(headphones on-Klergy-Dangerous Game)
I used to mistake explanation for honesty.
I believed clarity required access, that if I articulated myself precisely enough, people would stop reaching for versions of me that no longer existed.
That isn’t what explanation is for.
Explanation is a stabilizer.
It keeps other people regulated.
It reassures them that the arrangement hasn’t changed.
When I stopped confessing, many conversations ended. Not abruptly. Quietly. Without conflict. Without resolution. The absence of information made them unsure how to proceed.
That reaction was instructive.
It’s funny that you realize who is really for you when you have nothing to offer them but yourself and they can no longer use you for their emotional anchor. There are snakes outside the door.
I didn’t withdraw.
I didn’t obscure the truth.
I simply stopped narrating myself in real time.
Some interpreted that as secrecy.
Others as detachment.
A few as cruelty.
None of those interpretations required correction.
Confession conditions people to believe they are responsible for you. Silence exposes who needed you to remain accessible so they wouldn’t have to manage themselves.
It is not my responsibility to prevent someone from collapsing under their own weight. I am not a support beam. I am not a safety net. If someone needs me to stay the same so they don’t have to change, that is their work, not mine.
They understand this, or they don’t.
Either way, I continue moving forward.
Growth is not a group activity. It doesn’t wait. It doesn’t negotiate. Those who are not growing with me are not going with me. Period.
I didn’t close the door with intention.
I stopped standing in the doorway.
The ones who belonged inside never asked for an explanation.
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