Raspberry Iced M

The Good. The Bad. The Raspy.

  • A Flawed Raspberry

    Not once in my life have I ever been perfect. Nobody has.

    But I have definitely pretended to be perfect in order to be accepted.

    With honesty – below is a list of what I believe are my biggest character flaws. I am working through these, gently and slowly. And I am finding that consistency is more important than intensity.

    1. I over-function and over-extend when I am afraid of being abandoned. When connection feels uncertain, I explain more, give more, accommodate more. And I take responsibility for things that are not mine. None of these are forms of manipulation. But they come from fear + loyalty + a deep desire to be understood. On the flip side, this flaw only teaches others that I can carry the load alone. And then I resent it. A vicious cycle played out in real time, throughout so many of my former relationships with people.
    2. I confuse self-awareness with self-punishment. I am introspective, and that is a strength. But the flaw lies in the insight that doesn’t stop where it should. And it turns into replaying, self-interrogation, moral sentencing. Instead of “What can I learn from this?” my brain goes straight to “What does this say about who I am?” And that’s not accountability. That’s actually erosion, and it’s not beneficial.
    3. I stay too long out of hope. I see potential. I see nuance. I see context. So I wait. I explain. I give chance after chance after chance. And I assume growth will catch up. My flaw isn’t that I hope. It’s that I sometimes delay my own relief waiting for others to meet me where I already am.
    4. I intellectualize emotions instead of letting them move. I understand my feelings better – or – to a higher degree – than I actually feel through them. And those emotions turn into essays, patterns, conclusions, and eventually identities, instead of waves that I sit through, and waves that eventually pass. It is exhausting.
    5. I take responsibility for outcomes I don’t control. Have I mentioned I have control issues? So when something goes wrong, I believe, “I must have missed something.” And while that makes me dependable, it also forces me to carry baggage that I really need to leave on a metaphorical curb somewhere. I don’t yet trust that things can fail without feeling like I’ve failed.
    6. I am slow to trust ease, as opposed to tension. Chaos feels familiar. Hypervigilance feels competent. And peace feels suspicious. When things are quiet, my brain starts scanning for what I’ve missed. And it’s not drama-seeking. It’s just my nervous system, which has been trained in uncertainty.
    7. I expect myself to be better than human. I give others nuance, context, patience, and grace. But I expect myself to know better, sooner. I expect myself to heal faster. I expect myself to hold steadier. I expect myself to get it right consistently. I struggle to apply my own philosophies to myself. I believe them. I just don’t extend them to myself yet.

    None of these flaws mean I’m broken. They don’t mean I am unsafe. And they don’t mean I am unworthy of trust or love. They mean that I have learned to survive intelligently.

    And now I am learning how to live without armor, a transition that always feels awkward.

    I am not “too much.” I’ve been hard on someone who has been trying very hard for a very long time – me.

    And I’m working on changing that.

  • Off the Grid Raspberry

    The church I attend fasted from January 4 to January 25. The specific goal was to pray for the direction in which the church was heading.

    I decided to participate in the fast. However, I didn’t give up food. Instead, I uninstalled my social media apps. Facebook, Instagram and TikTok.

    I kept Pinterest since I don’t communicate with anyone on that app. I also kept YouTube because I use it to listen to ASMR videos at night and online sermons. I also kept Audible, because that’s not a social media app, at least not in my opinion.

    A terrible ice storm came through my area about a week ago, after the fast was over. So I reinstalled the social media apps in order to connect with people who live in my tiny little community, as to receive updates about road conditions, electricity restoration, etc. Moreover, my church and my son’s school post scheduling updates. So I thought it was necessary that I reinstall my apps.

    It wasn’t.

