Whether you call it an Irish goodbye, French leave or filer à l'anglaise (leave in the English style), as the French prefer, the act of quietly slipping out of a party without fanfare is a familiar social impulse. The Brazilians called it sair à francesa (French style), the Germans a Polnischer Abgang (Polish departure), and Australians call it ninja bombing. Whatever name it goes by, the concept is the same: one moment you’re there, the next you’ve vanished into the night without a drawn-out round of explanations, hugs and promises to catch up soon.

The pattern is telling: every culture has a term for it, and every culture blames someone else. That collective deflection suggests we already know, on some level, that slipping out unannounced is a social transgression.

But for those of us with anxiety, that silent exit isn’t rudeness. While etiquette traditionalists will probably insist that leaving without saying goodbye is a social no-no, some psychologists argue that it’s a coping strategy. Here’s why sneaking out without saying goodbye might be the healthiest decision you make all evening.

When you break it down – and let’s be honest, those of us who are anxious, introverted, neurodivergent or dealing with chronic illness have all broken this down into agonising detailed steps – saying goodbye is a loaded cultural ritual. It’s a performance that demands a high degree of social skill, accuracy and nuance.

Goodbyes are high-demand situations and, sadly, by the end of a social occasion, many of us are already depleted and don’t have the energy to handle all the steps involved.

For many of us, socialising can mean feeling overwhelmed, constantly monitoring how we come across, trying to fit into other people’s expectations, comparing ourselves to others and worrying about rejection. It can be exhausting to feel like you’re constantly trying to act like your best version of normal.

When socialising means constantly adapting yourself to other people’s expectations, the healthy choice becomes using your last bit of energy to recharge and take care of yourself. Don’t leave the party completely drained with nothing left to recover with.

Sometimes we want to leave quietly because leaving loudly feels like shouting out: “I matter! Look at me, I’m leaving!” The fact is, many of us sit with the belief that we don’t really matter that much, so we don’t say goodbye because we don’t feel we are worth the performance.

Sometimes a silent exit is about self-respect, minding your energy reserves, even if you really enjoyed the evening. At other times, though, it’s an act of self-erasure. You leave without saying goodbye because you think no one will care, that you don’t matter enough to make a fuss when leaving.

Leaving quietly can become a way to protect yourself from the discomfort of saying goodbye. But the quiet exit cuts both ways. Ask yourself whether leaving without a word made your life bigger – you conserved enough energy to recover and you’re glad to go back next time – or whether it shrank it, adding another reason to avoid socialising altogether.

If you are going to pick apart your goodbye and negatively assess it, the next goodbye will feel even harder. Be careful to reality-test your post-event ruminations. It’s usually not as bad as you think, especially if you are assessing your performance through the distorting lens of anxiety.

The healthiest choice of all

There is always a tension between wanting to belong and wanting to be yourself. If saying goodbye starts to feel so pressured and so performed that you lose any sense of being authentic, then the connection is starting to cost more than it’s worth.

If you feel like you need to be a chameleon to survive the complexities of socialising, the healthiest choice is to find a way to be who you really are. Find a way to tell your friends and family that leaving quietly is something you need because of how your nervous system and psychology are made, and not a reflection of the relationship. Research shows that being your truest self and having the best social connections go hand in hand.

And if you are neurodivergent, being open about what you need can feel like a risk, but it can also be a way to find acceptance, support and understanding when you let people know what you need and like.

If you’re anxious, it’s worth letting your host know in advance that you might need to slip away quietly. Otherwise, there’s a risk that people will read it the wrong way, as coldness or indifference, say.

Get ahead of it by letting people know you’ll leave without saying goodbye, and that you’re grateful to have been invited. Anxious people aren’t bad at relationships. Relationships just work better when everyone understands the other person’s needs.

Less is more

There’s a growing idea that being choosy about your social life isn’t antisocial – some psychologists call it “selective sociality”. Picking your moments carefully means you have more to give when it counts. The goal isn’t to retreat, but to invest in deeper relationships and in real presence, rather than the hollow churn of online contact – unless it supports meaningful connection.

