Stop Carrying What Isn’t Yours

Someone else’s inability to rise and meet you is not your fault.

Someone else’s inability to find their own inner happiness is not your responsibility.

Someone else’s inability to love is not a reflection of your worth.

Someone’s refusal to heal is not your job.

And someone else’s opinion of you? That’s not your problem either.

If you grew up in survival mode, carrying everyone else’s weight, you may have been taught that love means sacrifice, or that your worth depends on how much you give. But that was conditioning, not truth.

Reparenting yourself means choosing differently now. It means becoming the steady, loving presence you always needed—offering yourself safety, compassion, and care. It’s remembering that you already have the skills to thrive. They were always there; fear just made you forget.

It’s doing for yourself what you so freely gave to others—until there was nothing left. This time, you refill your own well first.

And the truth is, we’ve all been conditioned. How many of us work jobs we hate because we think we have to? How many of us care for people who never gave a damn, simply because we recognize their worth? How often do we sacrifice the small things—skipping meals, silencing our needs, dimming our light—while making sure the dog, the kids, the partner are cared for? You get the point.

But what if we decided to rise? What if we stopped settling? What if we surrounded ourselves only with love—or better yet, discovered that our own company is enough, because it’s honest and whole? What if we defined abundance—not according to society’s script, but by what actually fills us with peace, joy, and freedom?

And let’s be honest—healing isn’t always pretty. It’s going to feel hard when things start to crash and burn. That’s when it’s actually working. That’s when the shifts are happening. You’ll feel caught between two worlds, one foot in the old and one foot in the new. Be patient with yourself. A lifetime of trauma doesn’t unravel in a day, a week, or even a few months. It takes time to rise and root in something new.

No more living in fear. No more shrinking to make others comfortable. Survival got you here—but you don’t have to stay there.

This is your invitation to rise. To create the life you once envisioned before your light was stolen. To stop living by someone else’s script and start living by your own values, your own joy, your own light.

And when the old patterns creep back in, come back to these words. Let them remind you:

You are worth choosing, every single time.

Even in the breaking, I am becoming.