    I was without social media for 29 days in total, from December 31 to January 28. And this is what happened:

    1. My anxiety and depression decreased significantly. Having less exposure to the “highlight reels” of others forced concentration on my own life. Hobbies. Inner work. Growth. And that ultimately reduced my anxiety.
    2. I developed an improved sense of self awareness. I had more time for introspection which helped me better understand myself, my own perspectives, my opinions – and most importantly – why those opinions exist. I would argue that, for me, social media can be brainwashing at times.
    3. Comparison culture was canceled in my life. Not seeing was everyone else was doing broke me free from the measurement of myself against others, and thus improving my sense of self worth.
    4. My productivity increased. There were less time-wasting distractions which freed up lots of time for meaningful tasks. I read a couple of books, watched some decent movies, spent time with my family, all without worrying what I was missing by scrolling for hours.
    5. My level of focus increased. I gained the ability to think more clearly and keep the phone down in order to complete a task without distractions.
    6. I developed enhanced critical thinking skills. Less exposure to shallow content improved my ability to think more profoundly about ideas that actually matter.
    7. My real-life connections became a priority. I gained the ability to sit with family or friends, not just stare at people on the internet.
    8. I slept better. At bedtime, there was no mindless scrolling. I read my Bible and closed my eyes when I got sleepy without anxiety or a guilty conscience.
    9. I was better able to live in the moment. My observation skills improved and I began to embrace the present.
    10. My skill set expanded. I learned an accomplished so much in about a month. I have maintained a bullet journal and a prayer journal, kept up with my Bible reading. I read two other books, watched movies (and reviewed them), maintained the house, perfected my skincare routine, and worked on what I share with all of you. It was an amazing use of my time.

    I am still on my apps. The first day, I scrolled TikTok for hours and started to feel really terrible about it. So I am not sure they’re here to stay. I liked who I was when I wasn’t on social media. So I will continue to pray for direction.

    I hope you have an amazing week.

  • Raspberry Expectations

    This is not a list born out of disappointment. Instead, this was born out of clarity.

    At one point in my life, I carried a quiet set of expectations everywhere I went. I had hoped people would show up the way I would, care the way I cared, notice the things I noticed. I hoped for the same grace for my shortcomings that I extended to others for theirs.

    What I am learning, though, is that releasing certain expectations doesn’t make me colder. It actually frees me from so much anxiety.

    These are the things I no longer expect from other people:

    1. I don’t expect people to read my mind. Silence isn’t communication, even when it feels obvious to me. If something matters, I am learning to name it. And if I name it and nothing changes, I release it. It is as simple (and as complicated) as that. Clarity trumps resentment. Every time.
    2. I don’t expect the same level of self-awareness. Not everyone reflects constantly. Not everyone revisits conversations at 2 a.m. That doesn’t mean they’re careless. They’re just different than me. And how boring would this world be if everyone thought the same way I do?
    3. I don’t expect consistency from people who haven’t practiced it. Patterns matter more than promises. So I am practicing consistency for myself. And as for others, I let behavior speak instead of hoping words will grow legs. (This is not to say people can’t change, because they absolutely can. But some people don’t want to – see #1 as to how to release those people.)
    4. I don’t expect people to value what I value. Care looks different in different hands. Someone else’s priorities don’t have to mirror mine to be real or valid. The same goes for feelings, preferences, [insert thing here].
    5. I don’t expect closure anymore. Boy, oh boy, I used to. But some things just end quietly. Some things don’t end at all. And I’ve learned to make peace without a concluding conversation.
    6. I don’t expect accountability from people who avoid discomfort. Growth requires willingness. I can’t manufacture that for anyone else. And in the last 6 months or so, so many things in my life have changed – financially, physically, circumstantially. All because I knew things needed to change in my life. I was willing to put in the work. Some people aren’t. And until they are…
    7. I don’t expect people to show up the way I do. I give deeply, intuitively, thoughtfully. But that’s just my way. It’s not the universal standard. Letting go of this expectation has saved me so much recent silent disappointment.
    8. I don’t expect others to protect my boundaries. That’s my job. And I figured out that people will test what isn’t clearly held. That’s not necessarily malice. It’s just human nature. But it’s why boundaries need to be very clear. Always.
    9. I don’t expect understanding from people committed to misunderstanding. Explanations don’t work when someone only hears what he/she wants to hear. I’ve over explained far too much throughout my life, gripping tightly to the idea that if someone just understood, they would accept me. That is not the case. So now, I just let that be information. I no longer consider it a personal failure.
    10. I don’t expect to be everyone’s priority. And more than that, I no longer try to earn that position by over-giving. Mutuality does not need convincing.

