Inspired by Ashley and the latest episode of Drinking Beer and Spilling Tea, where she dives into validation, honesty, and the nuances of difficult relationships.
TL;DR:
Some wounds never heal, but they shape the way we navigate relationships. I’ve learned that neutrality in harmful situations is a form of betrayal and that some people only keep friendships alive as long as they fit their own version of reality. While the pain of these experiences lingers, I’ve come to accept that not all things can be “fixed.”
Some wounds never fully heal. They linger beneath the surface, shaping the way we interact with the world, especially with the people around us. For me, the wound has always been about belonging.
No matter how much effort I put into people, there’s a sense of disconnect. Like I exist slightly outside the warmth that others seem to share so easily. It’s not that I don’t have friends; it’s that friendship itself feels fragile or impermanent.
I’ve always felt drawn to helping others. Whether it’s offering support, being there when someone needs to vent, or trying to make things better in any way I can. Sometimes even unsolicited, but I’m working on that.
I’ve watched people go unchallenged while I struggle not just to be seen, but to avoid being villainized for speaking up. I wouldn’t be a good friend if I didn’t have the hard conversations and call out harmful behavior, but somehow, that is a problem.
It’s frustrating, but it has taught me a deeper truth. Some people do the work in the shadows, unseen but essential. And yet, when honesty is required, when it’s time to stand by the people who have stood by them, some choose neutrality instead. But neutrality is a stance, and often a toxic one. Just be real.
It’s a kind of betrayal that isn’t loud, but quiet. It isn’t an act of outright deception, but rather a slow erosion of trust. The sidestepping, the avoidance, the pretending not to know the truth, the denying of involvement. The unwillingness to stand up, even when the situation calls for it.
If I trace this wound back far enough, it always leads home. Even as adults, we carry the imprints of childhood: what we lacked, what we longed for, and what we still chase in different ways. Some people try to build the family they never had, while others run. But no matter the approach, the wound remains.
I’ve noticed patterns in friendships that reflect those same early wounds. The people who only keep certain friendships alive as long as they serve an image. The ones who play both sides, refusing to pick a stance when it matters. The ones who only keep people around if they never challenge them. And the ones who rewrite reality to fit their own version of events, no matter how much you try to be clear.
When you’ve spent enough time trying to earn spaces where you should have been welcomed effortlessly, you start to recognize the pattern. Some people only want the version of you that fits their narrative, and when you stop playing along, they start to distance themselves, or worse, they make sure others do it for them.
Some wounds never close, but they can transform. Those who carry them often become the ones who understand suffering the most. And with that understanding comes a choice: drown in it, or use it.
I won’t pretend I have all the answers, but I do know there is meaning to be found in pain. Maybe it’s in the way we show up for others, or in the way we choose to keep going despite it all. There’s a certain kind of wisdom that comes from living with an open wound. It forces you to accept the truth that some things can’t be fixed, but that doesn’t have to break you.
And when people show you who they are—believe them.
“If someone tells you who they are, believe them.” -Maya Angelou
Art:
Jean-Michel Basquiat
American, 1960-1988
Diagram of the Ankle, 1982
Xeroxed paper, oil stick, and acrylic on two hinged canvases
Picture taken during my visit to Yale Art Gallery. Spring 2024.
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