“We lose our innocence when we realize no one is coming to rescue us — and that it was never their job to begin with.” — James Hollis

This chapter lands close to the bone.
Because I’m living it.

Letting go of innocence doesn’t mean becoming bitter. It means seeing clearly. And in recent months, that’s exactly what I’ve been forced to do. The family systems I thought might one day soften, the relationships I once hoped would return — I’ve stopped waiting for them to rescue me. I’ve stopped waiting for the world to make sense in a way that finally gives me peace.

And in doing so, I’ve felt lonely as hell.

But also… free.

Because the truth is, I used to find safety in illusions:

  • That maybe my mother would one day love me the way I needed.
  • That past partners would suddenly understand the harm they caused.
  • That systems — like college or institutions — would recognize my worth if I just showed enough growth, enough self-awareness.

I don’t believe those things anymore.
And losing them has hurt more than I’d like to admit.

But it’s also made room for something deeper — the kind of clarity that doesn’t rely on anyone else’s validation. The kind of strength that says: This hurts, and I’m still not going back.

This chapter reminds me that pain is part of the path — not a sign I’m failing, but a sign I’m growing. I’m no longer trying to be good, or perfect, or pleasing. I’m trying to be true. And that costs me the innocence of hoping someone else might make it easier.

But in its place, I’m building something real.

Reflection Prompt:
What illusions have I let go of lately?
And what truth am I learning to stand in, even when it hurts?