    What I expect these days is honesty – from myself first. I expect clarity where possible and acceptance where it isn’t. I expect to meet people where they are – and decide accordingly.

    I thought that letting go of these expectations would make be bitter. But it hasn’t. It has made me calmer. Clearer. More self-respecting.

    I no longer wait for others to become who I need.

    I listen. I adjust. And I move forward – with my eyes open.

    Letting go of expectations for other people didn’t leave a void, ironically. It made room. For a long time, my expectations lived outward – how others would show up, understand, respond, repair. What I am learning now is that the only expectations that actually stabilize my life are the ones I hold for myself.

    And they’re not demands. They’re agreements.

    1. I expect honesty, even when it is inconvenient. Not perfection, necessarily. And not even flawless self-awareness anymore. Just the willingness to tell myself the truth instead of narrating around it.
    2. I expect myself to listen when something feels off. I don’t dismiss discomfort anymore or intellectualize it out of existence. When something keeps nudging me, I pay attention.
    3. I expect follow-through when considering my own boundaries. Nothing rigid. Just consistent respect. Because I can’t ask others to honor what I repeatedly ignore.
    4. I expect self-compassion when I fall short. Correction doesn’t require cruelty. And growth doesn’t require punishment. I expect myself to respond with care, not contempt. This has become a slow process, as I am my own worst critic. But I have figured out in the last few months that I am worth compassion, even if other people don’t extend it.
    5. I expect effort, but not over-functioning. I show up. I contribute. But I no longer carry what isn’t mine to hold. Not bitterness. Not financial burdens. Not workload.
    6. I expect pause before explanation. Not every choice needs justification. Not every feeling needs a defense. Silence has now become a complete sentence. And it has been so freeing.
    7. I expect alignment over approval. I no longer abandon my values to stay “liked.” Belonging that costs me myself isn’t belonging at all. It’s dishonest.
    8. I expect learning to be ongoing. I possess the “How hard could it be?” gene. In reality, though, I won’t always get it right the first time. So I need to stay teachable.
    9. I expect rest to be part of the plan. Rest isn’t a reward. It’s not something I earn after wearing myself out or depleting myself. Rest is a requirement. And it’s something to which we are all entitled.
    10. I expect myself to choose “forward.” I can’t live permanently in regret or rehearsal. I own what is mine, I adjust, and I keep moving.

    These expectations aren’t a guarantee that my life will ever be easy. They guarantee integrity. When I hold myself to what actually matters – honesty, care, alignment, responsibility – I stop outsourcing my sense of stability to other people.

    I don’t need other people to become anything different so that my life feels more grounded. I don’t need anyone else to change in order to feel safe – not anymore.

    And that, finally, feels solid.

  • Main Character Raspberry

    I don’t have main character energy in a cinematic sense. I can’t even open a can of biscuits, so I can’t imagine looking cool walking away from an explosion. There’s no slow motion walk. No flawless outfits. No dramatic “score” swelling behind me.

    And to be clear, I am only an underdog in ways I create for myself, by ways of insecurity, improper time management, and a long list of shortcomings I am slowly processing day by day.

    My “main character energy” is quieter. Observational. Occasionally inconvenient.

