Why Are You Still Holding On?
Release what no longer serves you and discover what does.
At the beginning of 2024, I entered with many beliefs, behaviors, and coping mechanisms that I ended up leaving behind. But letting go isn’t passive. It takes effort. Although “effort” doesn’t quite capture it. It felt more like a tug-of-war, a constant pull between who I had been and who I was meant to become.
When we build our identities around certain traits—whether positive or negative—we start to believe those traits are us. Even if we dislike them, they become familiar. Comfortable. Their presence becomes a kind of safety, even if they’re holding us back.
For me, one of those traits was pettiness.
People close to me—friends and past partners—often described me that way. And if I’m being honest, I saw it in myself too. In my previous marriage, I learned just how toxic that tendency could be. If my partner did something that hurt me, I’d do it back. If I was ignored, I ignored him. If I felt neglected, I’d spend more time with my girlfriends—even if what I really wanted was to be with him. I believed it was the only way someone could understand the pain they caused me: by feeling it for themselves.
But that reaction didn’t start in my adult life. It was born much earlier—around the age of 10 or 11. I remember those middle school years so clearly. I was the homeschooled girl who spoke “proper,” did what she was told, and hadn’t yet developed the rebellious streak that most pre-teens get. I didn’t eat what the other girls ate, my diet was very clean. I didn’t wear what they wore, brand names meant nothing to me. I didn’t like what they liked. And when it came to boys? I didn’t get the appeal, not yet anyways, I was a late bloomer.
I got picked on a lot for being different. And when I would tell the girls that they hurt my feelings, they would laugh and shortly after, I would become the subject of a joke amongst a much larger group of peers. Speaking up didn’t work. Telling an adult? That just made things worse. The girls were reprimanded by teachers or counselors, and their parents were informed—but the consequences didn’t stop them. If anything, it caused the bullying to become much more strategic. Friends who stood by me became targets themselves. Eventually, out of fear, even those friends distanced themselves. Then it escalated further to being jumped, for “snitching” on them. I remember feeling very alone and wearing long-sleeves for an entire summer so that my parents wouldn’t see the marks on my body.
I thought of telling my parents, but I felt defeated, how could I not? In my mind, if telling a dance teacher made it worse, then telling my parents would only escalate things further. So, I learned to protect myself. I developed two survival skills:
How to get back at someone—no matter how long it took.
How to blend in, mimic, and be liked by becoming who I thought others wanted me to be, (we’ll save this topic for the next article).
There’s one memory that stands out. I can’t remember her name anymore, but I remember her face. She liked a boy in our dance class—a boy I didn’t think was special at all. But I saw how much she liked him, and so I sat next to him to piss her off. If I was going to get bullied for no reason, then I might as well give her something to get upset about. Right? One day, she said something I remember thinking was mean during our lunch break, and I snapped back saying something to the effect of, “You can talk all you want, but I’m the one sitting next to him.” The ooo’s and gasps came rolling in. And you know what that did? That moment made me feel powerful. I thought, I’ve cracked the code. If I could find someone’s weak spot and show them how they made me feel, maybe then they’d understand. Maybe then they would stop.
That mindset stayed with me. Over time, my pettiness evolved into something sharper, more strategic. By the time I was 16, I wasn’t bullied anymore. Instead, I had become the girl people whispered about—the one who might swap out the ketchup for hot sauce when you weren’t looking, or sneak hair bleach into your shampoo. The girl who would provoke you with just the right words so you’d hit me first, giving me a justified reason to hit back (because the last thing I wanted was my mother to spank me). I became the one who’d bait you in front of an adult, just to make sure they saw your true colors and you’d be the one reprimanded.
I was patient. I observed. I planned carefully. And once I saw how effective it was, I extended that protection to my friends who were also being bullied. If my little brothers told me someone was picking on them, I wouldn’t hesitate to confront boys twice my size.
But I soon realized something: I didn’t need to do it often. I only had to do it to the right people—the ones with the most social influence. Once they were dealt with, word spread quickly.
Still, even in those moments, being vindictive didn’t sit right with me. Every time I felt myself going down that road, I remember letting out a deep sigh, thinking, Why is this person making me do this? I don’t want to be this way. But I won’t be picked on just because I’m different.
As I moved through new social settings in my pre-teen and teenage years, the bullying lessened. I had learned how to people-please, how to blend in, and—most importantly—how to avoid standing out. And I preferred that approach. It felt less corrosive, less like I was losing pieces of myself every time I fought back.
