In moments dark and filled with doubt, I stayed by your side, without a shout. Through days of struggle, tears, and grief, I held you close, like a steadfast leaf.
When all seemed lost, and hope was thin, I lingered near, with a calming grin. No matter the storm or the strife, I chose to stay and share your life.
For in your heart, I found a light, a spark of beauty, burning bright. I couldn’t bear to walk away, and leave you to the shadows, gray.
So here I am, through thick and thin, a loyal friend, a trusted kin. I stayed because I couldn’t conceive, a world where I didn’t want to leave.
-🦩
If you or someone you know is in an abusive situation, please know that you are not alone. Help is available. You deserve safety, love, and a life free from harm.
The other day, I was put in an impossible position—the kind of moment that splits your life into a before-and-after.
You know the ones: when a simple lie could smooth the edges of a jagged reality, keep the world spinning neatly on its axis, and spare everyone the pain of truth. But instead, the words catch in your throat, your mind freezes, and the truth escapes raw, unfiltered, uninvited.
I grew up in a house where lying was beaten out of me, not metaphorically, but literally. A lie was met with the sharpest punishments, with words that cut deeper than any belt or hand ever could. I learned to equate lying with danger, shame, and punishment. So I shaped my identity around being honest, sometimes brutally so. I wore it as armor, a shield I could hold up to the world to say: Look, I am good. I am trustworthy. I am safe.
Before this moment, I never wanted to lie. Honesty felt like a safe path even if it meant losing people, disappointing them, or standing alone. But in this moment… oh, how I wanted to lie. More than anything, I wanted to offer a comforting falsehood, to shield hearts from breaking and lives from unraveling.
But when the time came, I froze. I felt that old familiar tension in my chest, the one that used to come right before punishment. The weight of my upbringing pressed down on me, suffocating. And instead of telling the gentle lie that could have protected everyone, I choked out the truth.
And with that truth, something shifted. I saw faces fall, heard the silent cracks echo between us. I watched as the trajectory of lives — not just mine — began to bend in ways I could not control.
The guilt wasn’t just about hurting someone with honesty; it was about betraying the new part of me that wanted, just this once, to be merciful with a lie. The child in me, the one who learned that lies meant survival, collided violently with the adult who had spent a lifetime trying to do the “right” thing.
In that moment, I realized that honesty isn’t always the noble, sparkling choice we like to believe it is. Sometimes, it’s a knife. Sometimes, it’s a wrecking ball. And sometimes, it’s a truth no one is ready to hear, not even the one speaking it.
I don’t know if courage or cowardice kept me from lying that day. I only know that it was deeply human, messy, flawed, and painful.
What I do know is this: we can’t always choose the perfect version of ourselves in moments of crisis. We can only stand there, frozen, trying to do right by the versions of ourselves we’ve been, and the people we love, even as the truth sets fires we can’t put out.
Maybe in another life, I would have lied. Maybe in that other life, people would be happier today. But this is my life my imperfect, honest, heart-aching life. And I’m still learning to forgive myself for the truths I tell, and the lies I can’t.
He walks in silence, cloaked in charm, a smile that soothes, his voice disarms. But beneath the grin, a storm lies deep— a fire he stoked while they fell asleep.
They called him broken, too much, dismissed his cries with frozen touch. They called him strange, they called him weak, laughed when he flinched, ignored his speak. They tore the wings he tried to grow— now he’s the storm they’ll never know.
He Is Karma
His words—once full of light and grace, now twist like knives in soft embrace. What once was warmth now drips with spite, a poisoned lullaby at night.
He’s not revenge, he is the score,
a ledger kept behind closed doors.
The boy they bruised with sharpened pride, now sees the world from the other side. The boy they starved of love and grace
now wears a stranger’s colder face.
He Is Karma
To those who laughed when he had less, he offers wine—and bitterness. To friends who watched him drown, then smiled, he offers ruin, slow and styled. He plants a whisper, cracks their trust, and watches goodness turn to dust.
He nods and grins, lets secrets slip,
then watches trust begin to rip.
