isn’t funny, Kelly! I need this money! You’re ruining everything!”

“I need to pay my own bills. Find another way or scale back your plans.”

She hung up on me. Actually hung up mid-conversation, the click sharp and final. I sat there holding my phone, shocked that she’d had the nerve to end the call like a spoiled teenager who’d just been told no for the first time.

The Family Pressure

Twenty minutes later, my phone rang again. It was Mom, and I knew before I answered that this wasn’t going to be pleasant.

“Kelly, what did you do to your sister? She’s crying her eyes out in her old bedroom!”

“I told her I couldn’t pay ten thousand dollars for her engagement party.”

“Ten thousand dollars? That does seem like a lot.” For a second, I thought Mom was going to be reasonable, that she was actually going to see my side. Then she continued, “But Meline is younger than you. She needs your help. You make good money now. You can afford this.”

“Mom, if she doesn’t have enough money for such an expensive party, she should cut the budget. Why can’t Jake pay for his own engagement party? They both have jobs. They’re both adults.”

“Jake is saving for their future together. This party is important to Meline. You know how sensitive she is.”

“What about what’s important to me? I’ve been supporting her for years! I paid for her college expenses, her car, her apartment deposits, her everything. When does it end?”

Mom got quiet for a moment, and I could hear her breathing on the other end. “We’re not talking about the wedding yet.”

Something in her voice made my stomach drop. “Yet? What do you mean yet?”

“We haven’t discussed wedding expenses. That’s a conversation for later.”

“You’ve already talked about the wedding, haven’t you? You’re already planning to make me pay for that too?”

“Kelly, don’t be dramatic. We’re just focused on the engagement party right now. Let’s take things one step at a time.”

I was so angry I could barely speak, my throat tight with rage and hurt. “Fine. Three thousand for the engagement party. That’s my final offer. If that’s not enough, she needs to figure out another plan.”

I hung up before Mom could argue with me anymore. My heart was pounding, and I felt sick to my stomach. I’d never stood up to my family like that before, and it felt terrible and liberating at the same time.

But I should have known. They weren’t going to give up that easily.

The Social Media Campaign

Over the next few days, Meline started posting on Instagram and Facebook with the dedication of someone running a smear campaign. Every single day there was a new post about how her own sister had refused to help her with her engagement party, how she never expected such betrayal from the person closest to her.

She posted old photos of us as kids—me holding her as a baby, pushing her on swings, helping her with homework—with captions like “I thought my big sister would always be there for me” and “Guess money is more important than family to some people.”

But the worst were the videos of her crying, talking directly to the camera about how heartbroken she was that I had abandoned her in her time of need. The performance was Oscar-worthy, complete with trembling voice and genuine-looking tears.

My phone started ringing constantly. Cousins, aunts, uncles, family friends I hadn’t spoken to in years. Everyone had something to say about how selfish I was being, how I was ruining Meline’s special moment.

“Kelly, it’s just money,” my Aunt Linda said during one particularly painful call. “Family is more important than money. You’ll regret this when you’re older.”

My cousin Mike added his voice to the chorus: “She’s your little sister. You’re supposed to take care of her. That’s what family means.”

Even my grandmother got involved, calling to tell me how disappointed she was in my behavior, how she’d raised us better than this.

The guilt was overwhelming, pressing down on me like physical weight. Maybe I was being selfish. Maybe I should just pay for the stupid party and be done with it. Maybe everyone was right and I was wrong.

Then Meline started sending photos to our family group chat. Old pictures of me holding her when she was a baby, feeding her bottles, braiding her hair. Each photo came with a message about how I used to love her and take care of her, and how everything had changed now that money was involved.

I couldn’t take it anymore. The constant calls, the social media posts, the guilt trips coming from every direction. I felt like I was drowning in shame and pressure, like I was the villain in a story where I should have been the hero.

Finally, I cracked.

I called Meline back, my hands shaking as I dialed.

