Witch, its been rough

Welcome back, weary wanderers of this emotional graveyard I call a blog. If you’ve made it this far, you’re either a loyal soul, slightly nosy, or mildly entertained by the slow-burn chaos that is my personal growth arc. Either way—welcome. The cauldron’s hot, the tea is boiling, and my tolerance for fake friends has officially left the building.

Let’s talk about what it means to be “the strong one.”

The reliable one.

The soft one in the corner who pays attention while everyone else talks over each other.

The one who notices—really notices—what no one says out loud.

I was her.

Still am, sometimes.

But less often now, because I finally learned my lesson: People love you right up until you stop making their lives easier.

Let me tell you what happened:

I got tired.

Tired of being the emotional support witch on standby in everyone else’s journey while no one so much as noticed when I was quietly drowning.

Tired of people who only check in when they need a favor, a secret kept, or someone to vent to before heading back to their regularly scheduled lives.

Tired of family members who know how to guilt-trip but not how to genuinely ask if I’m okay.

Tired of friends who disappear when life gets inconvenient or complicated or too real.

Because here’s the truth: I was never just “checking in.” I was noticing. Everything.

Friends. Family. All of them.

I was the one who could spot the energy shift before anyone said a word.

Who’d gently steer the conversation when someone looked uncomfortable.

Who saw the way you paused at that one thing in the store—ran your fingers over it, thought about it, put it back—and quietly made a mental note to surprise you with it later.

You probably don’t even remember doing it.

But I do.

That’s the kind of love I give.

I remember the small things. I act on the unspoken things. I love in a way that doesn’t announce itself—but you feel it. Or, well, you would’ve… if you’d been paying attention.

I didn’t change overnight. I just stopped pouring from an empty cup. And I watched, in real time, how quiet things got when I stopped doing all the emotional heavy lifting.

Now I’m “distant.”

Now I’m “off.”

Now I’m “not like I used to be.”

Correct.

I’m not.

I’m done twisting myself into shapes to be digestible for people who only love the version of me that doesn’t need anything back.

I’ve gone quiet. Not to punish anyone. But because peace is louder than pretending. I’ve stopped chasing relationships that make me feel like I have to audition for affection.

If I’m a bad texter now, it’s because I used to overextend myself trying to prove I mattered.

And it’s exhausting.

It’s lonely.

And it’s not something I’ll ever do again.

Because the truth is—if someone only notices your absence when you stop doing the work, they never valued your presence. They just liked the perks of your availability.

My circle now? Tiny. Sacred. Safe.

No more people who leave me drained.

No more being the reliable one to people who only call when they’re in chaos.

No more being the “strong one” while I’m breaking in private.

To the friends and family who stuck around when I stopped performing—you’re the real ones. You’re the reason I still believe in connection. You’re the light.

To the rest?

Hope the door didn’t hit you on the way out. Actually no—I hope it did. 

I do wish you healing.

But I wish it far away from me.