Lines Between Living

Pulling back has a cost.

That’s the part no one prepares you for.

There’s a quiet loss that comes with no longer being immediately available.

With not filling the space just because it’s empty.

With choosing not to explain yourself into comfort for others.

Journal therapy has helped me sit with that cost instead of rushing to justify it.

When I write, I can see what pulling back actually asks of me.

It asks me to tolerate silence.

It asks me to let misunderstandings exist without correcting them.

It asks me to stop proving my care through exhaustion.

None of this feels good at first.

There is a loneliness that shows up when you stop overextending.

Not because you’ve done something wrong,

but because familiarity dissolves when you no longer perform it.

The page doesn’t argue with me about this.

It doesn’t rush me toward empowerment language or quick clarity.

It just shows me the exchange.

What I lose when I pull back.

And what I lose when I don’t.

That’s where journal therapy lives for me 

not in pretending there’s no grief in choosing myself,

but in letting the grief be seen without letting it decide for me.

Pulling back isn’t avoidance.

It’s an audit.

And sometimes, the cost of staying is higher than the cost of leaving.

So I write.

Not to feel better.

But to stay honest long enough to choose well.