The text said this “I will head to the UP for two weeks of camping. Then I will begin the journey of reinventing myself, with a lot of mindful focus on the present. I suspect at some time I will want to connect and seek reassurances that I was never going to fix things given the relationship dynamics. I got tired of being called “emotionally abusive”. And my heart broke for my former client.
This break up was years in the making, and I had previously told them “there will be so many straws that break the camel’s back” before you finally feel free enough to walk away. When I was invited into the conversation – two years ago – I was one of many attempts to try and make what they knew couldn’t work, yet tried to make work.
I see that in so many relationships. Trying to make work what they know can’t.
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In my last post, I wrote:
“But this? This was different. I didn’t see it coming. I still don’t know exactly what happened, or why it unfolded the way it did. The silence. The rejection. The rewriting of our story. The subtle but devastating isolation. The psychological toll of being erased in spaces where I once mattered.”
That truth still lives in me. And in full transparency, I’ve been struggling with the whispers — the outside commentary I can’t quite hear, but deeply feel. I don’t know who knows what or what stories are being spun.
Is it really happening? I honestly have no idea.
But I’ve chosen to step away from the people and places where truth isn’t valued — where I cannot trust that my presence is met with honesty.
Do I assume there’s gossip? Probably.
Whispers? Judgments? Sure — it’s human nature.
And while I don’t fault anyone for that, I’ve come to recognize how quickly gossip becomes wildfire.
Everyone wants to feel informed. Fewer want to acknowledge their role in the burn.
But what I continue to love about my life — about my story and the choices I keep making — is this:
I get to show up.
For myself.
For others.
Especially for those who feel as misunderstood as I often do.
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I can almost guarantee this: my former client is not “emotionally abusive.”
Was I present for every conversation? No.
Did I live inside their dynamic, moment by moment? Of course not.
But I was invited into high-conflict moments. I witnessed long, emotionally raw discussions. I watched a person trying to be heard.
Can you imagine what it’s like to be silenced?
To have your voice ignored?
To become invisible in rooms where you once mattered?
When that happens, people don’t stay quiet forever.
Sometimes, it shows up as constant (almost nagging) comments.
Sometimes, it’s a bullhorn, blaring.
Being silenced can drive someone to the edge.
It makes you question your worth, your place, your very identity.
And yet — some of those most impacted are the silent sufferers. The ones who can’t scream, who don’t know how.
I know that silence well. I’ve lived it.
There was a season when I yelled — for me, for my inner child.
But now? I want to be the kind of adult who speaks with grounded strength, not reactive fire.
Still, I find myself in another hard season.
And sometimes I wonder — am I just not built for this world?
Even in the smallest interactions, I’m reminded of the choices we have.
The other day, our neighbor parked their car in front of our house to use the shade from our tree — not a big deal.
But in doing so, they moved our trash cans and placed them right in the middle of our driveway, making it impossible to pull in.
The petty part of me wanted to box their car in with the same cans.
But I didn’t.
We simply moved the bins and parked.
My son, echoing my frustration, offered the same retaliatory suggestion.
But I just shook my head and said,
We’re not going to lower ourselves to the same pettiness.
Because why waste energy on the minutiae, when we were made to fly?
Why carry a crow on our back when our wings are built for something higher?
These small moments become lessons.
And I ask myself constantly:
What am I teaching my kids?
Am I preparing them for a world that may not value softness, truth, or complexity?
I watch them closely —
A strong young man, deeply driven to help others.
A beautiful young woman, fiercely protective and intuitive.
They’re both watching me. And I hope what they see is not perfection, but intention.
Because here’s the truth:
You can go either way with the hard stuff.
You always have a choice. And each choice MAYBE excruciatingly complicated as to why we made that choice!
“To be a pushover or to rise above. (above the pettiness)
To shrink or to stand tall. (and not let the little things get to me)
To stay silent or to speak truth. (silence means the truth shows up naturally)
To cave in or to claim space. (maybe that space wasn’t meant for me)
To please others or to honor yourself. (maybe in pleasing others, I have honored myself)
To break or to bend. (which decision is my PRIDE leading the way?)
To give up or to grow stronger. (maybe I can’t do everything?)
To follow blindly or to lead boldly. (maybe I need to learn for a bit before I can lead?)
To react or to respond. (always respond – never react)
To settle or to soar. (always soar!)
To hide or to heal. (maybe you need to hide to heal)
To dim your light or to burn with grace. (the smallest light shines in the darkness)
To be the echo or become the voice. (never the echo – but a voice requires courage)
To break in silence or bloom in pain. (sometimes the bloom breaks the silence)
To wear the mask or bare the soul.” (ALWAYS bare the soul)
Or — the hardest lesson I’ve had to learn:
“To sink in sorrow or rise in flame.”
And today?
I choose flame.
Not because it’s easy.
Not because I feel invincible.
But because rising — even when it hurts — reminds me I’m still here. Still growing. Still becoming.
And if you’re somewhere in the ashes, unsure of your next step, I hope you know this:
You, too, can choose flame. Maybe not today. Maybe not all at once.
But when you’re ready — when the time is right — the spark will still be there, waiting.
We rise not just for ourselves,
but for those still finding their fire.
With all of my love –
Xoxo J
Journey Coaching 
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