    1. I mentally narrate my life during every day, mundane tasks. Vacuuming the floor becomes a moment of reflection. Folding laundry feels symbolic for reasons I cannot always explain. I said to someone this morning, “I never feel like I’m doing enough. I always feel like I’m behind the 8 ball.” And I know now that feelings are facts (thank you, Christy the Therapist), but the feeling has to pass, nonetheless.
    2. I assume small moments are teaching me something. Losing my keys must mean I need to become more organized. An awkward pause is my internal nightmare. A missed turn might have saved me from having an accident. The “signs” are not always bad, but to say I overthink even the small things is absolutely accurate.
    3. I pause before responding like I’m choosing a line that defines me. A returned text as simple as, “Sounds good!” has context. After living in fear of being misrepresented or incorrectly perceived, I tiptoe over every word I say at times. I guess it’s a good thing that my life is quiet these days. I prefer that over constant scrutiny.
    4. I notice aesthetic details no one asked me to notice. Lighting. Music playing faintly in the background of a store or restaurant. The emotional “tone” of a room. I rarely comment on it. But I notice.
    5. I emotionally soundtrack normal experiences. Night rides in the rain = Janet Jackson. A warm spring day = pop. Tears in my pillow at night = Hillsong. Bubble baths = acoustic covers of 00s hits. There is absolutely no reason for this.
    6. I treat minor inconveniences like plot devices. Those things don’t happen to me. They happened for character development.
    7. I reflect deeply instead of reacting quickly. This is new. And it’s not because I’m wise. It’s because I’m rehearsing my inner monologue.
    8. I romanticize resetting my life at incredibly impractical times. Ever wake up on a Thursday and decide you need to redecorate your bedroom? Ever throw away half of your wardrobe because your graphic tees “just aren’t funny enough?” Ever spend $90 on items to do a craft project for something listed for $50 on Etsy? No? Just me? K thanks.
    9. I think about “who I am becoming” while doing objectively nothing. Sitting. Scrolling. Becoming.
    10. I feel like everything would make sense if someone else were watching. Nothing exciting is happening. Not technically. But it feels important anyway.

    This is not confidence.
    It’s not cool.
    It’s barely even noticeable.

    But it is presence.
    Awareness.
    Just me – quietly starring in my own life, with no audience, no arc, and no special effects.

    And if you knew me 6 months ago, and how often I let someone else decided who I needed to be to be “enough,” you’d note progress.

    Five stars.

  • Raspberry Confusion

    This week I have really tried to work on letting go of things I cannot control.

    **written in my bullet journal as a quiet reminder to myself that I should be focusing on the things inside the big circle, not the outer bubbles**

    I have an amazing job and a work ethic that trumps most others’, a beautiful home, nice car, a different Stanley for every day of the week.

    Combine those things with a never precedented desire for privacy, and on the outside I’m capable, rational, put together.

    (I make a point these days not to share my inner most struggles with people, as I have found that most either use it as a bargaining chip to get something from me, or, alternatively, turn my personal chaos into a subject discussed at their regular coffee klatches. Either way, I’m not interested. My life is more valuable than what others have to say about it.)

    So on paper, I’m reasonable.

    In practice, I’m intuitive. There are definitely patterns.

    And for someone who knows me well, this isn’t surprising. If you don’t know me well, I promise I am fine and I can be trusted with responsibilities.

    **For the most part.

    1. I need alone time after socializing, even if I enjoyed myself. I had fun. I laughed. And then my social battery ran out, and I now require solitude like it’s medically necessary.
    2. I can be decisive about big things and paralyzed by small ones. Major life choices? Where to live, big purchases, legal matters, career decisions. Calm. Rational. Thoughtful. Choosing a font? I need 20 minutes and a lot of reassurance.
    3. I overprepare for low-stakes interactions. I walk into casual conversation with back up plans and emotional snacks. On my way to a meeting at church last week, I rehearsed an “about me” monologue so hard that I got a headache. And we didn’t even have to speak in the meeting. Facepalm.
    4. I notice everything and then pretend I didn’t. Tone shifts. Facial expressions. The vibe. And I’ll turn it inward and never mention it.
    5. I love plans – as long as they remain hypothetical. The idea of making a plan, making a list, or setting a goal brings me joy. Executing them requires negotiation with my nervous system. And a lot of second-guessing and prayer.
    6. I take responsibility instinctively, even when it is not mine. If something feels off, I briefly assume it is my fault. It’s reflex, not logic. And I’m working on it.
    7. I am simultaneously deeply self-aware and wildly confused. I understand my patterns. But I don’t always know what to do with that information in real time.
    8. I crave calm but mentally rehearse catastrophe. While I am actively seeking peace, I run a continuous background scan for danger. Basically, it’s my exhausting way of multitasking.
    9. I care very deeply but express it quietly. I do not typically make grand gestures. But I remember things and I show up. Packing lunches for my family for work/school. Anonymous donations to those less fortunate than I am. Memorizing how you like your coffee. Finding out what your favorite dessert is and tracking down the recipe. Yet not making any of those things a whole production.
    10. I am confident and insecure in alternating waves. Sometimes within the same hour. Sometimes even about the same topic. I am learning to reassure myself, by myself. And I anchor my identity based on how much Jesus loves me, instead of looking at the perceptions of others.

