Booked & Busy

There’s a particular kind of silence that settles over a city on a Friday night, just as the party crowds begin to buzz and heels click in unison like a ritualistic drumbeat. Somewhere in the distance, champagne corks fly and laughter spills out of blacked-out Ubers. And yet, there I am, cocooned in my flat, hair in a claw clip, robe loosely tied, sipping peppermint tea like it’s Dom Pérignon. Blissfully unbothered.

Once upon a time, I’d have been mid-manicure at 7pm, flitting between WhatsApp groups deciding where the night would begin and (hopefully) not end. There was a thrill in it, of course—choosing between sequins or satin, lashes fluttering, perfume cloud settling. My little black dress would hang ready, those seductive red-bottom heels lined up like loyal foot soldiers. A martini in hand, a confident strut, and the night became a stage.

But something shifted. Not all at once, more like a quiet conviction. I began to sense that I wasn’t truly enjoying myself so much as performing enjoyment. The clubs were crowded, the music repetitive, and the conversations… let’s just say I wasn’t exactly discussing purpose, calling, or eternity over the bassline. I found myself yearning for something richer, deeper, more me.

It turns out, peace is far more intoxicating than prosecco.

These days, I don’t fear missing out, I choose what I miss. And that’s not a loss, it’s a luxury. A luxury only afforded to a woman who knows where her worth comes from, who trusts her discernment, and isn’t defined by the noise of the world. That’s the real flex.

There’s immense strength in being able to say, “No, thank you. I’m staying in tonight.” No fabricated excuse, no guilt. Just truth. Because I am the type of woman who enjoys her own company. Who lights candles not for Instagram, but because jasmine and sandalwood soothe my soul after a long day. Who does her skincare routine like a ceremony. Who journals. Who prays. Who reads, actual books, not just captions.

And yes, I still adore slipping into that black dress. I still appreciate a dimly lit bar with piano jazz in the background and an extra-dirty martini. But I indulge in those nights because I choose to, not because I’m afraid of being forgotten if I don’t.

I think we, as women, especially in our twenties, are sold a glittering lie. That our value is tied to how visible we are, how loud we can be, how many compliments we collect like currency. But high-value living doesn’t come from validation. It comes from honouring your inner life, protecting your peace, and remembering Who gave you both.

Some weekends I work late, not out of hustle culture, but because I want to build something meaningful. I move my body not as punishment, but as an act of stewardship. I make space for stillness. For solitude. For God. For actual growth, not just glow-ups.

That doesn’t mean I’m boring. It means I’m discerning. I’m not opposed to fun, darling, I am the fun. I’m just selective with where I pour my energy. Because energy is expensive, and I’ve learned to spend mine like it belongs to someone else, because in many ways, it does. A high-value woman knows she doesn’t have to be everywhere to be everything.

And if that means I’m in my pyjamas by 9pm while the city parties on, I’m good with that. Because I no longer equate motion with meaning. Some of the most profound transformations happen in the quiet, right where God tends to whisper.

If you’re reading this and you’ve ever felt like staying in made you dull or less desirable, I invite you to flip that narrative. There is nothing more magnetic than a woman who is at home within herself. Who doesn't need external noise to feel alive. Who doesn’t chase the night because she’s already walking in the light.

So here’s to the homebodies in silk robes, to the women who curate their lives with intention and grace. May we never mistake noise for purpose, and may we always find beauty in our quiet corners.

Because a high-value woman doesn’t follow the party. She is the event, and she walks with the One who authored her peace.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a date, with a novel, a facemask, and the kind of serenity no nightclub can offer.

And I wouldn’t miss it for the world.