01/27/2026
I hate grieving things that were not good for me, and I’m still willing to let that grief be real. Both truths can exist without needing to be resolved. That’s why I don’t rush to celebrate endings before they’ve fully settled in my body, and why I’m careful about who gets access to the complexity of these decisions. There will always be an audience that flattens nuance. I no longer write for them.
There’s still a familiar pull, especially when abuse is part of the story, to explain myself more carefully, to add context, to soften the edges for people who have already decided their interpretation of my life carries more authority than my lived experience, despite never having been present for it, never living my background, never feeling the fear in their own bodies.
I was taught that refusing to stay in spaces that invalidate you means you’re unevolved or weak, that discernment is actually intolerance, and that endurance is virtue. I carried that belief for a long time, and it kept me bound to relationships that were actively harming me, because leaving had been framed as selfish while staying was praised as strength.
Walking away required more from me than staying ever did. It cost me my reputation in certain circles, material and emotional support, and parts of my identity shaped inside those systems. The hardest part hasn’t been leaving, but grieving relationships I now understand were conditional, held together by my compliance, and quick to disappear once I stopped assimilating.
A song that captures this tension better than I ever could is Running by NF:
I am not gonna spend the rest of my life running
From you
Spent my whole life in your shadow
Scared of who I’d be if I
Said goodbye and I didn’t have you here