I bet you think this post is about you.... it might be

As “You’re So Vain” plays in the background, I can’t help but feel a little inspired by that unapologetic 1970s energy equal parts iconic and just petty enough to be honest.

Then, to my surprise, a few posts start drifting my way via Instagram. I don’t even have Threads, I’ve actually deleted quite a few social media accounts, and the two that survived are locked down. But every now and then (when I decide to grace Instagram with my presence), the Threads tab pops up like it’s fighting for its life, begging me to download it.

Some of the posts? Uncomfortably accurate: uplifting, self-empowerment, women-centered, queer joy… the algorithm occasionally gets it right. And then, without warning, it throws in people I’ve long since unfollowed. Some of whom, if I recall correctly, treated my page like a regularly scheduled program. There’s a reason everything went private. Peace of mind isn’t negotiable

So every once in a while, I’ll see someone I used to be involved with pop up mid-thought, mid-post, mid-performance, and instead of spiraling or wondering, I just feel this quiet, undeniable rush of relief.

There’s something almost magical about reaching a place of peace and self-acceptance. Nothing hits the way it used to. Opinions lose their weight. Negativity doesn’t land, it just passes through, like junk mail you never signed up for.

And even more unexpectedly, you start to feel gratitude. For exes. For old friends. Even for the family members you had to love from a distance. There’s a kind of beauty in being able to look back without bitterness, without rewriting the story, without needing someone to blame. Just acceptance. Just clarity.

I don’t sit around wondering “what could’ve been,” or trying to pinpoint the exact moment things fell apart. I don’t blame distance, timing, or circumstance. Because the truth is simple: if it were meant to work, it would have. And if it didn’t, it wasn’t supposed to.

And honestly? I’m grateful for that.

I’m grateful that my tears and prayers were heard—but not answered the way I wanted. Because, in hindsight, I was dreaming too small. Even in love. Even in friendship. Even in the life I thought I wanted.

If things had worked out the way I once begged for, I wouldn’t be here—experiencing this level of emotional, spiritual, and yes, financial freedom. I wouldn’t know this kind of peace. This kind of joy. This kind of reciprocity.

So every tear, every “why not me,” every moment that felt like rejection?

Worth it.

Completely, undeniably worth it.