we were taught to be kind to everyone.
and on paper, that sounds beautiful. be nice. be open. don't hold grudges. give everyone the benefit of the doubt. rise above. turn the other cheek. smile through it. keep the door open. don't be that girl.
but we need to talk about something.
somewhere between being kind and being kind to ourselves, we lost the plot. we were raised to believe that being a good person meant being endlessly available. that forgiving meant forgetting. that growth meant giving people infinite chances. that maturity meant letting everyone back in eventually.
and it's made a lot of us sick, honi. literally. emotionally. spiritually.
here's the truth nobody wants to say out loud.
access to you is a privilege. not a right.
your time. your energy. your softness. the way you listen when someone's hurting. the way you remember the little things. the way you show up. the way you love. none of that is owed to anyone. none of it is guaranteed. and the people who had it and abused it , they don't automatically get to come back just because time has passed or they're feeling nostalgic.
some people lose the privilege of knowing you. and that's allowed to be permanent.
we've all had that person.
the one who made us question our worth. the one who showed us exactly who they were and then got offended when we believed them. the one who took and took and took until there was nothing left, and then disappeared when we finally said something. the ex who treated you like an option. the friend who showed up for the highlights and ghosted for the lows. the family member who only called when they needed something. the coworker who talked behind your back and smiled to your face.
and then , months later, maybe years , they reappear. casually. like nothing happened. hey stranger. thinking of you. we should catch up. and something in your chest tightens. because some part of you was trained to respond. to be polite. to not cause tension. to give them another shot because people change, right?
maybe they do. but that doesn't mean it has to be in your life.
this is where it gets uncomfortable. because we've romanticized forgiveness to the point where we think closing a door makes us cold. bitter. unevolved. like the enlightened version of ourselves is supposed to welcome everyone back with open arms and a zen smile.
but forgiveness and access are two completely different things.
you can forgive someone and never speak to them again. you can wish someone well and not want them in your life. you can heal from what someone did and still decide they don't get a front-row seat to who you're becoming. that's not cold. that's clarity.
peace with the past doesn't require presence in the future.
and honestly? protecting your access is one of the most loving things you can do , for yourself and for the real ones.
because every time you give your energy to someone who doesn't deserve it, you're taking it away from someone who does. every draining conversation with the friend who never asks how you're doing is a conversation you can't have with the one who actually cares. every hour you spend explaining yourself to someone who refuses to understand is an hour stolen from the people who already do.
your energy is not infinite. and the people who love you , the ones who show up, who celebrate you, who hold you down , deserve the best of you. not the leftovers.
so let's stop pretending this is mean.
letting someone go because they kept hurting you is not mean. it's necessary.
not responding to the text from the person who broke you is not petty. it's protective.
unfollowing the people who make you feel smaller is not immature. it's healthy.
walking away without an explanation is not dramatic. sometimes you've already explained a thousand times and they weren't listening. you don't owe them a closing monologue.
choosing to protect your peace instead of defending yourself to people who misunderstood you on purpose is not running away. it's growing up.
here's what we've learned.
the people who are meant to be in your life don't make you feel like you're constantly auditioning for them. they don't drain you. they don't make you question yourself. they don't require you to shrink so they can feel bigger. they don't disappear when you stop being useful.
they just… stay. they show up. they make it easy. not in the boring way , in the i don't have to perform for you way. and when you finally experience what that feels like, you'll understand why you're allowed to say no to everything else.
access is sacred. give it to the people who treat it that way.
and if you're reading this and thinking about someone specific , a name that popped into your head on the third paragraph , trust that instinct.
you don't have to be mean. you don't have to burn bridges with a speech. you don't have to make it a whole thing. you just… stop. stop picking up. stop explaining. stop trying to make them see you. stop hoping this time will be different. stop making room for someone who only takes up space.
the door doesn't have to slam. it can just quietly close. and some doors are meant to stay closed.
being kind is still the baseline. we're not saying become cold. we're not saying become cruel. we're not saying assume the worst in people.
we're saying, kind doesn't mean accessible. you can be warm to the world and still be selective about who gets in. you can wish everyone well from a distance. you can hold compassion for someone and not hold space for them in your life.
the real ones will understand this. the ones who are offended by it? they're telling you everything you need to know.
so this is your reminder, honi.
you are not public property. your softness is not a buffet. your love is not a consolation prize for people who couldn't show up the first time. your attention is not something to be earned by showing up, disappearing, and reappearing whenever it's convenient.
you get to decide. every single time. every text. every invitation. every chance. you get to ask yourself, does this person deserve access to me right now? and if the answer is no, you're allowed to act on that without guilt.
not everyone gets the full version of you. not everyone gets to know what you're really thinking. not everyone gets to sit at your table.
and that's not you being harsh. that's you finally understanding your worth.
protect what's yours, honi. the cove is for the real ones.
