When the Party Ends: Choosing a Different Path in the LGBTQIA+ Community

Sometimes, it’s a single moment that brings everything into focus. For me, that moment hit like a wave on a packed dance floor during New Year’s Day. Amidst the lights, music, and so-called celebration, someone approached to complain about an article in DNA Magazine. It wasn’t the first time work had followed me into social spaces, but this time, it felt surreal. Here I was, surrounded by people, yet feeling profoundly alone — and on New Year’s, no less.

The truth was, I’d been wrestling with feelings of disconnection for a while. I’d been single for about a year after a four-year relationship, and the world of dating in Sydney wasn’t the lively, carefree scene it was made out to be. Despite knowing almost everyone in the room, I realised I had never felt more isolated. There’s a saying by Henry David Thoreau that goes, “City life is millions of people being lonesome together,” and in that moment, I truly understood what he meant on a deeper level. In Sydney, if you weren’t helping someone get ahead, hooking up, or partying, it felt like you just didn’t fit. And when I started pulling back from those things, I realised just how transactional my connections had become. Suddenly, my usefulness to the “scene” had run its course, and I wasn’t sure where I fit anymore.

I started to ask myself hard questions: Is this what I want to keep doing for another year? When I confided in some friends, their responses stung. “What else would you be doing?” they’d ask as if the never-ending party was the only life worth living. For some of them, it was — the same parties, in the same venues, with the same people every weekend. And sure, I was lucky enough to often be on the guest list, but that wasn’t enough for me anymore.

So, I chose to walk away. It wasn’t easy. I’d spent years building a life around a carefully crafted image, one that felt impossible to shake. Leaving it behind was like tearing down everything I thought defined me. But in burning it all down, I uncovered something far more fulfilling: a path back to my true self.

The journey wasn’t perfect — far from it. There were plenty of bumps along the way: self-doubt, loneliness, depression, anxiety, and more than a few existential crises. But through it all, I kept moving forward.

In finding my way back, I discovered a clarity I didn’t think was possible. That’s why I started Get Out — to create a space where people could connect authentically, support each other, and build real community. A space outside the nightlife scene, away from the pressures to “fit in.” For the first time, I felt like I was building something truly meaningful.

One of the unique aspects of being LGBTQIA+ is that we get to write our own stories. There’s no set path we’re expected to follow, and that freedom can be daunting and exhilarating at once. My journey has twisted and turned in ways I never anticipated, and while I haven’t navigated every moment perfectly, I don’t regret where I am today. Each experience, mistake, and victory led me here. And now, with Get Out, I’m putting those lessons into action to build a community that values real connection, mental well-being, and support.

So, I want to ask you: Have you ever felt like you’d had enough? When did you realise that the promises and freedoms of the LGBTQIA+ community might not quite align with what you need? At Get Out, we’re here to be more than just a “scene” or a momentary escape. Let’s make it a space where you’re valued, your story matters, and we can redefine community, together.