Choosing Yourself Without Guilt

This week’s topic weighs heavy on my heart—but that’s not why I’m a day late posting it. Truthfully, my creativity has been overflowing lately, and with the release of my new journal this past Friday, I simply lost track of time. Funny how that works when you start choosing yourself unapologetically—your creative spirit finally has space to breathe.

That’s one of the hidden blessings of choosing yourself: you begin to bloom. You’re no longer performing comfort for others or holding space in rooms you’ve outgrown just to keep certain people close. You get to focus on what you truly want, not what keeps everyone else at ease.

I get it, though. As humans, we crave connection. We long for a tribe. For much of my teens and early adulthood, I clung to friend groups and social circles that weren’t built for longevity. My home life felt unsteady, so I went searching for belonging elsewhere. I stayed in temporary places too long, hoping they might become permanent.

Eventually, those groups solidified without me. And I was left on the outside. There’s a particular kind of ache that comes from feeling like you don’t belong—not at home, and not in your chosen circles either. But what cuts deeper is realizing how much of yourself you’ve edited or erased just to fit in.

Life has a way of removing you from places you no longer need to be in, even if you don’t feel ready. For years, I found myself stuck in the same cycles—arguing, reconciling, and repeating with the same people. Until 2020. That year, I made a decision: any fallout would be final. No more going back. No more trying to rebuild what I knew was already crumbling.

One by one, every attachment unraveled. And I was left with… silence.

It’s hard not to feel guilty when you stop reaching out. When big things happen in the lives of people you once loved and you’re no longer there. You start to question yourself. You wonder if you’ve become cold or distant. But I had to remind myself: this wasn’t about punishment or pride. It was about preservation.

I needed to learn how to stand on my own—not out of spite, but out of necessity. To make room for people and places that were truly meant for me, I had to know myself again. Not the version of me shaped by other people’s comfort, but the one who’s been waiting underneath all that pretending.

Choosing yourself will feel like loss at first. You might sit with guilt. You might even feel like an imposter in your own skin. But that doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong. It means you’re in the thick of it—shedding what no longer fits so that you can finally live in your truth.

It’s not personal. It’s transformation.

And that transformation? It’s not just internal. Choosing yourself without guilt realigns your entire life. Your energy shifts. Your discernment sharpens. You stop accepting halfway love and transactional loyalty. Your standards evolve—not out of ego, but because you finally realize what it feels like to be at peace with your own presence. You begin attracting people, spaces, and opportunities that see you, not just what you can offer.

But with that alignment often comes friction. People who once benefitted from your self-abandonment won’t clap for your clarity. They’ll call your boundaries selfish. They’ll twist your silence into arrogance. They’ll label your peacekeeping as avoidance, your peace as disloyalty. Why? Because your new alignment no longer serves them. It no longer cushions their insecurities or enables their dysfunction.

Let them talk. That crucifixion is not your burden to carry. It’s a reflection of how threatened they are by your growth. When you start choosing what’s correct for you—not what’s convenient for them—you become a mirror they can’t unsee. They’ll call you difficult for asking for what you deserve, even if what you’re asking for is the bare minimum. They’ll make you feel like you’re “too much,” simply because you stopped settling for less.

But here’s the beauty: when you stand firm in that realignment, the guilt begins to fade. You realize that protecting your peace isn’t something to feel bad about—it’s a sacred act of self-respect. You don’t have to justify your healing, your solitude, your no’s. You don’t owe anyone a version of you that compromises your well-being. Choosing yourself isn’t betrayal. It’s the first step toward freedom.

Choose you in all of your relationships, and don’t look back.

With all my love, I pray this helps.