“Fine,” I said before she could even say hello, the words bitter in my mouth. “I’ll pay for your engagement party. But this is it. This is my wedding gift to you. Don’t expect anything else when you actually get married.”

“Kelly!” She squealed with delight, all traces of tears gone instantly. “I knew you’d come through! I knew you could never really abandon me! Just send me the vendor contacts and I’ll handle everything from here. You’re the best sister in the world! I love you so much!”

As I hung up, I felt hollow inside, scraped clean of everything except resignation. I’d caved to the pressure just like I always did. But at least this time, I’d set a boundary about the wedding. That had to count for something, right?

The Payments Begin

Within an hour of my phone call with Meline, she had sent me a detailed email with all the vendor contacts. She’d already done all the legwork, probably assuming I’d cave eventually, probably planning this outcome from the beginning.

I spent the rest of that week making phone calls and sending deposits, watching my savings account drain with each transaction. The venue wanted half upfront, which was two thousand dollars right there. The caterer needed fifteen hundred as a deposit. The florist wanted eight hundred. By the time I finished making all the advance payments, I’d already spent six thousand dollars, and the party was still three weeks away.

The following Sunday, I went to my parents’ house for dinner like always, unable to break the habit even though every visit felt like walking into hostile territory. Meline was there when I arrived, sitting at the kitchen table with Mom, surrounded by what looked like wedding magazines and vendor brochures.

“Kelly!” Mom called out when I walked in. “Perfect timing! Come look at these beautiful arrangements.”

I sat down reluctantly. The table was covered with photos of elaborate floral displays that probably cost more than my monthly rent.

“Aren’t these gorgeous?” Meline gushed, pointing to a massive centerpiece covered in white roses. “I think these would be perfect for the engagement party.”

“I thought we already picked the flowers,” I said, confused and wary.

“We did. These are for the actual wedding. I’m just getting ideas together early.”

My stomach tightened. “Meline, I told you the engagement party was my wedding gift. I’m not paying for your wedding too.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “I know, I know. I’m just looking. Doesn’t hurt to dream, right?”

Mom and Meline spent the entire dinner talking about engagement party details—the guest list, the decorations, the timeline for the evening. I mostly stayed quiet, picking at my food and trying not to think about how much money I’d already spent, how much more I’d need to spend before this was over.

After dinner, I was getting ready to leave when I noticed a paper on the side table by the door. It looked like a guest list, so I picked it up out of curiosity, wanting to see how many people would be attending this ten-thousand-dollar party I was funding.

The list was long—maybe sixty or seventy names. I recognized some family members and a few of Meline’s friends I’d met before. There were a lot of names I didn’t know at all—Jake’s family, his coworkers, people from Meline’s job, friends of friends.

I scanned through the entire list twice, my eyes moving down each name carefully, looking for my own. It had to be there somewhere. I was paying for the whole damn party, after all.

But my name wasn’t on the list.

The Uninvitation

“Meline!” I called out, still holding the paper, my voice louder than I intended. “Why isn’t my name on this guest list?”

She looked up from the magazines with a guilty expression that told me everything I needed to know. Mom suddenly got very busy clearing dishes, not meeting my eyes.

“Mom and I were talking about it,” Meline said slowly, not meeting my gaze, “and we thought you might not really fit in with this crowd. The people we’re inviting are more… open and fun. You’re always too serious at parties, Kelly. You never like big crowds anyway. We thought you’d be more comfortable staying home.”

I stared at her in disbelief, unable to process what I was hearing. “I’m paying ten thousand dollars for your engagement party, and you’re not even inviting me?”

Mom finally spoke up, her voice gentle like she was explaining something to a child. “We just thought you’d feel out of place. These are Meline’s friends and Jake’s family. Very social people. We didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable or awkward.”

“You’re both insane,” I said, my voice shaking with rage. “I’m paying for your entire party, and you think I don’t belong there?”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Meline said, rolling her eyes like I was overreacting to something trivial. “It’s not personal.”