    All of these things seem contradictory. And they probably are.

    But somehow, it works. Because I am making it work.

    For those who know me, all of this makes perfect sense.

    (It literally doesn’t. But thanks for pretending anyway.)

  • Raspberry Fear

    Fear has always had a strong voice in my life. It speaks quickly. Convincingly. And with urgency dressed up as wisdom.

    And for a long time, I let it lead. I didn’t trust it, but it was loud. What I can see now, looking back, is that my values were never absent. They were just quieter than my fear.

    And maybe this blog page is my way of turning the volume up on the right things. I am learning to let my values be louder than my fear.

    I’ve stopped using fear as my compass. Fear is really good at identifying risk, but it isn’t good at identifying truth. When I let fear decide, I shrink decisions down to what will keep me “safest” in the moment, and not what will necessarily keep me aligned in the long run.

    I am listening to what matters, not what panics. My values speak differently. They’re slower. Steadier. Less dramatic. My values ask questions like, “Is this honest? Is this kind? Is this consistent with who you’re trying to be?”

    I am choosing integrity over avoidance. Fear urges me to stay quiet, stay agreeable, stay unseen. It can also push me to seek validation from the wrong things or the wrong people. But my values ask me to be clear, even when clarity costs me something – like a relationship, for instance. I am learning that discomfort is somehow the price of self-respect.

    I am letting courage be ordinary. Courage does not always equal boldness. Sometimes it looks like moving forward, keeping a boundary, or telling the truth once and letting it stand.

    I am practicing values in small moments. Not necessarily the dramatic stands. But the daily ones. How I speak. What I tolerate. What I agree to when no one is watching. Because the fact of the matter is that alignment is built quietly. In small increments. Moment by moment.

    And I notice that fear gets louder when I am close to breaking a bad habit. When I am close to breaking through a destructive pattern. And that fear used to stop me. But now I accept it as a signal that something meaningful is at stake. Fear doesn’t mean I am wrong. I usually means I am moving.

    I am letting peace be the confirmation. When I act in line with what I believe – even if it’s not perfect – something in me settles. It’s not relief, necessarily, because sometimes it does hurt. It’s peace. And that’s how I know I’ve made the right decision.

    I can’t eliminate fear, so I reordered it. Fear still has a seat at my table. It just doesn’t get the final vote. My values decide what stays and what has to go.

    I am trusting consistency over reassurance. I don’t need constant certainty. I just need coherence between what I believe and how I leave. And it’s been really difficult to accept that.

    I’m choosing to be guided, not governed. Fear will always try to protect me. My values will help me become myself. And I’m learning, now, which one deserves the microphone.

    In my life, fear asks, “What if something goes wrong?”

    But my values ask, “What do you want to be if it does?”

    I am still not fearless. I’m just more clear-headed. So I let my values call the shots now.

    Have an amazing Thursday.

  • Raspberry Punish-No-More

    Since September, I have attended weekly therapy (minus two separate weeks – one because of illness and one because I legit turned my alarm off in my sleep).

    On one hand, someone to whom I no longer speak told me I needed “serious help.” On the other hand, I am an advocate of therapy.

    And there’s a third hand somewhere in the air that also knows I think and feel certain things I could not and would not share with an amateur.

    (Not only do I have control issues – but can you tell I have trust issues, too?)

    Today, we talked about two things: (1) The path to self-discovery; and (2) Self-forgiveness.

    I do not know when it happened, how it happened, or how I learned it, but at some point I deduced that in order to be loved, I needed to be productive.

    Make good grades. Clean the house. Make the dinner. Wear the dress. Pay the bills. Be available. Relinquish the boundary. And bend to every whim assigned by others. Maybe then (but probably only then) would I be accepted. Because as long as I was producing something, I couldn’t be dismissed.

