The Infinite Starr

Misery loves company.

But healing?

Healing changes the atmosphere.

And suddenly the same birds that used to land on your shoulders every day start circling somewhere else looking confused because the feeder is empty now.

That is the part nobody warns you about.

The lonely part.

The quiet part.

The part where your phone gets calmer.

The drama slows down.

The chaos stops knocking.

And you realize some people were not attracted to you.

They were attracted to your wounds.

Some people only know how to connect through suffering.

Through gossip.

Through dysfunction.

Through mutual self-destruction disguised as loyalty.

Birds of a feather flock together.

And when you stop bleeding publicly, the vultures get offended.

Funny how that works.

The second you start setting boundaries suddenly you are “different.”

The second you stop reacting, stop chasing, stop explaining, stop entertaining nonsense, people start acting like you betrayed them.

No sweetheart.

I just stopped volunteering as the emotional landfill for people who refuse to heal themselves.

There is a strange season in healing where you are no longer toxic enough for toxic people but not healed enough to fully trust peaceful people yet.

That middle ground is brutal.

Because you are sitting there trying to become softer while still remembering exactly how to survive war.

You are learning peace with teeth.

Love with boundaries.

Kindness with a locked gate.

That is a dangerous kind of healing.

The kind where you genuinely want peace but can still become the storm if pushed hard enough.

People mistake healing for weakness all the time.

Big mistake.

Because the healed warrior is not harmless.

They are restrained.

There is a difference.

I think some people expected me to stay miserable forever because misery made me easier to access.

Easier to manipulate.

Easier to guilt.

Easier to control.

Sad people tolerate things healthy people would laugh at.

Broken people overexplain.

Exhausted people abandon themselves trying to save everyone else.

But eventually something shifts.

You wake up one morning and the chaos no longer tastes like love.

The dysfunction no longer feels exciting.

The inconsistency no longer feels romantic.

And suddenly the people who thrived in your confusion start disappearing one by one.

Not because you attacked them.

Not because you exposed them.

Not because you got revenge.

You simply stopped matching their frequency.

That is the part people never understand about energy.

You do not always have to remove toxic people.

Sometimes your healing evicts them naturally.

The birds stop landing when there is nothing left to feed on.

And listen carefully.

Healing is not becoming passive.

Healing is not becoming spineless.

Healing is not turning into one of those fake enlightened people who whisper through betrayal while pretending nothing affects them.

No.

Some of us are healing while still fully capable of unleashing absolute devastation if necessary.

That is why we choose peace carefully.

Because we know exactly what lives underneath it.

There is a beast inside people who had to survive themselves.

A very old beast.

One built from betrayal.

Abandonment.

Humiliation.

Loneliness.

Survival.

And healing is not killing the beast.

Healing is teaching it when not to bite.

That takes strength.

A lot of people walking around calling themselves “good people” are only good because nobody has tested them deeply enough.

But the people who have seen darkness inside themselves and consciously choose softness anyway?

Those are the dangerous angels.

Those are the ones you should never mistake for weak.

I have learned that peace is expensive.

It costs relationships.

It costs old identities.

It costs environments that once felt familiar.

Because once your nervous system stops craving chaos, certain people start feeling unbearable to be around.

You can hear the manipulation in their voice.

See the envy behind the compliments.

Feel the heaviness in conversations that once entertained you.

And suddenly solitude feels safer than forced connection.

That is growth.

Not loneliness.

Growth.

And yes, sometimes healing makes you look colder.

Because access to you is no longer free.

Some people miss the version of you that tolerated disrespect because it benefited them.

That is not love.

That is convenience.

Real love celebrates your healing even when it loses access to the broken version of you.

The truth is…

I am healing.

But I am not healed.

I still have moments where the old fire rises in my chest.

Moments where the beast stretches awake and reminds me exactly who I used to be.

But now?

Now I choose differently.

Not because I cannot destroy.

Because I finally learned everything does not deserve my teeth.

And the birds?

Let them flock somewhere else.

I cleaned the blood off the ground.