That was it. Something inside me snapped clean in half.

“Fine,” I said, grabbing my purse with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking. “Since I’m not invited, I’m not paying.”

“Kelly, wait—” Mom started, but I was already walking toward the door.

“We can talk about this—” Meline called out.

I walked out and slammed the door behind me harder than I’d ever slammed a door in my life. I could hear them yelling inside the house, their voices raised in panic, but I didn’t care. I got in my car and drove home through streets that blurred with tears I refused to let fall.

When I got home, I immediately went to my laptop. I needed to act before I lost my nerve, before the guilt could worm its way back in and make me second-guess myself.

I started calling every vendor I’d made deposits with.

The Great Cancellation

“Hi, this is Kelly Morrison. I need to cancel all the bookings for the Meline Morrison engagement party on the twenty-eighth.”

Each conversation was surprisingly easy. The vendors were professional, apologetic even, confirming the cancellations without asking too many questions. Within two hours, I’d canceled every single thing—the venue, the caterer, the florist, the DJ, the ice sculptures, the champagne towers, all of it.

The worst part was discovering that every single company charged massive cancellation fees. The venue kept two thousand dollars out of my deposit. The caterer took eight hundred. The florist kept four hundred. By the time I finished dealing with all the vendors, I’d lost almost three thousand dollars in cancellation penalties alone.

I only got back about three thousand of the six thousand I’d already spent. The money I was losing made me furious, but the cold satisfaction of undoing Meline’s extravagant plans somehow made it worthwhile.

Around nine that evening, my phone rang. It was David, the party coordinator Meline had hired.

“I just got calls from all our vendors saying everything’s been canceled,” he said, confusion evident in his voice. “Is there a problem we should know about?”

“There’s no problem,” I said firmly, my voice steady now. “I’m no longer paying for this event. You’ll need to work directly with Meline from now on. I won’t be involved.”

“But we have contracts signed and deposits already paid…”

“Which I’ve already canceled. You’ll need to work that out with my sister. Good luck.”

I hung up before he could say anything else. Let them figure out how to salvage their fancy party without my money.

I turned my phone off completely after that. I couldn’t deal with any more drama that night. I needed silence, needed space to process what I’d just done.

But when I woke up the next morning and turned it back on, my screen lit up with notifications. Fifty-three missed calls. Over a hundred text messages. Most of them were from my family, but some were from relatives I hadn’t heard from in months or even years.

Word had obviously gotten out.

The Siege

I was still reading through the chaos of messages when someone started pounding on my front door. Heavy, angry knocking that went on for several minutes without stopping.

“Kelly!” I heard Dad’s voice through the door, loud and commanding. “We know you’re in there! Open this door right now!”

I could hear Mom and Meline too, all of them shouting at once, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of rage and accusation.

“You ruined everything!” Meline screamed, her voice raw. “My whole engagement party is canceled because of you!”

“Kelly, this is ridiculous!” Mom yelled. “You need to fix this immediately! Call the vendors back! Apologize!”

I stayed in my kitchen, my back pressed against the counter, waiting for them to give up and leave. But they kept banging and shouting for almost twenty minutes. The neighbors were probably watching, probably wondering what kind of drama was unfolding on their quiet street.

Finally, I’d had enough.

I walked to the door but didn’t open it. “I’m not opening this door!” I called out, my voice stronger than I felt.

“Kelly, stop being childish!” Dad demanded. “You have to fix what you did! This is family!”

“You want to talk about family?” I shouted back through the door, my voice ringing with a clarity I’d never felt before. “Meline! I calculated it. Every dollar I’ve given you over the past eight years. It’s over eighty thousand dollars! And that’s just what I could document and remember!”

There was silence on the other side of the door.

“I’m done,” I continued, my voice steady now. “I will not give you another cent for anything. Not for your engagement party, not for your wedding, nothing. You’re adults with jobs. Figure it out yourselves.”

