“In the process of letting go, you will lose a lot from the past, but you will find yourself.” ~deepak Chopra
There is a strange pain associated with becoming healthy. It’s not a physical type. Relational kind. The kind that floats when we don’t wire much to betray ourselves anymore for belonging. We stop curating ourselves and fit in the spaces that we had reduced, bent, and smiled politely through the cacophony.
I will slowly unleash years of hard work and effort, slowly unhealthy ways, and clean my lenses to make sure that the overly functioning codependent and perfect people look more clearly through my eyes, genuine, healthy, rather than pleased.
It sometimes feels like I’ve lost everything. Not just roles and routines, but people too. Many of the main characters who once shared the centre stage of my life ended quietly as the script no longer satisfies. And now the scene looks completely different. The cast is changed, the lighting is soft and the dialogue is desperate.
I no longer have a close version of myself, but I hold the tension of everyone’s expectations like the thread in my hands. I’m a more free version. People who don’t play because of applause or connection. People who live more from the inside.
And while that freedom is hard and beautiful, it doesn’t come without cost. Growth rewrites the story. Sometimes, it means letting go of the plotline that once gave us meaning.
I’m not going to pretend I’m completely there yet. I am on a healthy journey of growth towards a more authentic, more empowered version of myself, but I am more than fully identified with everything that is happening in my life.
But sometimes I find myself standing in front of people still looking at my older version. Compliant, useful, emotionally available versions have made them easier to feel comfortable. But I have changed. I chose sovereignty over survival. The truth about performance. And they don’t know what to do with me now.
And to be fair, getting closer to blog memoirs must be quite challenging. To be clear, I have shared my personal growth journey for over a decade, but I have always wanted to “not be ashamed of my name and shame,” with the exception of my own inspiration about myself. But I write about real life. We share it so that those on similar journeys don’t feel so lonely. They may find fragments of themselves in my words, and that may help.
Grace is in many relationships surrounding me, and it’s not that they pretend they want me to. It sets out who I am.
That’s the edge of a razor.
The others then twist while holding my center. To love people, I no longer match myself without making myself smaller or worse. Walking with grace amongst people technically close but emotionally distant.
Because it hurts. There was a contrast to when I was once relatably coordinated, infinitely housed, and when I was grounded, expressive and sovereign. It’s not just growth, it’s sadness. Grief for the role I had spilled, sadness for the version of connection that relied on my abandonment, and sadness for the quiet and enduring hope that one day they would truly see me.
But not everyone wants to see clearly. To be fair, I was one of them. Some fight to prevent them from being seen.
And after we’ve fought hard to see, the clash feels more than just stab, it feels like a threat to our core security. Especially when you are nurtured, trained, or wired to find security in the approval of others.
It’s very frustrating when people who claim to value integrity and trust really mean “unless it makes me uncomfortable or challenges the story.”
When our authenticity is doubtful, when our reflection is considered a risk rather than an offering, we are speaking the language of truth, and they are replying with code.
That’s a broken heart. And release.
Because this is something quietly powerful. We are no longer playing with their rules. We don’t try to control how we are perceived. We are just thoughtful, expressive and intentional.
Well, we’re doing it anyway. I’m not there yet.
And it’s innovative in a world that is still ingrained in performance and image management.
We no longer seek connection through mitigation. We want connection through presence. Through the truth.
This means that we let them do what they are, not what we wanted a relationship. That means stepping on old dynamics rather than trying to fix them. It means that nurse archetypes, capable and respected, but image-bound patterns like risk aversion, and choose not to collapse in those faces.
I was on the other side. I was that person, but not too long ago. Carefully curated. It is being overtaken for survival. So my clarity now comes with compassion. But it also comes with boundaries.
Because I got them.
This next chapter? It’s not about being alone, it’s about being true. Rather than hiding behind the title, role or team identity, you stand in your own voice, even if no one applauds. Even if no one’s coming. Even if they misunderstood.
I’m a stag now. I’ve calmed down. still. Non-specific documents.
My loneliness is not survival, it is sovereignty.
And my anger? That sacred wrath rising in the face of denial and deflection is not a flaw. It’s a signal. It tells you where Firelight is. It reminds me of something important. I eradicate me with the truth that even if someone else retreats into the shadows, I don’t have to obey.
I can continue lighting. I can stay with me. I can whisper, “This is me, whether I saw it or not.”
And that’s power. It’s not understood. But it’s all.
