It’s a strange thing to watch your insight come full circle—and still be invisible inside it.
You name the cracks before they widen. You warn, not to be right, but because you see it coming. You sound the alarm. Quietly, then loudly. Then not at all.
And now? Now it’s all playing out.
The financial strain. The unsustainable patterns. The marriages that were always brittle. The dependency loops. The over-functioning. The systems held together by guilt, image, and silence… now fraying at the seams.
I don’t feel smug. I feel tired.
Tired of seeing what I see. Tired of trying to language it in ways others can bear. Tired of being the mirror no one wants to look into unless it reflects something flattering.
Because even now, with reality knocking—loudly—they still can’t come sit with me in it.
There’s a kind of loneliness in being the one who saw the wave coming but still got called dramatic. And when the wave hits, no one says, “You were right.” They just gasp for air and pretend you’re not holding a lifeboat.
So I sit here, on the shoreline, watching people who once told me I was too much… now drowning in the very waters I was trying to map for them.
Still no acknowledgment.
Still no willingness to meet me where I am.
Still no reflection—just retreat.
I’m not mad. I’m just… done explaining.
Some truths are only understood through consequences. And some love must be practiced at a distance, because proximity keeps you complicit.
Let them figure it out now.
Let them choose their own maps.
I’m no longer offering mine.