There’s a particular kind of discomfort that comes from being in relationships where decisions are made without you—where you weren’t part of the conversation. Yet the outcome still lands on you.
Where you’re looped in with a “By the way…”—just late enough to feel excluded, but early enough to be expected to smile and go along.
Details are withheld until the last minute.
And there’s no time to settle yourself—no space to feel into it—just a quiet expectation to “be on.”
But you’ve been triggered.
And when you pause, ask a question, or have a reaction
You’re told to “just go with it.” That you’re overreacting.
But it’s not a one-time thing—it’s a pattern.
A dynamic.
One that slowly chips away at trust and emotional safety.
Especially in blended families, where old loyalties run deep—and you’re expected to adapt without being considered.
Suddenly you become the problem.
It’s a bait-and-switch.
A subtle rewriting of reality that frames you as inflexible, insecure—judged for your inability to “just go with it.”
But really, it’s a lack of consideration.
A pattern of being informed, not included.
You’re no longer talking about what happened—
you’re defending your reaction to it.
That’s what emotional unsafety can look like.
It doesn’t always show up as blatant disrespect.
Sometimes it’s quieter—plans made in private, conversations you weren’t part of, feelings minimized—then held against you.
You start noticing the pattern.
Like questioning whether your needs are just too much—
and why they’re never truly considered.
Over time, this dynamic wears on you.
And in your body, it feels like tension in the chest,
a pull in the gut,
a jolt of adrenaline with nowhere to go.
Like feeling betrayed—yet expected to smile through it.
Like having a reaction to a situation you never chose—
one that could’ve played out differently, if there had been space for you.
Like watching your own needs disappear in favor of someone else’s comfort.
It’s not the event itself that wounds you—
it’s realizing your voice hadn’t been considered.
It could have been different.
If there had been honesty from the start.
If there had been space to talk, not just be told.
But then there comes a moment—a quiet defining moment—when you no longer twist yourself to fit.
You decide: No more.
No more shrinking to keep the peace.
No more explaining why inclusion matters.
No more twisting yourself to stay in someone else’s comfort zone.
You stop chasing closeness in places that feel cold.
You stop auditioning for a role you never wanted to play.
You stop trying to repair what never felt whole.
Because you’re not asking for too much.
You’re asking for mutual respect, emotional safety, and truth.
And those are not luxuries.
They’re the baseline for connection.
They’re the ground you stand on when you finally choose yourself.
So in time, when those aren’t offered freely—
you stop trying to earn what should’ve been a given.
You choose to stand strong with yourself.
Not bitter. Not hardened.
Just rooted.
In your worth.
In your knowing.
In the life you’ve stopped dimming yourself to exist.
“Your boundaries are not a disruption to the relationship. They’re the terms on which you’re willing to stay.”
—Vienna Pharaon
