sol.ace_r

I decided that I would no longer let myself be hurt.

I don’t know how many times I’ve repeated this sentence in my mind.
When I try to say it out loud, I end up swallowing it—afraid it might sound like an exaggeration, or that I might seem like someone who still hasn’t let go.
But now, I think it’s time to say it.

To them.
To the person who borrows money and casually pushes back the repayment date.
To those who speak lightly of promises, while the waiting was always my responsibility.
To my father.
To the father who asked me about the well-being of the family.
To the father who never asked about mine.
To the grandmother who spoke as if taking care of him was my duty.
To the adults who told me to yield unconditionally.
To those who disliked me.
To those who treated kindness as if it were their right.
To those who thought I did nothing.
To those who told me to just die.
To those who saw me as a tool.
To those who came to me only when they needed me, and pushed me away when they didn’t.
To those who denied everything about me.
To those who easily tore down everything I struggled to build.
To those who took sacrifice and compromise for granted.

As I write these down like calling out names, I realize how many moments I endured in silence, how long I stayed circling in the same place.

Why did I have to be hurt by them?
Why did someone else’s mood become the standard of my day?
Why did a single word from them ruin my day, and a single expression make me feel like I was the one in the wrong?

Why did I run away from them?
Was it because I thought I would be hurt more if I faced them directly?
Or was it because I was afraid of being labeled as strange?
And then, why—while running away—couldn’t I fully let go?

Why did I keep holding on to them?
Even after being disappointed again and again.
Even after repeating the same scenes over and over.
Even knowing it couldn’t be undone.
Even knowing their words would not change easily.
Why couldn’t I give up?

Maybe I was hoping for something from them.
Because they were family, because we had known each other for a long time.
That someday, they would change.
That someday, they would understand my heart.
That they would, at least a little, understand what I had gone through.
That at least once, they would see me as a person.

The days I had to give up myself for my family.
The moments when that was treated as something natural.
The times I folded myself away in an atmosphere where expressing hurt made me “sensitive,” and saying I was struggling made me “overreacting.”

The days I had to erase myself.
The nights I chose words the other person wanted to hear instead of what I truly wanted to say.
The habit of smiling through pain, of apologizing first even when I was wronged.
The time I tried to believe that this was what it meant to be mature, that this was what it meant to be a good person.

I think I believed that was the only way to maintain relationships.
That way, I wouldn’t be abandoned.
That way, I wouldn’t end up alone.
So I thought it was okay to shrink myself little by little.
That it was okay to disappear just a little.

But the more I shrank, the harder it became to tell where my thoughts ended and others’ expectations began.
I became someone who hesitates, even when asked what I like.

But now, I think I have to stop.

I can’t stay in the past forever.
I think it’s time to stop clinging to words and expressions that have already passed, trying to find reasons within them.

I can’t carry everything with me forever.
I think it’s time to accept that there is a limit to what I can bear.
That trying to understand everything is not always the right thing.
That there are moments when I don’t have to understand.

I can’t keep hurting and consuming myself forever.
I don’t have to remain by erasing myself just to understand someone else.
I don’t have to keep being uncomfortable for someone else’s comfort.
I don’t have to keep emptying myself to meet someone else’s expectations.

I think it’s time to let them go.

I decided that I would no longer let myself be hurt.

I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep this perfectly.
But if I write it down, at least it will become a promise to myself.

It’s a little late, but even now, it’s so that I won’t lose myself anymore.