I keep circling back to this: in my last relationship, I was putting in far more effort than she was. What I’ve realized is that I need a more balanced foundation — where people like me for me, not just for my effort or what I can provide.

I haven’t found that yet, or maybe I’ve missed it, but either way my path is clear: keep improving myself, keep showing up authentically, and stay open to recognizing genuine interest when it appears. Ten years feels like a long time, but I’d rather wait than accept crumbs again.

Boundaries and Respect

I’ve had clashes with neighbors, with “friends,” with people who wanted me to soothe them or play along with their immaturity. I used to doubt myself in those moments — was I being too harsh, too distant, too arrogant?

Now I trust this: if it doesn’t feel like respect, it’s not respect. And I can walk away without guilt. If people misunderstand that, it’s their problem, not mine.

For years I mistook pity and breadcrumbs for connection. I held on because I was starving. But crumbs never nourished me. Letting go feels freeing — blowing them off the breadboard and leaving space for something real.

Self-Respect Over Pity

What I want now is simple: playful teasing, not disguised criticism. Care, not pity. Equal footing, not superiority.

I can feel the difference in my body. When someone jokes with me in good faith, it connects us. When they disguise cutting remarks as “playful,” my body says no. The most toxic thing is when people try to make me doubt that signal. I’m not doubting anymore.

I don’t need friends who hang around out of obligation, pity, or to feel superior. A real friend wouldn’t encourage me to slip back into weed when they know what it did to me. That’s not care, that’s sabotage.

Fatherhood and Trust

What matters most to me is how I show up for my son. I can’t control who he chooses as friends, or the immaturity of other parents, or what stories get spun about me. His mum still wants to paint me as the “difficult one,” to ease her own shame, even rewriting history about cheating.

But I can control how I act when I’m with him. I can model what it looks like to stand tall, to walk away when disrespected, to live honorably.

I hope Vic feels strong enough in himself to separate from people or situations that don’t align with who he is. And truthfully, I think he does. He’s assertive, values-driven, and knows when to go to an adult if he’s being mistreated. That’s all I can ask for — and it’s already showing.

The Tradesman’s Lesson

I keep thinking of the man who fitted my bathroom years ago. He helped me during a hard time — after my dad died, after my best friend took his own life — and he did the work quickly, cheaply, and well. My mum criticized him endlessly, but his work has lasted almost a decade.

Eventually, he walked away before finishing, and at the time I felt abandoned. But now I see the truth: he left because he wasn’t being respected. He acted honorably by stepping back rather than staying in a situation that would sour.

That’s the model I’ve been missing my whole life. My father didn’t show it. My relationships didn’t show it. But that man did. And I’ve been slowly integrating it ever since: help where you can, act with honor, and if respect isn’t there, walk away.

Living With Honor

Sometimes I feel fully integrated, steady in myself. Other times, doubt creeps back in. But the foundation is there now.

I don’t need to chase people. I don’t need to settle for crumbs. I don’t need to betray myself to keep the peace.

If being misunderstood is the price of self-respect, so be it. My job is to live with honor, to let go of what isn’t nourishing, and to model that for my son.

That’s enough.