In a world where being seen to do the right thing has begun to outweigh doing the right thing, selective sociality offers a way forward. Knowing our limits and being open about them, when possible, doesn’t weaken connection – it helps create relationships that feel real and sustainable.

If sneaking out without a fuss makes it more likely you will go to the next party, then it’s a choice for more social connection and therefore your health.

Trudy Meehan does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

The key to better wellbeing is acting like an Italian grandmother, according to social media’s “nonnamaxxing” trend.

Proponents of the trend say that adopting the lifestyle habits of an Italian nonna will help improve your health and mental wellbeing. The core principles of the trend are simple: make time for your friends and loved ones, eat foods grown from your own garden and cook hearty meals at home.

This latest trend borrows from lifestyle medicine research which shows the same practices being advocated by nonnamaxxing enthusiasts can not only add years to your life, but add life to your years.

No one’s 20s and 30s look the same. You might be saving for a mortgage or just struggling to pay rent. You could be swiping dating apps, or trying to understand childcare. No matter your current challenges, our Quarter Life series has articles to share in the group chat, or just to remind you that you’re not alone.

So instead of jumping on the nonnamaxxing bandwagon until the next trend rolls around, here are some examples of how you can adopt these habits for life.

Positive social connections

A core tenet of “nonnamaxxing” is making time for friends and loved ones.

Research shows maintaining positive social connections is one of the most helpful factors in supporting health across your lifespan. Social experiences help us regulate emotionally. Not only does this impact our happiness and wellbeing, it also has a whole host of other physiological benefits.

For instance, laughing with our loved ones or holding their hand reduces pain and dampens the stress response. Research also shows social connection can reduce inflammation and improve immune responses.

This doesn’t mean you need to rush out and get married – it’s not just about romantic relationships. Relationships come in many forms. Even micro-moments of positive social interaction – such as having a brief chat with a barista – have measurable health and wellbeing benefits. Research has also found that people who volunteer have a lower risk of catching the common cold.

Collective experiences such as concerts, rituals, dancing, singing or cheering together can also generate “collective effervescence” – a feeling of unity, aliveness and belonging.

When we interact in person, our brains and bodies synchronise with that person in a way that feels good, supports connection and supports health. We feel a greater sense of purpose, belonging and self-worth.

Try gardening

Physical activity and moving every day are among key factors that have been linked with longevity.

But this doesn’t mean you need to hit the gym or go running to see benefits. Even gardening, an activity we might typically associated with an Italian nonna’s lifestyle, has been associated with health benefits.

Gardening is a physically stimulating activity that translates into increased mobility and reduced sedentary behaviour. Reviews also show it’s good for mental health and quality of life.

Due to its multimodal nature, gardening stimulates the brain. We need to plan, coordinate, remember to remember and monitor changes in our garden over time. This type of stimulation supports the development of cognitive reserve – additional healthy brain tissue that helps offset the functional impairments of diseased brain matter as we age. This may explain why activities such as gardening are associated with lower likelihood of being diagnosed with dementia.

Home-cooked meals

Another core tenet of nonnamaxxing is cooking meals at home.

The more frequently you cook at home, the better. Those who cook their own meals tend to have a higher intake of fruit, vegetables and fiber. Cooking at home also means you tend to consume fewer calories, fats and added sugar, which may help regulate blood sugar, reduce body fat and prevent type 2 diabetes.

In the field of positive psychology, cooking is described as an activity that captures key parts of what makes us happy – such as positive emotions and a sense of meaning and accomplishment.

How to get started

If you’re keen to give nonnamaxxing a try, here are a few easy ways to be more like an Italian nonna in your everyday life.

We all know by now that socialising and meeting friends and family is good for us, but if you can’t get together in person make use of technology.

