The confusing aftermath of a good time
Have you ever gone to a party or gathering you were genuinely excited about and maybe even looked forward to all week – only to wake up the next morning feeling completely drained?
Not just tired, but off. A slight headache. Low energy. No motivation to do much of anything. That urge to zone out and disconnect.
And the confusing part? You didn’t even drink (or not enough for this feeling).
This is what I’ve come to recognize as being socially hungover.
Why this didn’t make sense to me at first
What’s interesting is that this experience doesn’t match how I see myself at all. I’m a complete extrovert. I love people. I love gatherings, events, conversations, and energy. For a long time, though, I wondered if I was actually introverted, because why else would I feel so awful after socializing?
But the more I paid attention, the more I realized it wasn’t people that drained me. It was how I was connecting.
The holiday season makes it impossible to ignore
Especially during the holiday season, this feeling is everywhere. We bounce from party to party. We tag along with friends to gatherings where we know a few people or no one at all. We stay longer than we intended. Or we leave early thinking we’ll get ahead on rest… and still wake up socially wrecked the next day.
We usually brush it off with, “I’m just tired,” or “That took a lot out of me.” But I don’t think that’s enough anymore. I think we need to name what’s happening and ask why.
It’s not about being introverted or extroverted
My personal belief is this: we feel socially hungover when we spend time in spaces that don’t give us the depth of connection we’re actually craving.
That doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with those spaces or the people in them. Sometimes they’re fringe friends. Sometimes they’re friends of friends. Sometimes they’re perfectly nice people we just didn’t quite click with. And sometimes they’re environments where we feel like we need to put on a face, play a role, or perform a version of ourselves.
None of that is bad—but it is draining.
Depth is what nourishes us
Depth requires vulnerability. Depth requires being seen and heard. Depth requires some level of emotional safety.
When we’re in spaces where that depth isn’t present or can’t realistically exist we end up spending energy without getting much back.
That’s why we can love being around people and still feel wiped out afterward. It’s not a personality issue. It’s a connection-quality issue.
Choosing socially nourishing spaces
What I want is for us to talk about this more openly. To stop assuming something is wrong with us when we feel depleted. To start paying attention to which environments leave us feeling expanded versus exhausted.
Because when our time together is already so limited—when schedules rarely align and gatherings are precious—we owe it to ourselves to be more intentional. Not necessarily about attending fewer things, but about choosing experiences that actually nourish us.
I don’t want to just avoid being socially hungover. I want to leave spaces feeling socially nourished.
Grounded. Seen. More myself than when I arrived.
And I think that starts by recognizing that our desire for depth isn’t too much. It’s human.