    But as the cycle often goes, production without rest often leads to exhaustion and resentment.

    So while I’m cleaning, cooking, paying bills, and buying the gifts, I’m questioning my worth, and in the back of my mind, frustration is building.

    “I can’t – and should not have to – do this by myself,” replaying over and over in my head…

    Until I break. I stop. And I run.

    And I run to something often toxic and/or unhealthy, just so I can feel like “me” again, justified by the internal phrase, “I deserve to be happy.”

    The problem with running is that running doesn’t actually make you happy. It’s just a distraction.

    Running does not solve the problem. It creates different problems.

    So imagine my disgust when I stop running only to end up with two different sets of problems:

    1. The mess I made when I took off (i.e. – selfish, impulsive decisions, toxic relationships with people for whom I also ironically had to “produce,” and the once healthy relationships that suffered because I neglected them), and the subsequent clean up required, internally and logistically, in order to make things right.
    2. The cyclical process of forgiving myself for making the same mistake, over and over again, seemingly without learning my lesson, because apparently, I cannot learn from my mistakes after one go-round. I need to make that mistake 3 or 4 times just to verify that it’s actually a mistake.

    Facepalm.

    For the last six months, I have been making very intentional steps to remedy the first problem. Therapy. Journaling. Blogging. Reading. And most importantly, prayer. Praying for those I’ve hurt. Praying for those who have hurt me. Praying for answers. And praying for forgiveness.

    The second problem, self-forgiveness, is where I get stuck. And I figure that’s where a lot of people get stuck, especially those who have control issues like me.

    Punishing myself by replaying those mistakes over and over is, in the long run, a way to maintain control. It’s my way of preventing future mistakes. I subconsciously decide that I do not trust myself, and I place my decisions into a box that requires constant attention and cultivates constant second-guessing. And I also decide subconsciously that I simply do not deserve forgiveness until everyone else is okay. “When he/she forgives me, I’ll forgive myself,” thereby leaving my fate in the hands of others (which may not seem like control, but it is).

    But shame never fixed anything – my mistakes, most of all.

    Shame is, counteractively, unproductive. Shame freezes your pain and makes your circumstances permanent.

    So I asked my therapist how to forgive myself. I share the information I learned with you. It is cathartic.

    Self-forgiveness isn’t about pretending nothing happened.

    It’s just about releasing yourself from perpetual punishment.

    And while I used to think that forgiving myself meant erasing the past or minimizing harm, what I am learning is that it actually just means (1) telling the truth; and (2) refusing to stay imprisoned by it.

    No, these aren’t easy steps for anyone. But they’re steady.

    1. Tell the truth without embellishment. No minimizing. No catastrophizing. Just, “This is what happened.” Write it down if necessary. Forgiving yourself begins with honesty, not drama.
    2. Separate responsibility from identity. Acknowledging harm is not a character sentence. Making a mistake is something you did, not who you are.
    3. Allow appropriate guilt, but not permanent shame. Guilt can help guide repair, but shame keeps you stuck. If a feeling does not move you toward wisdom or change, it should not stay forever.
    4. Name what you’ve already learned. If you would not make the same choice today, that matters. And read this carefully: Growth counts even if consequences remain. Learning is not an excuse. It’s evidence.
    5. Acknowledge what you didn’t know then. Context isn’t justification, but it is clarity. We act with the tools we have in any decision-making moment. Understanding your past, and the capacity you had, creates compassion without denial.
    6. Make amends where possible, and release what isn’t. While you should repair what you can, you also have to accept that some things cannot be fixed, only respected. Self-forgiveness does not require universal reconciliation, and that’s as hard for me as it probably is for others.
    7. Stop resentencing yourself. If you have owned it, learned from it, and adjusted your behavior, you’ve officially become accountable. Continuing to punish yourself is not accountability. It’s just habit.
    8. Practice speaking to yourself like someone who is redeemable. Not lenient. Not indulgent. Just a human being. And another thing? If redemption is possible for others, it is possible for you.
    9. Trust the process and allow forgiveness to be gradual. Much like growth, self-forgiveness is not linear. You won’t wake up forgiven one random morning. This is something that requires practice, especially on days when self-doubt resurfaces. It’s a choice you have to make every day, in small steps. Rinse and repeat.
    10. Choose forward responsibility over backward obsession. I try to look at it this way: Self-forgiveness in no way erases the past. It frees us up to live responsibly now. And that’s the most meaningful apology I can offer.

