Let Go, To Save Mysef

I am falling apart and at the same time I am holding myself together in the only way I know how, which is by retreating from everyone. I used to think isolation meant something was wrong with me, but right now I see it as the only way to survive. It is not that I do not care about people. It is that I cannot keep giving what I no longer have.

My body has made the decision for me. I ignored the whispers for years. The quiet warnings of exhaustion, of pain, of foggy thoughts. I pushed through. I smiled when I wanted to cry. I said yes when I wanted to say no. I carried every responsibility in my own two hands until my nerves gave way and my hands themselves stopped working. Carpal tunnel is not just a diagnosis for me, it feels like a message. My body saying, you cannot keep holding everything by yourself. You cannot keep taking it all into your own hands. They are tired. You are tired.

And then fibromyalgia came with its endless fatigue and pain that burns, stabs, and shuts me down. My brain wants to move and do and create, but my body drags me back to stillness. ADHD pushes me forward while illness pulls me down. I am stuck in between. Stuck in this war with myself. My identity feels like it is being erased piece by piece. Who am I if I cannot do, cannot keep up, cannot keep proving my worth through action?

All my life I was raised to be the good girl. The one who smiles through pain so no one else feels uncomfortable. The one who never questions authority even when it makes no sense. The one who gives and gives because if you don’t give, people will not like you. Work harder or you are a failure. Do more or you are not enough. Do not cause drama. Do not confront. Do not show anger. Do not show truth. So I turned it all inward. I became a war zone inside myself. On the outside I was polite, reliable, pleasing. On the inside I was screaming. I AM screaming!

I realise now that I have been betraying myself for years. Saying “I miss you” when I did not. Saying “I’m fine” when I wasn’t. Smiling while I was dying inside. I learned to say the right words instead of my truth. I learned to put everyone else’s comfort above my own. But it has cost me too much.

Now I have nothing left to give. I have stopped replying to messages. I have stopped explaining myself. I say no without a context not because I am suddenly good at boundaries, but because I do not have the capacity to do anything else. It looks strong from the outside, but the truth is I am depleted. I cannot show up for anyone anymore. Not right now.

So I choose to stand alone. Not because I do not love people, but because I cannot hold space for them. There is no space left. My energy is gone. Every ounce of what I have is spent on simply existing, on moving through pain and fatigue and brain fog. I cannot pour myself out to keep others comfortable anymore.

Maybe that means people will drift away. Maybe my phone will stay silent. Maybe connections that I thought were solid will dissolve. That hurts, but it also reveals the truth: if a relationship disappears when I stop overgiving, it was never truly mutual. It was only ever held up by me. That is not love. That is attachment.

I am not for everyone, and everyone is not for me. That truth is painful, but it is also liberating. I do not need to bend myself into pieces to be accepted anymore. I do not need to mask or perform or keep swallowing my truth. If people cannot meet me as I am, then they are not my people. I am not responsible for saving anyone. I am not responsible for convincing people to see me. I am not responsible for making myself smaller so others can feel bigger. I am not responsible for giving away my last scraps of energy just to prove I am worthy of being loved. The only thing I am responsible for right now is protecting myself. Protecting the little I have left. Protecting my body, my mind, my soul from further collapse.

I deserve to be in spaces where I do not have to apologise for who I am. I deserve relationships that do not demand I erase myself. I deserve to rest without guilt. I deserve to say no without fear. I deserve to exist without having to constantly prove my worth.

So I am standing alone for now. It is not loneliness. It is a choice. It is a reclamation. My solitude is not punishment, it is sanctuary. In the silence I can hear myself again. In the distance from others I can finally start to feel what is real for me.

Maybe one day I will meet people who can see me without masks, who can sit with me without needing explanations, who can love me without conditions. Maybe those connections will come when I am ready. But until then, this stillness, this isolation, this space is where I must be.

And for once, I will not apologise for it. For once, this is enough.