I’ve Survived Too Much to Settle for Too Little

The Ugly Truth: Anything Less Than Extraordinary Can’t Touch Me Anymore

The ugly truth is this:

I have been through way too much trauma and pain in the past year alone to allow anything less than extraordinary to touch me.

And I don’t mean extraordinary in the Instagram version of the word.

I don’t need extravagant dates, designer gifts, grand gestures, or someone standing outside my window with a boombox like we’re in an emotionally unstable ’80s movie.

I mean extraordinary effort.

Extraordinary honesty.

Extraordinary consistency.

Extraordinary friendship.

Extraordinary love.

Extraordinary people who actually mean what they say.

Because I have survived enough ordinary disappointment.

I have spent too much of my life being the person who shows up. The one who checks in. The one who remembers. The one who makes plans, includes people, gives second chances, listens, forgives, encourages, works harder, loves harder and somehow still wonders if maybe I should have given more.

More?

Girl, I am exhausted.

At some point, you have to stop asking yourself how much more you can give and start asking why everyone around you is so comfortable giving you crumbs.

And this past year?

This past year has taught me that lesson in ways I never asked to learn.

I have watched people disappoint me with straight faces.

I have watched promises turn into excuses.

I have watched enthusiasm become silence.

I have watched people tell me how amazing I am and then behave as though having me in their life requires an unreasonable amount of effort.

I have watched friendships become painfully one-sided.

I have watched people I would have made time for explain why they couldn’t make time for me.

I have watched opportunities I worked my ass off for go elsewhere.

I have been reminded, over and over again, that being loyal does not guarantee loyalty in return.

Being honest doesn’t guarantee honesty.

Being good to people doesn’t guarantee they’ll be good to you.

And being “the whole package” apparently does not prevent someone from leaving the package sitting on the damn porch.

Cute.

But here’s what all of it changed in me:

I no longer want to convince anyone of my value.

Not a man.

Not a friend.

Not an employer.

Not someone who only remembers I exist when they need something.

Not someone who loves my energy but doesn’t know how to reciprocate it.

Not someone who tells me I’m incredible while simultaneously offering me the emotional equivalent of a Groupon.

I’m done auditioning for positions in people’s lives that I was already overqualified for.

Because there is another part of my story that people don’t always see.

I already wake up every morning carrying something I never volunteered to carry.

My life changed in an instant years ago, and there was no magical reset button. No “return to previous version.” No inspirational montage where everything suddenly stopped hurting.

I learned how to build a life around pain.

I learned how to laugh while hurting.

Work while hurting.

Go to the gym while hurting.

Put on the sneakers.

Put on the stilettos.

Show up.

Keep dreaming.

Keep building.

Keep going.

There are battles I fight quietly because life does not stop and ask whether I feel emotionally prepared for Tuesday.

And somehow, despite everything, I have refused to become someone who stops caring.

That might be the part I’m proudest of.

I still love deeply.

I still believe people.

I still get excited.

I still want connection.

I still have dreams that are probably bigger than common sense recommends.

I still believe there are beautiful people, beautiful opportunities and beautiful chapters waiting for me.

But now there is a velvet rope around my peace.

And unfortunately, the guest list has become extremely exclusive.

Because when life has already asked this much of me, I refuse to voluntarily invite more suffering through the front door.

I cannot control pain.

I cannot control loss.

I cannot control what happened yesterday, what my body carries, what people choose to do, who leaves, who changes their mind, or which opportunity disappears despite how hard I worked for it.

But I can control access.

Access to my time.

Access to my energy.

Access to my vulnerability.

Access to the woman underneath the jokes, the confidence, the heels, the sneakers, the hustle and the “I got it” attitude.

That access is no longer free.

And no, that doesn’t mean I’ve become cold.

It means I finally understand how expensive my peace was to earn.

There is a difference.

I don’t need perfection. I don’t expect anyone to rescue me. God knows I learned a long time ago how to rescue myself.

