Stepping Out of Survival

Lately, I’ve started realising something I never gave myself credit for:
I’m not broken.
I’ve just been in survival mode for a long time.

And the thing about survival mode is that it distorts everything.

It makes people think you’re fine — because you keep functioning.
It draws in those who see your exhaustion and take advantage.
It convinces you that asking for anything in return makes you a burden.

But now that I’m slowly stepping out of that mode — reclaiming space, building boundaries, clearing out the physical and emotional clutter — I see it differently.

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I wasn’t weak. I was alone.

I didn’t fail at relationships — I outgrew people who couldn’t meet me.
The only ones who “missed me” when I walked away were the ones who depended on my silence, my capacity, my constant emotional labour.

And when I finally stopped performing, when I stopped holding everything up —
no one stepped in.
No calls. No concern. No real care.

That hurt more than I expected.
There’s grief in that. And a hint of shame.
A voice that whispers: “Why did I have no one? How did it get to this point?”

But I see now — it’s not because I’m unworthy.
It’s because I’ve only ever had people around who needed me strong, silent, and self-sacrificing.

And I’m done with that.

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This morning, I was angry.

At the dog. At my son. At the neighbour and his overgrown hedge.
But underneath it, I realised I was angry about the bigger picture —
about how long I’ve tolerated things that weren’t okay.

I didn’t take it out on my son. I wasn’t perfect, but I held it.
He saw me struggling, and honestly… maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

Because what he saw was real.
And what I model now — standing up for myself, protecting our space, rebuilding from the ground up — that’s the version of me I want him to remember.

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I’m building things now. Physically, emotionally, intentionally.

Not just fences and sheds. But strength. Boundaries. Clarity.

This process will make me a better therapist — not in a clinical sense, but in a real one.
Because I’ll know what it feels like to be used, overlooked, emotionally burnt out… and to come back from it with fire and self-respect intact.

I’ll be able to say to someone else, “I’ve been there.”
And mean it.

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So here’s where I’m at:

I don’t have emotional support right now, apart from the therapist I pay for.
But that doesn’t mean I’m broken.
It means I’ve cleared out what wasn’t real, and I’m sitting with the space they left behind.

It’s lonely.
It’s hard.
But it’s honest.

And I’m done letting that space be filled with people who don’t care.

I’m not surviving anymore. I’m rebuilding.
And the people who want to be part of that?
They’ll have to meet me at this new standard — or not at all.

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