Vulnerability Was My Protection — Until It Wasn’t

Lately, I’ve started seeing just how many things have come together all at once — and how deeply those shifts have changed me.

I’ve been able to cut off contact with my mother — not out of hatred, but because I know it’s what’s best for me and for my child.

I’ve been able to see my ex-partner more clearly, without making her out to be something she wasn’t. She may not have been everything I needed — but she wasn’t the enemy either. That clarity feels honest, and grounded, and long overdue.

I’ve walked away from people I used to call friends — though “friends” might be too generous a term. What they really were, in many cases, were echoes of old roles I’ve outgrown.

And through all of it, I’ve let myself be seen.
Authentically. Vulnerably.
Even when it felt like people might test that.
Even when my body braced for it.

And still — I’m here.

Tired, yes. Tender, always.
But no longer ashamed of that.
Because I now see it: this is my strength.

Letting people see my weak parts no longer feels like a death sentence.
Because even if someone doesn’t meet me there, I know I can live with that.
What I can’t live with is not showing those parts at all — because that guarantees I’ll never be met.

And suddenly, it makes so much sense.

Of course I haven’t been vulnerable in the past — it’s been dangerous to be vulnerable.
It’s been used against me.
Weaponized.
Turned into leverage or control.

So I learned to hide.
To adapt.
To survive.

And you know what? That strategy worked. It was a very good strategy. It kept me alive. It kept me emotionally safe when no one else did.

But now? Now, it’s holding me back.

And I’m ready to let it go.

I don’t have all the answers.
I still don’t know exactly who I am yet.
But I do know this:

I’m not performing anymore.
I’m not chasing acceptance that comes at the cost of my truth.

I’m here.
I’m me.
And that’s enough.

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