You Were Never Meant to Save Them—You Were Meant to Rise

She’s screaming.

And I feel it in my bones.

I feel it in the tension burning through my shoulder, rising like smoke from a fire that’s been roaring too long.

It stings. It sears. And I want to scream too—

Scream out the pain I’ve buried behind polite smiles.

Scream out the rage I swallowed to keep the peace.

She was triggered.

She knows it.And if she could, she’d burn it all to the ground.

In her mind?

She already did.

How dare she speak to me like that?

Who the hell do you think YOU are—

Telling me I live under a rock because I refuse to bow to superficiality?

Because I crave depth.

Because I chase meaning.

Because your small talk makes me want to vanish.

You want to shame me for my truth?

For my mission?

For the fact that I was born with eyes wide open in a world that worships masks?

The more you bore me, the less you’ll see me.

Because I vanish in places I can’t breathe.

Let’s be real.

We’ve spent lifetimes trying to make others feel seen—

Trying to rescue people who were never meant to walk beside us.

We give. We pour. We try to translate our language of depth into their language of numbness.

And in the process?

We abandon ourselves.

We abandon the inner child who just wanted to be held.

We abandon the fierce one who was never meant to beg for scraps of connection.

We abandon our sacred energy on altars that were never built for us.

And for what?

To be misunderstood?

To be dismissed?

To be pushed away by people whose eyes never had the capacity to see us?

Here’s the truth:

You are not meant to be their savior.

You are not their rehabilitation center.

You are not their rescue mission.

People who are meant to rise with you?

They won’t need saving.

They’ll walk beside you because they’ve done the work.

And they won’t dim your fire. They’ll fuel it.

I learned this the hard way.

I was a child with a force too big for the rooms I entered.

I tried to fix them. All of them.

And each time, I was met with rejection, blame, or silence.

I remember my brother’s death like a scar etched in time.

I was the last family member to see him alive.

He offered me pizza. I had mine in the fridge. I said no.

I thought—If I just stayed with him long enough, maybe I could save him.

But I couldn’t.

Because that was his path.

And I wasn’t sent here to erase his pain.

I was sent here to honor mine.

To listen to my own soul when it said: Stop giving away your light just because others are too blind to see.

Let this land hard:

If someone cannot smile for themselves, it is not your job to put a smile on their face at the cost of your own.

If someone is drowning in misery and refuses to swim, you’re not meant to dive in and lose yourself trying to lift them.

Because when you do—

You’re not being noble.

You’re being self-destructive.

This world needs your full light.

Not the burnt-out, half-functioning version of you that spends her life trying to save people who were never ready to be saved.

Embracing new beginnings with a smile, she gracefully lets go of what no longer serves her.

Let them go.

Let the mission to “make them happy” die.

Let the people who shame your depth exit the stage.

You are not here to fit into anyone’s shallow box.

You are here to create an ocean so deep, the world drowns in your truth.

So scream.

Let the pain out.

Let the anger guide you home.

Back to the version of you who stopped rescuing and started rising.