But if you want to stand beside me, bring something beautiful to the table.

Bring peace.

Bring consistency.

Bring honesty, even when honesty is uncomfortable.

Bring effort that doesn’t disappear the second things become inconvenient.

Bring friendship that doesn’t require me to chase it.

Bring love that doesn’t leave me analyzing text messages like I’m working for the FBI.

Bring opportunities where my work is valued before I walk away, not appreciated only after I’m gone.

Bring laughter.

Bring adventure.

Bring ridiculous conversations and spontaneous plans.

Bring the kind of energy that makes me think:

Damn. I’m glad I let this into my life.

Otherwise?

I’m good.

And “I’m good” doesn’t mean I never get lonely.

It doesn’t mean rejection doesn’t sting.

It doesn’t mean disappointment suddenly rolls off my back because I’ve reached some enlightened level of emotional maturity where I drink green juice and whisper affirmations at sunrise.

Sometimes it hurts like hell.

Sometimes I wonder why I keep giving people the benefit of the doubt only to discover that the doubt was actually doing excellent investigative work.

Sometimes I still ask why.

Why did this person come into my life just to leave?

Why did this opportunity appear just to disappear?

Why did I finally lower a wall only to remember exactly why I built the damn thing?

But I’m learning that maybe every disappointment isn’t proof that I should build the wall higher.

Maybe it’s proof that I need a better door.

One that opens intentionally.

One that doesn’t swing open because someone says the right things.

One that waits to see whether their actions know the same vocabulary.

Because words are beautiful.

But consistency?

Consistency is sexy.

Effort is sexy.

Honesty is sexy.

Someone doing exactly what they said they were going to do?

At this point, practically pornography.

And maybe my standards are higher now.

Good.

They should be.

I didn’t survive everything I’ve survived just to beg someone for basic communication.

I didn’t rebuild myself through pain just to accept halfhearted friendships.

I didn’t work this hard to become the woman I am just to shrink so someone else can comfortably underappreciate me.

And I certainly did not carry myself through the worst chapters of my life to hand the pen to someone who can’t even decide whether they want to be in the story.

The ugly truth is that pain changed me.

Trauma changed me.

Disappointment changed me.

But they didn’t destroy the soft parts of me.

They made me more selective about who gets to see them.

I can still be kind without being available to everyone.

I can forgive without reopening the door.

I can understand someone’s reasons without accepting their behavior.

I can miss someone and still know they don’t belong in my life.

I can love people and choose myself.

And I can wish someone the absolute best…

from way over there.

Because I am no longer interested in potential.

I am interested in presence.

I don’t care who you could be.

Show me who you are.

I don’t care what you meant to do.

Show me what you did.

I don’t care how much you supposedly care about me.

Show me how being cared for by you actually feels.

Because my life has already contained enough survival.

The next chapter needs to contain some living.

Big living.

Beautiful living.

Ridiculous laughter.

Career wins.

Trips that become stories.

People who feel like home.

Love that feels safe without feeling boring.

Friendships where I don’t have to wonder whether I’m bothering someone by existing.

Mornings where I wake up excited about what I’m building.

Nights where I realize that somehow, after everything, life became beautiful again.

That’s the kind of extraordinary I’m talking about.

Not flawless.

Not expensive.

Not unrealistic.

Extraordinary because it’s genuine.

So yes, my standards might look different now.

My circle might get smaller.

My tolerance for bullshit is basically on life support.

And if something costs me more peace than it brings me joy, I am finally learning that I am allowed to put it down.

I’ve carried enough.

The ugly truth is, I have been through way too much trauma and pain in the past year alone to allow anything less than extraordinary to touch me.

Not because I think I’m better than anyone.

Because I finally understand how precious the life I fought to keep building actually is.

So if you’re coming into my world, come with something worth adding to it.

Come with truth.

Come with effort.

Come with intention.

Come with love.

Come with something extraordinary.

Because ordinary disappointment has already had enough chapters.

The rest of this book belongs to me.