Me, My Life & Why Part 16

Part 16

It arrived on a Wednesday.

Mid-scroll. Mid-cringe. Mid-nothing.

A message from someone I hadn’t spoken to in months.

“Hey you 💛 just listened to this and thought of you x”

(Spotify link: “How to Reclaim Your Life with Gentle Discipline”)

And just like that, my stomach dropped into that familiar zone between hurt and mild rage.

We used to be close.

Voice notes every other day.

Plans that never needed planning.

We once spent four hours in a car just driving and complaining about everyone who ever told us to “get our act together.”

Now I was a stranger she diagnosed with a podcast.

I didn’t respond.

Not right away.

I clicked the link.

The host had one of those soothing, breathy voices designed to make you feel like you’re already in trouble.

She said things like “What if the problem… is you?”

And “Discipline is a form of love.”

And “Wake up at the same time every day, it’s how we show up for ourselves.”

I almost threw my phone at the kettle.

There was nothing inherently wrong with the episode.

It was polished.

Softly toxic in a self-help way.

But it made one fatal assumption: that chaos is a choice.

That if you just tried a bit harder, meditated a bit longer, bought the right planner with the pastel tabs, you too could be okay.

I’ve spent my whole life trying to be okay.

To show up.

To wake up.

To keep up.

And now that I’ve stopped, not in defeat, but in rebellion, she wants me to “gently” discipline myself back into the mould I just clawed my way out of?

That wasn’t care.

That was nostalgia for a version of me she found easier to manage.

I didn’t cry.

I just sort of… sagged.

Because deep down, I knew this was coming.

We’ve all got those friendships.

The ones that were real, until you started healing in a way that didn’t look pretty.

Until you stopped performing your dysfunction in the same way.

Until you grew into someone that made them uncomfortable.

And they don’t say, “You’ve changed, and I don’t know how to be with you anymore.”

They send a podcast.

They offer “gentle” suggestions.

They speak the language of support but deliver it in the tone of “please go back to how you were.”

I thought about replying.

I even typed:

Hey, thanks for thinking of me. I’ve actually found a lot of peace in not forcing structure that doesn’t fit. I’m okay.

I deleted it.

Because it wouldn’t land.

She’d hear it as resistance, not clarity.

And I’m too tired to translate.

Instead, I closed the chat, made tea, and sat in the quiet grief of a friendship that had already ended, I’d just missed the email.

It’s weird, losing people slowly.

You don’t notice until something like this cracks the seal.

And then it’s everywhere: old pictures, mutual likes, the way you still know their coffee order even though they don’t know yours anymore.

I wasn’t angry.

Not really.

Just… sad.

Sad that the version of me she wants is one I don’t ever want to be again.

And somewhere in that sadness, I smiled.

Because I didn’t want to be her either.