    Self forgiveness does not equal forgetting. It’s just the act of releasing the belief that you must suffer forever to prove that you understand.

    Two things can be true at the same time – you can carry both regret and dignity. You can remember and move forward. You can be accountable and free.

    And you are allowed to begin again, without dragging a sentence behind you.

    I hope your day is going really well. I’m signing off to make baked spaghetti.

  • Raspberry Disappointment

    I am learning to let people be disappointed in me without fixing it.

    It isn’t coming from a place of anger. It’s coming from a place of exhaustion.

    For a long time, I believed disappointment was something to resolve immediately. I adjusted myself, over-explained, and sometimes even offered more of myself – money, time, affection, attention, compliments – until everyone was okay again.

    What I am figuring out now is simpler, but much harder. Sometimes disappointment is just information, not a problem that needs immediate resolution.

    I used to think disappointment was a personal failure. If someone felt let down, I assumed I had done something wrong. I scrambled for context, compromises, and even apologized, often before understanding whether or not I had actually crossed a line.

    I confused care with correction. I thought caring meant preventing discomfort at all costs. But removing every hard feeling is not empathy. It’s control disguised as kindness.

    (I told you I had control issues.)

    I overextended to soften other people’s feelings. I filled gaps I did not create. I paid emotional debts I did not owe. And I smoothed the rough edges of myself so that others would find me “acceptable.”

    I did all of this because I believed that fixing disappointment would keep relationships safe. If I responded fast enough, nicely enough, thoroughly enough – enough, enough, enough – maybe nothing would fracture. But relationships that require constant repair from only one side are not stable. They’re just familiar. And even when it is hard to let go of the familiar, it is necessary when familiarity causes harm.

    I am learning now that disappointment does not always equal harm. Someone can be disappointed and still be okay. I can say no and still be respectful. And I can choose differently and still be kind.

    I am resisting the urge to over-explain. Explanation used to feel like responsibility. Now I’m noticing that, often times, it is just a reflex – a reflex rooted in fear of being misunderstood or disliked.

    I am allowing feelings to exist without managing them. Disappointment is a feeling. It’s not an emergency. It doesn’t need my immediate intervention to be valid. But as I started to recall how many times I have been disappointed in other people and their behavior – even maliciously hurtful behavior – and still survived that disappointment – I figured out that I can do the same thing.

    The trick is to stay grounded when others are uncomfortable. This is new. And quiet. And it requires that I stay present with myself instead of rushing outward.

    I am trusting that healthy relationships can tolerate friction. Mutual respect should not dissolve at the first unmet expectation. And if that is the case, the relationship was fractured, or at least fragile, long before that first feeling of disappointment.

    I am choosing self-respect over emotional appeasement. I care deeply, and I know that I do, whether others see it or not. But caring should not mean I have to contort myself. I can be considerate without correcting anything. And I can let people feel what they feel, and still stand where I stand.

    Letting people be disappointed (and stay disappointed) isn’t cruelty. It’s clarity. It creates room for honesty, for mutual responsibility, and for relationships that don’t depend on one person doing all of the emotional labor.

    I am not withdrawing. I’m just stabilizing. And while it has been a tedious process – one I am still working on – for the first time in my life – it feels like peace.

  • Indispensable Raspberry

    I am letting go of the urge to be indispensable.

    For a long time, i believed being needed was the safest way to belong.

    If I was useful enough – available enough – surely my spot would be secure.

    What I am learning now is that being indispensable actually means being exhausted.

    So this isn’t resignation – it’s relief.