To family who turned away in scorn, he sends cold truths, sharp and worn. To kin who clothed him in their shame, he sends back truth—a scorched refrain. No fist, no scream, no pleading eyes— just hollow calm and slow goodbyes.
He Is Karma
He is not fire—he is the ash, that stains your hands from long-past lash. He doesn’t rage, he lets you rot, and gives back every scar you forgot.
No rage, no scream, no flailing hand— just the slow decay he carefully planned. He is not fire, he is the smoke, that creeps through cracks and makes you choke. He doesn’t strike, he lets things rot,
and gives back exactly what he got.
He he doesn’t beg, he cuts you down, then snaps the leg. No mercy left, no second dawn.
He is karma—
sharp, withdrawn.
Call him twisted, say he’s lost,
but only after counting cost.
You built the blade he came to wield— and now he reaps what you concealed. Call him cruel, say he’s unwell, but he was forged where silence fell.
He Is Karma
You named him weak, called him a flaw— now meet the man who writes your law. He doesn’t plead, he is the ghost of what you see. He’s not revenge, he is the toll, collected piece by piece, soul by soul.
And every move, each silent blow,
is for the one they’ll never know.
The love they shamed, the hearts they broke—he chose her—and let the rest go up in smoke.
I once woke to the weight of a world gone cold, where the silence screams and my memories scold.
The walls encasing me remain unscathed, yet their oppressive presence ignites a fire within. They claim I willingly embraced this descent from virtue, but the truth is, deceit often wears a guise of righteousness.
You etched my name into the fabric of your story, then bore witness to my descent into the depths of your sacred shroud.
But I remember the love I knew—
Echoes of ghosts linger in the familiar spaces I once traversed. I stretch out my hands, yearning to grasp those I can no longer touch, searching for warmth that has long since faded, for stories that remain untold, hidden in the shadows of memory.
Your laughter lives in another land,
out of my reach, out of my hands.
Still, I rise from this ash and bone,
though I’ve never felt more lost, more alone.
I carry the guilt that’s not even mine, branded by blame, repackaged as crime.
I know what the mirror won’t show—
The truths you hide, the ache they sow. I walk through this fire with silent grace, yet in this hell, I do not die. I bleed, I break, but still, I continue to try. Because love, though torn, still fuels my fight.
A flicker of defiance ignites amidst the vast darkness, hinting at what is to come. Lets rest for now, as the stories prepare to unfold, for I know that their empty ideals of justice will soon face their reckoning.
I’ve stared down hell and emerged strong, alive in the smoke, burning brightly against the dark.
The quiet one. The soft one. The one who used to beg for scraps of love you never thought I deserved.
I remember all of it.
Every laugh when I cried. Every look that said I wasn’t enough. Every time you turned your back, convinced I was too small to matter.
You were wrong.
I don’t ignite in flames, nor do I shatter into chaos. That would have been far too simple for your understanding.
The crack in the foundation.
The shadow in the room you can’t explain. I used to speak with warmth, you know. My words… they were full of love once.
Gentle. Forgiving.
Now they drip with poison, dressed up in politeness. You don’t even notice the dagger until you’re bleeding.
To my so-called friends:
The ones who watched me drown,
Then laughed from the shore. I serve you smiles now, but behind every one, a reckoning brews.
And to family—
Who taught me shame like it was my birthright.
I don’t need to scream.
I don’t need to fight.
All I have to do is wait…
And let your own guilt finish what I started.
I’m not the girl you broke.
I’m what was left after the breaking. And what stands before you now isn’t revenge. I am the echo of your choices. The mirror you tried to shatter. I am the weight you thought would never return.
How many times have you looked back at a relationship and thought, “I knew better”?
You felt the red flags, heard the inner voice whispering, this isn’t it, and still… you stayed. You settled. You shrank.
But here’s the truth: you’re not alone, and you don’t have to keep repeating the pattern.
The Cycle: Familiar But Not Fulfilling
We often recreate what’s familiar, even when it’s unhealthy. Maybe you grew up watching love that came with conditions or chaos. Maybe your past taught you that your needs came second, or that being chosen, even halfway, was better than being alone.
But the cost of staying in these cycles is steep:
• You lose connection with your intuition.
• You forget how to be your own best friend.