Although technology isn’t quite as good as real-life interactions, try making these interactions intentional when they do happen. Being emotionally responsive, engaged and letting your loved one know you’re there – even while texting – can increase connection and warmth.

And when contacting friends or family, try to call – or at least send a voice message. Social interactions using our voices create stronger social connection compared to text-based interactions.

To give gardening a try, start with something small that grows easily. Even if it’s just a small tomato or strawberry plant you can put on your windowsill. This will give you a sense of purpose, and you’ll be able to enjoy the fruits of your labour, too, which is good for your health.

If you don’t want the responsibility of a garden, getting outside and being in nature – especially in parks or near rivers – will boost both physical activity levels and improve health and wellbeing.

As for cooking your meals at home, don’t feel like you need to start with a complicated recipe. Start with making sandwiches or even snacks and build up to cooking a dinner. Remember, cooking is a skill; you can learn by following a recipe or cooking video.

If you don’t have the time to cook, try eating with someone. Eating together boosts social connection and provides a sense of safety and belonging. If you don’t have anyone to eat with, try picking a food or meal that reminds you of a loved one. This food nostalgia can reproduce feelings of warmth and connection.

While the nonnamaxxing trend may be forgotten in a week, it describes a way of living that’s generations old. Living like an Italian grandma hasn’t just passed the test of time, it’s been tested by health and wellbeing researchers too.

Trudy Meehan does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

When a man stabbed Jewish people in Golders Green, London, in what police declared a terrorist incident, the story spread fast – through news alerts, social media and the whispered conversations of anxious adults. When this happens, children notice.

Whether they catch a fragment of a TV bulletin, overhear a parent on the phone, or simply sense that something has shifted in the atmosphere at home, the news has a way of reaching them before they are ready. The question isn’t really whether to talk to children about violence and fear; it’s how.

First, it’s important to know that children have the resilience and capacity to process difficult topics, but bear in mind that this needs to happen in a supportive environment.

Start with safety. Ensure your child feels relaxed and secure. Safety comes from routines, keeping daily rhythms and practising rituals that remind everyone you are together and safe – for example, a nighttime story or song, a special time on the couch after dinner.

Your capacity to deal with issues like violence and fear is the most important factor in contributing to your child feeling safe during these conversations. If you feel overwhelmed or anxious, wait until you feel calmer and more grounded, or have someone to support you with the conversation.

Some families – particularly those who face racism or other forms of discrimination – will already be familiar with these conversations. But if this is new to you, the main thing to do is to be honest and clear. Be direct and specific. Avoid metaphors and euphemisms and vague ideas like “bad people”.

Adjust your language to the child’s age, but don’t overthink it. Simply pause often, ask questions, and watch their face for confusion.

Children don’t stay afraid for long. They move in and out of difficult feelings quickly, which is why short, repeated conversations work better than one big, serious talk.

Come back to them to check understanding and listen for misunderstandings. Ask them if they have any questions. And don’t be surprised if the child looks particularly bored or disinterested. Children prefer delight and joy and play rather than serious adult conversations. It doesn’t mean they are not listening or appreciating the explanation, it just means their priorities are elsewhere – and that’s a good thing.

Keeping children grounded amid fear

Limit media exposure and try to avoid talking about scary events around them – they are always listening and there’s huge room for misunderstanding when they hear rather than take part in conversations.

Research shows that if children are exposed to media and talk about fearful events, that it’s important what they hear is mediated through a supportive adult who can explain the content appropriately. They can pick up on the signs of fear and anxiety from adults, particularly in times of uncertainty, even if they can’t fully understand the words in the conversation.

Follow your child’s lead. Your job is to open the door. They decide whether to walk through it and when to leave. Don’t mistake silence for shutdown. Children often process fear through movement, play, singing, dancing, making and even breaking things.

It’s OK to say “I don’t know” to questions you can’t answer. And it’s OK to say: “I know the answer, but it’s too much information for you at your age, I’ll tell you a little bit now and explain more when I think you are old enough.”