    1. I confused worth with usefulness. I measured my value by how much I could do, fix, hold, or anticipate. I felt responsible. But it wasn’t sustainable.
    2. I thought being needed would protect me. If I made myself necessary, I wouldn’t be replaced – or abandoned. But reliance isn’t the same as connection.
    3. I over-functioned to stay relevant. I stepped in early. I stayed late. I filled gaps no one even asked me to fill. I paid for the dinner. Agreed to others’ criticism of me. All because it felt safer than stepping back.
    4. I rarely asked myself what I needed. I focused outward. It was easier than admitting my own limits.
    5. I equated vitality with loyalty. I made my own needs small. But loyalty that depends on self-erasure isn’t loyalty. It’s survival.
    6. I’m learning to trust natural connection. Relationships that stand the test of time don’t hinge on constant usefulness. They breathe. Fluctuate. They make room for rest.
    7. I am practicing being present, not essential. I can care without carrying everything. And I can contribute without overextending. And I do not have to abandon my own needs to tolerate the way others use me.
    8. I am letting people manage their own roles. I do not have to be the solution to remain valued. I am allowed to step back and let others step up.
    9. I am noticing how much lighter things feel. Without the pressure to prove my necessity, there is so much space left for ease and honesty. And for choice.
    10. I am choosing to be wanted, not required. I want relationships where I am valued for who I am, not for what I provide.

    I don’t need to be indispensable to matter. And I don’t need to be constantly useful to be loved.

    And letting go of that urge has been incredibly difficult. I look back on the number of relationships I should’ve walked away from a lot sooner than I did. I definitely haven’t lost my place in any relationship worth having.

    I’m standing in it.

  • Raspberry Space

    I will not fight for space in others’ lives.

    This isn’t an ultimatum.

    It’s also not up for debate.

    It’s just an understanding I’ve come to, gently but firmly.

    I will not audition for access. I will not negotiate for attention. And I will not compete with indifference.

    Not anymore. And not because I’m angry. I’m just done abandoning myself.

    1. I used to confuse effort with worth. I thought that if I showed up consistently, tried harder, explained better – I could secure a place in people’s lives, and perhaps even earn a spot on their list of priorities. What didn’t click was that belonging isn’t earned through exhaustion.
    2. I’ve learned that mutual interest does not feel like pursuit. My therapist once told me that friendships are usually based on mutual benefit. And when care is reciprocal, it moves naturally. There’s a certain rhythm that comes with the give and take of meaningful relationships. There’s a responsiveness – an ease – that comes with respectful, effective relationships, whether that relationship is with a spouse, a child, a friend, or co-worker, a pastor, or even an animal. A very unwise, cruel person once said to me, “In any relationship, someone always sacrifices more.” That is simply not true. And if I am straining to be seen, the answer is already there.
    3. I will not chase availability. If space has to be forced open, it is not a space meant to hold me. I am not longer rearranging myself to fit into rooms that were not made for me.
    4. I am done with conditional closeness. Affection that requires constant proving is not closeness at all. It’s performance. I want connection that stays – even on days when I feel like I can’t try anymore.
    5. I will step back where I am not met. Not loudly or dramatically. But with my dignity intact.
    6. I trust absence to tell me what words won’t. I no longer interrogate distance or explain it away. I let it speak. And in instances like that, yes, silence is loud. But it’s okay.
    7. I will no longer mistake tolerance for invitation. Being “allowed” around is not the same as being wanted. For far too long, I have operated under a “prove myself” mentality. And sometimes that meant excusing and/or tolerating behavior that I wouldn’t accept otherwise. I deserve to be “it.”
    8. I am making room for ease. Space that welcomes me does not require persuasion. And it doesn’t make me wonder where I stand.
    9. I am choosing self-respect over proximity. I would rather have fewer relationships that are mutual than many that require me to shrink or strain. Love does not have to be earned.
    10. I am not withdrawing. I am aligning. None of this is because I’ve given up. I’m just returning to myself.

    The people who want you in their lives won’t require convincing. And with all of my flaws, shortcomings, and failures, I exist on this planet because my life is worth something. YOU exist because yours is, too.

    So don’t chase. Don’t allow others to make space feel scarce. Meet effort with effort, care with care, and presence with presence. But do not fight for space that isn’t freely given. When a relationship becomes too one-sided, when it’s no longer easy, when you start to hate who you’ve become – all of those are signs to walk away without apology.

    You’re worth it.