Not who she used to be

She’s not crazy… she was abused.

She learned how to stay quiet in rooms where she should’ve been protected. She learned how to survive in love that felt more like a battlefield.

She’s not irrational…. she’s carrying pain that no one ever apologized for. The kind of pain that teaches you to question your own reality, just because someone else wanted control over it.

She’s not stupid… she was manipulated.

There’s a difference. Love-bombed, gaslit, lied to, twisted up in someone else’s brokenness. She believed words over patterns because she wanted to believe.

She was taught that love meant enduring…. so she endured. She was told it was all in her head, when really, it was all in his hands. The control, the silence, the guilt. That wasn’t stupidity. That was hope…. weaponized.

She’s not shy… she’s protecting herself.

She doesn’t trust easily anymore. She’s guarded, not because she wants to be cold, but because warmth once betrayed her. She’s quiet because her voice was once ignored. She’s observing, calculating, studying who is safe and who just pretends to be. Her silence is her shield…. not her flaw.

She’s not bitter… she’s speaking the truth.

Calling out what happened isn’t bitterness. It’s bravery. Naming the pain is healing. Holding people accountable is not holding onto hate… it’s refusing to sugarcoat the damage.

She’s not angry, she’s awake. And she’s done shrinking herself to make other people comfortable with their own wrongdoings. She’s not stuck in the past… she’s been damaged.

Trauma doesn’t live on a calendar. Healing isn’t linear. Sometimes the memory of pain walks right back into her day, uninvited. She’s not “dwelling,” she’s rebuilding. You can’t rush a heart back to wholeness. Not when it was shattered by the very hands that once held it.

She’s not delusional… she lived a nightmare.

The kind of nightmare that smiles in public and destroys you in private. The kind that no one believed because he looked charming and she looked tired. She’s not exaggerating…. she endured. She’s not dramatic…. she survived.

She’s not weak… she was trusting.

She gave people the benefit of the doubt. She believed love was enough. She forgave more than she should’ve, stayed longer than she deserved to, and loved harder than she was loved in return. That’s not weakness…. that’s humanity. She wore her heart on her sleeve in a world that keeps trying to rip it off.

She’s not giving up…

She’s healing. 💜

And that healing? It’s messy. It’s loud sometimes, and silent at others. It looks like pulling back. It looks like losing friends. It looks like crying in the shower and smiling at strangers. But it’s real. And it’s happening.

So don’t mislabel her process. Don’t mistake her silence for surrender or her tears for defeat. She’s not broken…. she’s becoming. Stronger. Softer. Smarter. Wiser. Louder. More careful. More powerful.

She’s not who she used to be… and that’s a good thing.