Most important of all, for you and your child, look at your circle of safety. Remind your child they are safe here and now with you, that there is a community that you live in and link with who are there to support you and keep you safe. Focus on hope and efficacy and on what can we do right now for the future we want.

Trudy Meehan does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

My ex once told me, mid-argument, that I was the most unempathetic person he’d ever met. It was a low blow. I’m a clinical psychologist. Empathy is literally my job.

What he probably didn’t know – and I was too “flooded” to explain at the time – is that when we argue with people we love, our brains can briefly turn against us.

Researchers call it emotional flooding or diffuse physiological arousal. Your heart hammers. You flush, sweat and shake. Adrenaline surges through you as though you are being chased by something that wants to eat you.

Lisa Feldman Barrett, a professor of psychology at Northeastern University in the US, describes the brain as being “locked in a dark, silent box” (your skull) with no direct access to the outside world. It can only work with signals from your senses, and it uses past experience to predict what those signals mean. So when my partner looked away during an argument – eyes down, head turned – my brain didn’t just register disconnection. It reached into my past and found my father, largely absent, largely disengaged and screamed – a threat.

If you’ve experienced a lot of conflict, rejection or trauma, your brain becomes a hair-trigger prediction machine, interpreting interpersonal friction as danger even when you’re perfectly safe. It’s trying to protect you. The problem is that once you tip into that negative emotional state, you also shift from “we” thinking to “me” thinking – fast. Empathy evaporates. You’re in survival mode, not relationship mode.

It would be convenient to blame all of this on my neurology, or on my ex for arguing in ways that made me feel threatened. But that’s not quite how it works. Our physiological states don’t exist in isolation. We regulate each other, pulling one another up or dragging each other under. Which means we carry some responsibility for what happens in each other’s nervous systems.

This gets particularly charged in the parent-child relationship. Parents are already stretched. When a child acts out, the most useful response is curiosity: what is this behaviour trying to communicate? But a flooded parent is far more likely to react harshly or defensively than with the openness a child actually needs.

So what can we do when the flood waters rise? The first thing is to get to know your own internal state in real time. Awareness alone can slow emotional reactivity. It won’t happen overnight, but learning to notice the early physical signs of flooding – the heat, the racing pulse – gives you a tiny window of choice before your brain takes over.

The second tool is what psychologists call cognitive reappraisal: consciously inserting a different story between the trigger and your response. When a colleague sighs and says: “Do we really need a meeting about this?”, your brain will offer you one interpretation immediately. Reappraisal asks: what else might be true here? This isn’t about suppressing your feelings – suppression actually increases flooding – it’s about widening the range of possible responses available to you.

When all else fails, the most powerful intervention is also the simplest: leave the room. Not by stonewalling or slamming doors, but by agreeing in advance on a word or phrase that means: “I need a break. I’m not abandoning you.”

The 20-minute rule

The break needs to be real – at least 20 minutes – long enough for your body to return to baseline, and spent doing something genuinely distracting rather than replaying the argument in your head. This works for parents too. Stepping away briefly and explaining to a child that you’re not punishing them but regrouping is a far better model than pushing through while flooded.

For those who find it hard to read their own physiological state, biofeedback can help. The researchers John and Julie Gottman, who have spent decades studying couples in conflict, used simple fingertip pulse oximeters (devices that measure pulse rate and blood oxygen levels) in their lab to track what was happening to people’s bodies during arguments. They went on to recommend using the same tools at home, as a concrete way of learning to self-soothe before the flooding takes hold.

None of this is about avoiding conflict. Friction is part of human relationships in every form – romantic, familial, professional – and trying to eliminate it entirely would be both exhausting and counterproductive. The goal is to stay present enough, and regulated enough, to keep hold of your empathy even when your brain is telling you to run.

My ex wasn’t entirely wrong. In that moment, flooded and frightened, I probably wasn’t empathetic. But I’d like to think I understand why, and that understanding, at least, is a start.

Trudy Meehan does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.