• You stop believing you deserve more.
Choosing Yourself Isn’t Selfish — It’s Survival
There comes a moment maybe this is yours, when you realize that putting yourself last has only led to pain, exhaustion, and resentment.
That moment is your wake-up call.
Choosing yourself means:
• Saying no when it’s not aligned.
• Taking your time before committing.
• Refusing to explain or shrink your standards.
• Recognizing that peace is more powerful than attention.
You don’t need to wait until you’re broken to decide you’re worthy of more.
Stop Settling — Start Creating
Settling doesn’t always look like disaster. Sometimes it looks like “almost,” “it’s fine,” or “maybe it’ll change.” But you weren’t created for almost. You were built for a love that honors your wholeness, not one that feeds on your fear of being alone.
The right relationship won’t require you to betray yourself. The right love won’t ask you to prove your worth. And that kind of relationship? It starts when you have one, with yourself.
Break the Pattern. Reclaim Your Power.
If you’re reading this and you feel that tug in your chest, that’s your inner self calling you home. You get to rewrite the story. You get to set new standards. You get to believe that choosing you is the beginning of everything good. So let this be the season you stop settling. Let this be the chapter where you stop waiting to be chosen and start choosing yourself, every single day.
Because when you stop accepting less, something beautiful happens:
She was once broken like you. Whose sickness also shone through. A tortured soul with a heart so dark. Bringing pain to all she knew.
Both cold and manipulative, filled with lies that are everlasting. Kicked others down when they already feel low, and filled their heart with doubt and sorrow.
In this world, where darkness may creep. Unless you desire change, you find a partner as broken as you.
A strange kind of heartbreak doesn’t come from a clean break or a clear goodbye. It comes from chasing someone who’s already gone in every way but physically.
It starts small. A conversation that feels off. A laugh that doesn’t quite sound like it used to. You brush it off because love, memory, or loyalty make you generous with your blind spots. You remind yourself of who they were: kind, attentive, honest. You cling to those memories like a map, believing that if you follow them closely enough, you’ll find your way back to them.
But what happens when you realize that the person you thought you knew was never really there? Or worse, that they were there, but only for a season?
You start chasing shadows.
Pieces of them flicker in old photos, in songs you used to share, in the way you instinctively reach for your phone to tell them something funny. You look for them in your past because they’ve disappeared from your present.
And that’s the hard truth, when someone changes, they don’t always give you notice. Sometimes they outgrow you, or outgrow the person they were with you. Sometimes, they reveal parts of themselves that they have kept hidden. And sometimes… they were never who you thought they were at all.
Letting go of that illusion opens the door to a transformative experience. It’s not just about moving past the relationship; it’s about recognizing the potential for new beginnings. You’re anticipating a future where you can embrace the reality of who they truly are, rather than the idealized version that existed in your mind. This journey will allow you to shift your hope, trust, and investment toward healthier connections. It’s an opportunity to realize that what you loved was a projection, and now you can look forward to discovering something real and genuine.
But here’s the thing: it’s okay to outgrow the shadow.
It’s okay to stop running after a version of someone who no longer exists or never really did. It doesn’t make your love any less real. It means you’re choosing truth over fantasy, clarity over confusion, peace over chaos.
And maybe, just maybe, in the process of letting go of who they aren’t… You start becoming more of who you are.
-🦩
“I broke her heart once, and I’d let her break my heart a thousand times in return if it meant that one day she found her way back to me,” King of Greed – Ana Huang
Post-separation abuse is a pervasive and insidious form of intimate partner violence (IPV) that persists after a relationship has ended.
While leaving an abusive relationship is often viewed as a critical step toward safety and healing, the period following separation can be fraught with continued danger and manipulation. I was hoping you could take a moment with me and let me explore the dynamics of post-separation abuse, its manifestations, impacts, and the systemic challenges faced by survivors. Understanding these factors is crucial in addressing and mitigating the profound effects of such abuse.
Dynamics and Manifestations
Post-separation abuse occurs when an abuser continues to exert control over their former partner through various means, often intensifying their efforts to intimidate and harm. The abuser’s primary goal is to maintain power and control, even without physical proximity. This type of abuse can manifest in numerous ways, including emotional and psychological abuse, financial control, legal abuse, and threats of physical violence.
