This reflection is about a personal season of growth and discernment. It is not written in reference to any individual relationship or organisation.
Some endings don't come with shouting or drama.
They come with silence, paperwork, and a sudden shift in the story you thought you were building.
Just very recently, I walked away from something I had invested deeply in, not just with time and work, but with belief.
I stayed longer than my instincts suggested I should. I saw the red flags. I acknowledged them. But I chose to hope, to commit, and to honour the version of the future I thought we were building together.
And when it had to come to an end, it felt like an inconvenient ultimatum; like I was being discarded because there was no other choice. That part hurt more than I expected.
But healing has a way of softening the narrative.
What I now see is this: I didn't ignore my instincts. I simply allowed my values to lead.
I stayed because I believe in loyalty. In building things with care. In not abandoning people or projects the moment things become complicated.
That is not foolishness. That is character.
The ending forced me to face this difficult truth: sometimes, people are not building the same kind of thing you are. Some are creating a future. Others are protecting an income. And when those two visions collide, something has to give.
This time, it was the story I thought I belonged to.
I recently came across a line from Ejae that stayed with me: Rejection is redirection.
At first, it sounded too philosophical. But the more I sit with it, the more it feels true. Not every closed door is a loss. Some are quiet course corrections, i.e., life intervening before your integrity is slowly worn down by compromises you were never meant to make.
I didn't lose a chapter. I was released from a version of the future that could no longer hold who I am becoming.
And I'm choosing to carry that lesson forward, not with bitterness, but with clarity, self-respect, and a deeper trust in my own voice.
Sometimes, the bravest thing you do isn't staying. It's knowing when to leave without apology.
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