It begins quietly, with a carefully rehearsed sentence. "I can't be there for you right now," you say, not in anger, but from a place of deep exhaustion. You speak these words because you're unraveling, holding on by a fragile thread. You brace for disappointment, but what comes is unexpected — abandonment. Your need for boundaries is misheard as rejection. Your exhaustion, seen as betrayal. They say you've changed. That you're selfish. Yet beneath it all, you've been disappearing, piece by piece.

The losses pile up — a job, a routine, the belief in effort's reward. The faith you held quietly in yourself begins to erode, as the future transforms from a plan into a question mark. Those you thought would understand are gone. A mother. A brother. A friend. Not abruptly, but through a series of silences. You said you couldn't hold them while you were breaking, and now you stand in the wreckage, alone. There's no ceremony for this kind of loss. Just absence, and the understanding that some love only when it's convenient.

You feel emptied, not righteous. The weight of being told — without words — that your pain was too much. No answers, no reassurances. Just the truth of your solitude, where choosing yourself feels like standing in a quiet aftermath, breathing in the spaces left behind.

This podcast shares personal stories and reflections, not professional guidance. If you’re struggling or need support, reaching out to a qualified professional can make a difference.