Emotional and psychological abuse post-separation often includes harassment, stalking, and manipulation. Abusers may employ tactics such as incessant calling, texting, or using social media to monitor and harass their ex-partner. They may spread false information, attempt to tarnish the survivor’s reputation or manipulate mutual friends and family members to isolate the survivor further.
Financial abuse is another common tactic, where the abuser might withhold financial support, sabotage the survivor’s employment, or drain shared resources. This economic control can leave survivors in precarious financial situations, making it difficult for them to achieve independence and stability.
Legal abuse, or “abuse by proxy,” involves the abuser using the legal system to continue their harassment. This type of abuse can include frivolous lawsuits, custody battles, and manipulation of legal processes to drain the survivor’s resources and maintain control. These legal tactics can be particularly draining, requiring time, money, and emotional energy to combat.
Threats of physical violence and actual bodily harm remain significant concerns post-separation. Even if the abuser does not follow through on these threats, the fear and anxiety they induce can be paralyzing for survivors, severely impacting their ability to rebuild their lives.
Impacts on Survivors
The impacts of post-separation abuse are profound and multifaceted, affecting survivors’ mental, emotional, and physical well-being. The continued harassment and manipulation can lead to chronic stress, anxiety, depression, and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). The constant fear and vigilance to protect themselves and their children can be exhausting and debilitating.
Social isolation is another significant impact. Abusers often work to sever the survivor’s connections with friends, family, and support networks, leaving them feeling alone and unsupported. This isolation can make it difficult for survivors to seek help and can exacerbate feelings of helplessness and despair.
The financial toll of post-separation abuse can also be devastating. The loss of economic stability and independence can hinder survivors’ ability to secure housing, employment, and other necessities. This financial strain can make it difficult for survivors to escape the cycle of abuse and rebuild their lives.
Systemic Challenges
Addressing post-separation abuse requires a comprehensive understanding of the systemic challenges faced by survivors. The legal and social support systems often fall short of providing adequate protection and resources for those experiencing post-separation abuse.
As mentioned earlier, legal systems can inadvertently become tools of abuse. Abusers can manipulate the complexity and length of legal processes to perpetuate control. Many legal systems fail to adequately recognize and address the nuances of post-separation abuse, resulting in inadequate protection orders and poor enforcement of existing measures.
Social support systems, including shelters, counseling services, and community organizations, often struggle with limited resources and funding. These constraints can hinder their ability to provide long-term support and stability for survivors. Additionally, the stigma surrounding IPV and the lack of awareness about post-separation abuse can prevent survivors from seeking help.
Addressing Post-Separation Abuse
A multifaceted approach is required to effectively address post-separation abuse. This approach should include legal reforms, improved social support systems, and increased public awareness and education.
Legal reforms are essential to protect survivors more effectively. This involves the enforcement of restraining orders, enhancing the management of custody cases associated with intimate partner violence (IPV), and acknowledging and addressing legal tactics that constitute abuse. Advocates and victims must be educated by the court and legal professionals about the dynamics of post-separation abuse to make informed decisions that prioritize the safety and well-being of survivors.
Enhanced social support systems are also crucial. This involves increasing shelter funding, counseling services, and community organizations that assist survivors. Long-term support, including housing assistance, job training, and mental health services, is vital in helping survivors rebuild their lives.
Public awareness and education campaigns can play a significant role in addressing post-separation abuse. Educating communities about the realities and dangers of post-separation abuse can reduce stigma and encourage survivors to seek help. Schools, workplaces, and healthcare providers should be trained to recognize signs of IPV and provide appropriate support and referrals.
Post-separation abuse is a complex and pervasive issue that requires urgent attention and action. By understanding its dynamics, impacts, and systemic challenges, society can take meaningful steps to protect and support survivors. Legal reforms, improved social support systems, and increased public awareness are essential components of a comprehensive approach to addressing post-separation abuse. Only through concerted efforts can we hope to break the cycle of abuse and empower survivors to build safe, independent, and fulfilling lives.
Roar louder than your demons 