Forty-Four: The Peace I Earned

The Light I Wanted Seen

Moving into adulthood with abandonment and rejection wounds played a quiet but powerful role in my misery. At the time, I wouldn’t have called it trauma. I just thought I wanted to be seen. I thought if people could recognize my heart, my loyalty, my willingness to show up, then maybe I’d finally feel secure. What I didn’t realize then was that security had to start with me. Because the truth is, I didn’t fully know who I was or honestly who I wanted to become. I was searching for identity through connection, trying to find myself in how others experienced me.

What I also didn’t understand was the value I already carried, so I stayed. I stayed in relationships where my worth was measured by what I could do, how much I could carry, and how convenient my love felt to the people receiving it. I remember being the one with the car, the one everyone called. I burned myself out making sure everyone got where they needed to be, showing up and coming through, proving my love in miles, time, and exhaustion. It felt normal. It felt like loyalty. It felt like family.

Until the first time I said no. Suddenly I was “acting funny.” Suddenly my character was questioned. Suddenly the same love that was appreciated when it was convenient became a problem when it required limits. Then came the moment I began pointing it out the trauma, the disrespect. When I stopped softening truths to keep the peace and started calling things exactly what they were, it shed light on more than just my pain. It exposed the cracks in the lives people were pretending to live. Truth has a way of making people uncomfortable when it reflects what they’d rather not face, and the moment I stopped protecting illusions, I became the problem for people invested in the performance.

Because the truth is, when you genuinely value someone, you don’t discard them the moment they create boundaries. But when you’ve lost people over and over, you learn survival patterns. Some people stop caring completely and isolate. Others hoard people even when they know those connections aren’t good for them, because having someone feels safer than being alone. Sometimes the presence of people becomes a safety net for your self-esteem. I lived in the middle of those two worlds.

As an intuitive soul, I ignored a lot in my own life just so I wouldn’t lose the family I believed was mine. In the process, I distanced myself from my own blood, choosing loyalty to connections that felt chosen over relationships that were real. But life has a way of revealing truth when you finally choose peace. The moment I began setting boundaries, the illusion cracked. Love turned into resentment, support turned into distance, and the same people I held onto couldn’t hold space for the version of me that refused to abandon herself anymore.

That was the awakening the painful realization that sometimes we tolerate toxicity not because we don’t see it, but because we’re afraid of what life looks like without the people attached to it. I was trending in toxicity in its highest form, not because I was toxic, but because I was surviving in environments that required self-betrayal to maintain connection.

Of course, when the Narrative Changed

It’s funny how it works. I could run all week, barely making it myself, watching the gas light stay on and stretching what little I had so everyone else could keep moving. Nobody saw the sacrifice, only the service. But the moment I said no one time, the narrative flipped. Suddenly I was the worst person. Suddenly I was selfish. Suddenly all the times I showed up were erased by a single boundary.

That was the moment everything became clear. I stayed in relationships where my worth was measured by what I could do, how much I could carry, and how convenient my love felt to the people receiving it. It took me time to call it what it was a transactional relationship. Love felt like currency. Presence felt like payment. My value was tied to usefulness, not to my existence. And the moment I had nothing left to give, the balance shifted, because transactional love only feels safe as long as you keep paying the cost.

I finally understood that some people didn’t love me they loved my access. And when access ended, so did their comfort. But what I know now is this: a boundary is not betrayal. Rest is not selfish. Choosing peace is not abandonment. I am no longer measuring my worth by how much I can carry for others. I am no longer shrinking to keep connections that require my exhaustion.

My light was never meant to burn me down just to keep everyone else warm. And that realization that reclaiming, that quiet and powerful shift is where my real life begins.

Let me in full transparency and healing outloud share:

At 44, I no longer move from the fear of losing people. And in my transparency, I can admit that I still think of them sometimes — the memories don’t just disappear. But if I was disposable to someone, I don’t double back. They showed me what I meant to them, and I honor that truth by honoring myself.

This is about character. This is about values. At 44, I am no longer standing on a podium trying to validate my worth or explain why coexistence should be possible. I don’t tiptoe around my needs, and I don’t shrink my voice out of fear that saying no will cost me the relationship. Because if a simple boundary ends a connection, then the connection was never rooted in mutual respect to begin with.

Solid people understand boundaries. They don’t see them as rejection; they see them as clarity. They know that genuine connections are rare and worth protecting, not testing. I don’t play childish games, and I don’t move with spite. Even when relationships end, what was shared in confidence stays protected. Integrity doesn’t expire just because access does.

Understanding my value means understanding what I bring to the table loyalty, honesty, depth, and presence. And because I know that now, I no longer chase, negotiate, or return to spaces where I felt unsafe. I have a responsibility tomprotect the person I becamemand the person I am becoming.

When people show me who they are, I believe them not with bitterness, but with wisdom.

And that wisdom is the peace I live in today.

And so this chapter closes not with resentment, but with understanding. I carry forward the lessons, not the weight the clarity, not the chaos. My story is no longer about proving my worth, but living in it. I honor the journey, the growth, and even the endings, because they all led me back to myself. And in that return, I found something more valuable than acceptance from others  I found peace within.