Peace Without Permission: The Things I Let Die (Part 1)
I said healing isn’t linear.
It’s compost.
And lately?
I’ve been knee-deep in it.
Hands dirty. Heart cracked open.
Standing in the middle of everything that tried to break me -
deciding, very quietly,
what still gets to grow here
and what rots where it fell.
Because here’s the part nobody wants to say out loud:
Not everything is meant to be healed.
Some things are meant to decompose.
Disintegrate. Collapse in on themselves.
Lose their name. Lose their access. Lose me.
And I will not resurrect what hurt me
just because it used to feel like home.
I used to think growth meant fixing everything.
Fixing how I was perceived.
Fixing misunderstandings.
Fixing people who kept asking me - sweetly, subtly, constantly -
to shrink just a little more
so they didn’t have to feel uncomfortable next to me.
Like if I just explained myself better…
softer… prettier… less intense… less Brittny…
it would finally click.
And you know what?
It did click.
They understood me.
They just didn’t respect me.
And that realization?
That’s not the kind that makes you louder.
That’s the kind that makes you…
dead quiet.
Done.
Not dramatic. Not explosive.
Just… finished.
There’s a version of me that would’ve fought harder.
She would’ve explained it again.
Cried it out.
Stayed one more night.
Tried one more angle.
Twisted herself into something digestible
just to be loved correctly.
But she doesn’t live here anymore.
Now?
It looks like packing boxes in silence.
It looks like choosing myself without announcing it.
It looks like a shift so real
you don’t explain it - you embody it.
Because peace?
Peace is no longer a conversation.
It’s a boundary with teeth.
Some things I can hold with compassion.
Some things I can grow through.
And some things?
I will never forgive.
Not because I’m bitter...
but because I finally learned the difference between healing
and access.
You don’t get to hurt me
and then keep a seat in my life
just because I’ve done the work.
You can be wished well…
from far the fuck away.
That’s not cold.
That’s self-respect with a backbone.
I don’t need closure.
I have pattern recognition.
I don’t need an apology.
I have memory.
And I sure as hell don’t need to explain
why I’m choosing distance
from anything that made me feel small.
Even if it’s uncomfortable.
Even if it confuses people.
Even if it used to feel like home.
Especially if it used to feel like home.
So no.
I’m not fixing everything this time.
Some things are being returned to the earth.
Let them rot.
Let them break down into something unrecognizable.
Let them lose every ounce of power they ever had over me.
Because compost doesn’t come back as what it was.
And neither do I.
I’m not chasing peace anymore.
I'm choosing it.
Protecting it.
Building my entire life around it.
Quietly.
Decisively.
A little feral. A little holy.
Completely mine.
And I'm not dragging a single thing with me
that ever made me question
if I was worth protecting.
