Revoked: I Don’t Owe You Space Just Because We Shared a Season

I was holding the door open. 

Leaving the light on. 

Sitting in emotional limbo, hoping for a reconnection that the other party clearly said they didn’t want.

They told me with their actions. 

They told me with their silence. 

Hell, sometimes they told me with their words — “This ain’t it for me.” 

But I still held space. I still made room. 

I still left the back door unlocked, like maybe...just maybe they’d come home again.

That wasn’t love. That was bondage disguised as loyalty.
That was hope weaponized against my own healing.
And the truth is — it wasn't their fault.

They released me. I hadn’t released them.
So when they moved on, they were walking in freedom.
I was the one stuck in the loop — replaying conversations, misreading memories, romanticizing red flags. And that’s when it hit me: I was participating in my own emotional abuse.

I had to look in the mirror and ask, “What part of me agrees with being mistreated? What wound is convinced that love equals suffering?” Because something in me kept signing off on that cycle.
Something in me kept saying, “Hold on… just in case.” But just in case of what? That they’d come back? That they’d change their mind?That one day they’d finally choose me the way I kept choosing them in silence?

Let me say this loud and clear —
Healing is not waiting. Healing is releasing.
And freedom starts the moment I say, “Access revoked.”
Not with bitterness.
Not with a dramatic block-and-delete.
But with quiet authority that says, I deserve peace more than I need potential.

And listen...This revelation? It rattled me. It shook the foundation of everything I believed about love, loyalty, and the lies I’d swallowed whole. Lies that said just because someone pursued me once, it meant they were mine forever.
So, I had to do the soul work. I had to sit in the wreckage and start uprooting every false narrative I agreed with. This wasn’t about blaming them — this wasn’t even about them. This was about me getting honest with me. Because until I forgave myself — for waiting, for hoping, for settling — I couldn’t move forward.

And real talk?
Fuck the other person.
Not in anger. But because my healing ain’t about them.
It’s about me choosing myself, finally and fully.

So here I am.
Reclaiming my power.
Revoking access.
And finally making room for peace to move in where chaos once lived.