not everyone deserves access to you
we were taught to be kind to everyone.
and on paper, that sounds beautiful. be nice. be open. don't hold grudges. give everyone the benefit of the doubt. rise above. turn the other cheek. smile through it. keep the door open. don't be that girl.
but we need to talk about something.
somewhere between being kind and being kind to ourselves, we lost the plot. we were raised to believe that being a good person meant being endlessly available. that forgiving meant forgetting. that growth meant giving people infinite chances. that maturity meant letting everyone back in eventually.
and it's made a lot of us sick, honi. literally. emotionally. spiritually.
here's the truth nobody wants to say out loud.
access to you is a privilege. not a right.
your time. your energy. your softness. the way you listen when someone's hurting. the way you remember the little things. the way you show up. the way you love. none of that is owed to anyone. none of it is guaranteed. and the people who had it and abused it , they don't automatically get to come back just because time has passed or they're feeling nostalgic.
some people lose the privilege of knowing you. and that's allowed to be permanent.
we've all had that person.
the one who made us question our worth. the one who showed us exactly who they were and then got offended when we believed them. the one who took and took and took until there was nothing left, and then disappeared when we finally said something. the ex who treated you like an option. the friend who showed up for the highlights and ghosted for the lows. the family member who only called when they needed something. the coworker who talked behind your back and smiled to your face.
and then , months later, maybe years , they reappear. casually. like nothing happened. hey stranger. thinking of you. we should catch up. and something in your chest tightens. because some part of you was trained to respond. to be polite. to not cause tension. to give them another shot because people change, right?
maybe they do. but that doesn't mean it has to be in your life.
this is where it gets uncomfortable. because we've romanticized forgiveness to the point where we think closing a door makes us cold. bitter. unevolved. like the enlightened version of ourselves is supposed to welcome everyone back with open arms and a zen smile.
but forgiveness and access are two completely different things.
you can forgive someone and never speak to them again. you can wish someone well and not want them in your life. you can heal from what someone did and still decide they don't get a front-row seat to who you're becoming. that's not cold. that's clarity.
peace with the past doesn't require presence in the future.
and honestly? protecting your access is one of the most loving things you can do , for yourself and for the real ones.
because every time you give your energy to someone who doesn't deserve it, you're taking it away from someone who does. every draining conversation with the friend who never asks how you're doing is a conversation you can't have with the one who actually cares. every hour you spend explaining yourself to someone who refuses to understand is an hour stolen from the people who already do.
your energy is not infinite. and the people who love you , the ones who show up, who celebrate you, who hold you down , deserve the best of you. not the leftovers.
so let's stop pretending this is mean.
letting someone go because they kept hurting you is not mean. it's necessary.
not responding to the text from the person who broke you is not petty. it's protective.
unfollowing the people who make you feel smaller is not immature. it's healthy.
walking away without an explanation is not dramatic. sometimes you've already explained a thousand times and they weren't listening. you don't owe them a closing monologue.
choosing to protect your peace instead of defending yourself to people who misunderstood you on purpose is not running away. it's growing up.
here's what we've learned.
the people who are meant to be in your life don't make you feel like you're constantly auditioning for them. they don't drain you. they don't make you question yourself. they don't require you to shrink so they can feel bigger. they don't disappear when you stop being useful.
they just… stay. they show up. they make it easy. not in the boring way , in the i don't have to perform for you way. and when you finally experience what that feels like, you'll understand why you're allowed to say no to everything else.
access is sacred. give it to the people who treat it that way.
and if you're reading this and thinking about someone specific , a name that popped into your head on the third paragraph , trust that instinct.
you don't have to be mean. you don't have to burn bridges with a speech. you don't have to make it a whole thing. you just… stop. stop picking up. stop explaining. stop trying to make them see you. stop hoping this time will be different. stop making room for someone who only takes up space.
the door doesn't have to slam. it can just quietly close. and some doors are meant to stay closed.
being kind is still the baseline. we're not saying become cold. we're not saying become cruel. we're not saying assume the worst in people.
we're saying, kind doesn't mean accessible. you can be warm to the world and still be selective about who gets in. you can wish everyone well from a distance. you can hold compassion for someone and not hold space for them in your life.
the real ones will understand this. the ones who are offended by it? they're telling you everything you need to know.
so this is your reminder, honi.
you are not public property. your softness is not a buffet. your love is not a consolation prize for people who couldn't show up the first time. your attention is not something to be earned by showing up, disappearing, and reappearing whenever it's convenient.
you get to decide. every single time. every text. every invitation. every chance. you get to ask yourself, does this person deserve access to me right now? and if the answer is no, you're allowed to act on that without guilt.
not everyone gets the full version of you. not everyone gets to know what you're really thinking. not everyone gets to sit at your table.
and that's not you being harsh. that's you finally understanding your worth.
protect what's yours, honi. the cove is for the real ones.