I Don’t Owe Anyone My Peace

Recently, I asked my close friends how they’ve been healing their inner teenager. I thought I’d already begun that process when I was in therapy, but honestly, I couldn’t have been more wrong. Now, I’m left stumped, trying to figure it all out. I’ve ‘mellowed’ out a lot, though (that was a recent description of me that tickled me a bit. I’ve never thought of myself as mellow). I’m not as angry as I used to be—it takes too much energy, and I just don’t have the time to focus on people who probably never cared about my feelings in the first place.

It’s a strange kind of clarity that comes when you realize you no longer need to hold space for people who’ve contributed to your misery. 

For so long, I tried to be the bigger person, to maintain relationships with people who actively chose to align themselves with my bullies. People who made me feel small when all I ever did was defend them. But I’m done with that. I don’t owe anyone who has caused me pain any more of my niceness or sympathy. If they want to paint me as the villain, fine. I’ve learned that protecting my peace is far more important than worrying about how others perceive me… however, just to be zesty, hello the finstas I know my blogs have made it onto. I hope you stick around.

Honestly, I’m okay with being seen as the villain because I can take accountability for my own actions. I can acknowledge the things I’ve said and done. I’ve never gone out of my way to befriend anyone’s bullies or make up lies about someone else’s experiences, but I’m not perfect. I’m in no position to invalidate how others remember things or their own experiences. What I do know is that I’m done allowing other people’s perceptions of me to dictate how I live.

What I’ve learned is that anger is just a mask for deeper emotions, like hurt. So, while I may not be as angry, I can admit that I’m still hurt by a lot of things. I’ve grown to hate being called “strong” because it’s a misunderstanding of who I really am. For almost two decades, I’ve worn strength as a mask, pretending to be unfazed. But now, confronting my inner teenager, I realize she was never strong—she was just hurt, and too afraid to show it.

And I’ve also grown to hate the expectation that I should keep trying with people who’ve gone out of their way to make me feel miserable, especially family. I’m done trying to be the bigger person. I’ve done it too many times, and I’ll never do it again. Being the bigger person hasn’t served anybody, and, honestly, nice girls finish last. Maybe as I keep pouring my thoughts out, I’m realizing that my inner teenager is just as angry as she is upset.

There’s a lot at stake now, though. Unfortunately—or maybe fortunately, depending on how you look at it—how I navigate life doesn’t just affect me anymore. My daughter’s childhood and how she learns to navigate the world is in my hands. I have to be mindful of how I shape that. Every choice I make, every measure I take to do better for myself, directly impacts her.

It’s funny, because one of my cousins (I mention them a lot, don’t I? Wise women) once told me that having a baby reveals who you really are. There’s no hiding, no facade. Just raw, unfiltered truth. And who I am is someone who’s strayed far from what I once knew, all in the name of finding peace of mind. I’m done trying to fit into molds that never served me—especially the one where family gets a free pass just because they share your blood.

Let me stop you right there, Black Tax warriors. Y’all are too late. That concept has never made sense to me, even as a kid. 

Blame my neurospicy sense of justice, but I refuse to keep being bullied and ostracized by people who are supposed to be family. I’m looking at you, the  ‘but that’s your family’ champions. If I can accept that no one owes me anything, then I expect everyone to act accordingly. It’s time to stop holding onto harmful relationships out of obligation. I’m not doing it anymore—for myself and especially not for my daughter. I hope you do the same.

All the love, N.