“You promised to help me my whole life!” Meline started crying, her voice breaking.

“And you promised I’d be invited to your engagement party after I paid for it!” I shot back. “I wouldn’t come to your wedding now even if you begged me!”

They shouted and banged for another few minutes, but eventually they gave up and left. I watched through my window as they got in their car, still arguing with each other, their gestures angry and frustrated.

The next day, Meline posted a long rant on social media about how I’d betrayed her and broken my promise. She made it sound like I’d ruined her engagement and her entire future happiness. Her friends flooded the comments with sympathy, talking about what a terrible sister I was, what a selfish person.

I unfollowed her on all platforms. I was done watching her paint herself as the victim while casting me as the villain.

The Aftermath

About a month later, I was scrolling through Instagram when I saw photos from Meline’s engagement party. They were posted by Sarah, one of her friends I was still connected with.

The party had obviously happened, but it looked nothing like the ten-thousand-dollar event Meline had planned.

It was held in my parents’ backyard. There were maybe twenty people there, all close family and friends. Instead of professional catering, I could see paper plates and plastic cups. The food was clearly homemade, probably prepared by Mom. There were no ice sculptures, no champagne towers, no professional flowers—just some basic decorations from a party store and a small cake.

But what struck me most was Meline’s face in every photo. She looked miserable. Even in the pictures where she was supposed to be smiling, her expression was forced and strained. This was supposed to be her dream engagement party, but she looked like she was enduring it rather than enjoying it.

I actually felt a small pang of something—not quite regret, but maybe sadness. All that drama, all those nasty messages, all that family conflict, and she’d ended up with exactly the kind of small, simple party I would have gladly helped pay for in the first place.

The irony wasn’t lost on me.

After seeing those photos, I didn’t hear from my family for another three months. It was the longest I’d gone without talking to them since I was a child. And honestly? It was peaceful. I didn’t realize how much stress their constant demands had been causing me until it stopped.

I used the money I would have spent on Meline’s expenses to start saving for a real apartment in a nice neighborhood, not some cheap studio in a questionable area. For the first time in my adult life, I was putting myself first.

The guilt had faded, replaced by a quiet determination to build a life for myself.

The Final Demand

Then one day, I got an email from Meline. The subject line read: “Wedding Invitation.”

I almost deleted it without reading, but curiosity got the better of me. I opened it, and the words made me laugh out loud.

Kelly, I want you to know that you’re still invited to my wedding despite everything that happened. I know we’ve had our differences, but you’re still my sister and I’m willing to forgive you. However, before you can attend, you need to apologize to me publicly for what you did to my engagement party, and you need to contribute $15,000 toward wedding expenses. After you do those two things, I’ll forgive you and we can move past this unfortunate situation.

I actually laughed—a real, genuine laugh. Even after everything that had happened, she still thought I would pay for her wedding. She still believed she was entitled to my money and that I owed her an apology. The audacity was almost impressive.

I wrote back immediately:

Meline, you can take my name off your guest list permanently. I won’t be attending your wedding, and I don’t need or want your forgiveness. I’ll consider making peace with you when you realize how terribly you’ve treated me and apologize sincerely for years of exploitation. Until then, leave me alone.

I hit send and immediately blocked her email address, her phone number, all of her social media accounts. I was done.

Now, months later, I don’t even think about her wedding or whether it happened. I have my own plans. I’m looking at buying a condo next year, something I never could have afforded when I was funding Meline’s lifestyle. I’m planning a vacation to Europe in the spring, something I’ve always wanted to do but never had the money for because someone always needed it more than I did.

Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever have a relationship with my family again. But then I remember how they treated me—how they saw me as nothing more than a source of money, how they felt entitled to everything I earned, how they excluded me from the very event I was funding—and I realize I’m better off without them.

The cost of loyalty had become too high. And for the first time in my life, I chose myself instead.