Let’s just get straight to it—
Some people only loved me when I was small.
Not literally, but emotionally. Spiritually. The version of me that bent so far backward trying to be “understanding” that I was basically doing acrobatics on hardwood floors with no mat.
They loved the me who didn’t ask questions.
The me who thought silence was peace and patience was proof of love.
The me who didn’t know that loyalty without reciprocity is just self-betrayal with a pretty caption.
And honestly?
I thought that version of me was love.
I thought emotional sacrifice was romantic.
I thought crying quietly in the shower at 2AM meant I was “holding it together.”
I thought being chosen sometimes meant I should be grateful.
But now?
Oh no.
Now I know better.
And baby, they hate that version.
When You Stop Being Easy to Control, They Call You “Difficult.”
There’s a moment in healing that feels like standing up too fast—blurred vision, heartbeat in your ears, everything shifting. You stop participating in the same tired script, and suddenly the people who once adored you are irritated by your “tone.”
You start saying:
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“No, actually. That doesn’t work for me.”
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“If you can’t speak to me respectfully, we can end this conversation.”
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“I don’t owe you continued access to me.”
And they look at you like you flipped a table in the middle of brunch.
But I’ll tell you something real:
People who benefit from your silence will always call your voice an attack.
Toxic Love Patterns Are Just Familiar Pain in Disguise
Let’s talk about it without sugar-coating.
A lot of us learned love through survival:
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You learned to soothe chaos instead of expecting consistency.
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You learned to manage other people’s emotions instead of respecting your own.
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You learned that love meant staying, even when it started to rot.
So when someone came along who mirrored that familiar sting?
You didn’t notice the wound.
You just recognized the temperature of the room.
But healing… whew. Healing is essentially teaching your nervous system:
“This is love. That was harm.”
And those who were benefiting from your confusion?
Yeah, they won’t clap for your clarity.
The Version of You That Knows Better is Not Here to Apologize
The newer you—the healed you, the boundary-having you, the self-trusting you—is not a villain.
Stop mourning relationships that depended on your self-abandonment to function.
Read that again.
You didn’t lose them.
You released what was draining you.
If they only loved the version of you who dimmed herself,
who swallowed her voice,
who gave second, third, and fifteenth chances…
then they never loved you.
They loved the access.
They loved the convenience.
They loved the softness without the spine.
But now?
Now you’re rooted.
Grounded.
Clear.
And that’s not something everyone can hold.
Self-Betrayal Recovery Is Not for the Weak
This is where it gets real uncomfortable.
Healing means:
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You stop explaining your worth.
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You stop performing for affection.
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You stop tolerating emotional manipulation just because “you’re used to it.”
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You stop choosing people who still haven’t chosen themselves.
It’s messy. It’s lonely. Some nights you’ll lay in bed staring at the ceiling like, “Was I the problem?”
No, love.
You were a mirror.
And mirrors terrify people who refuse to see themselves.
If No One Told You Today
You are not “too much” for finally expressing your needs.
You are not “selfish” for protecting your peace.
You are not “cold” for going no contact.
You are not “hard to love.”
They just didn’t know how to love someone who loves herself.
When you know better, you act better.
And when you act better, you love differently.
And when you love differently, you stop begging for crumbs you could bake into your own damn bread.
So yes—
They loved the version of you that didn’t know better.
But the version of you now?
The one that’s awake?
The one that’s rising?
That version is unstoppable.
And she chooses herself.
Every. Single. Time.