I was often described as “the weird girl,” and they weren’t wrong. Even to this day I feel very deeply, I sit with my thoughts, and I watch people when they don’t think I’m looking. I notice patterns and behaviors that others might not even see in themselves. I am chatty, yet observant. I love people’s energy, yet I enjoy books and silence just as equally. I am full of contradictions.
And I take pride in that, I simply don’t fit into any one box. Do any of us though? Humans love labels. We like categories. Not because we want to understand people, but we want to be able to predict them. Predictability feels safe. I’m not judging, even I do it, it’s something we can’t help doing. When we see that someone has the capacity to change, they become unpredictable. It’s why when people undergo serious transformation that they end up losing people along the way. Not because they did something wrong, but because the version people once knew simply no longer exists. I personally believe that it’s why most relationships fail, because people aren’t willing to relearn their partners.
With these experiences, I have now developed a sensitivity to certain behaviors. Those behaviors still have the capacity to cut me very deeply.
When someone acts without considering how it affects others.
When someone bullies, even unknowingly.
When someone prioritizes their own needs at the expense of others.
They hurt me more intensely than others because I’ve lived through them. I have lived through the ramifications of those behaviors. I have experienced the grueling work of unlearning my reactions to those behaviors. If you’re wondering the feeling I get when I see these behaviors, it’s giving a “nah, I’m good.” I’m not talking about occasional actions, where we don’t consider the friend that’s coming with us on a road trip who gets car sick. I am speaking about patterns that demonstrate a behavior someone has grown comfortable living with.
While I am sensitive to these behaviors, what has changed is how I respond to them.
Petty and vindictive reactions may have served me as a child, but they did not serve me in marriage. When we enter adulthood, there’s no lesson we get on how to let go of childlike ways and navigate the world. No, we figure it out like everyone else and we carry worn baggage that is no longer needed unconsciously into a different stage of life. Unless something dramatic happens, we probably even go through life not realizing it’s even there. If we do recognize it, it’s something that we laugh at or don’t take that seriously. That’s what happened with me, all those defense mechanisms I had developed from being bullied as pre-teen, came full steam ahead with my ex-husband.
Petty reactions may have served me as a child, but they did not serve me in marriage. They didn’t help me feel heard. They just created more hurt. It always takes two people for a relationship to fall apart. I remember realizing that I needed to own my part and even apologized to my ex-husband post-divorce. Do I think what we did is equal? No, of course I don’t, but (playing Devil’s advocate) I’m also the one telling this story, not him. Self-accountability is always necessary if you want to break a cycle.
My divorce was finalized in 2023. In 2024, I knew that if I didn’t want to repeat old patterns, I had to let go of what no longer served me—even if it once did. That version of me was trying to protect herself. I understand her. I thank her. But I had to release her.
The change started with small, in very subtle shifts.
Now, I feel my emotional responses in my body before my mind even catches up.
When someone disregards my feelings, it feels like a needle in my chest.
When someone threatens something or someone I love, my lungs feel tight and my heart races.
When someone puts their desires above everyone else’s, it feels like an inescapable, uncomfortable hug.
My first instinct is still to react. To make them feel it. But now, I pause. I speak to myself. I remind myself: you don’t need to protect yourself this way anymore. I choose how I react. I decide whether to stay, speak, or walk away.
If a conversation doesn’t bring understanding, I limit my exposure. That might mean less interaction with someone in my son’s life. Or a coworker. Or even a friend. And if that doesn’t work, I remove myself completely. My commitment to my highest self comes first.
It has been 376 days since I made this intentional commitment. Letting go of that part of my identity was terrifying. At first, I felt unprotected. I wondered: Will I get walked over? Will I be heard without having to bite back? But with time, something amazing happened. I gained a new skill. One that might not seem big to others—but for a former people-pleaser, it’s everything: I am okay not being liked.
I’m okay with people deciding that my growth doesn’t work for them. I no longer make blanket assumptions about others based on past experiences. I communicate clearly and then let go of the outcome. I put my heart on the table, and then I walk away if I need to—because I can only control my own actions.
In this past year, I’ve discovered what actually does serve me in this season, and likely the next:
Choosing when and how to respond, rather than reacting on impulse.
Speaking to connect, not to hurt.
Prioritizing my future self, because no person, place, or situation deserves the power to pull me out of character.
Once I knew what served me, I began creating it within myself. Some people wait for change to happen. Others choose it. I chose it. Day by day, moment by moment. It’s small. But it’s intentional. And over time, it becomes unmistakably visible.
What can you let go of that no longer serves you? What behavior is hindering you from achieving what you envision for yourself? What habit do you need to unlearn so you can have the life you seek? Are these categories and boxes you’ve put yourself in truly you, or are they a trauma response that you’ve simply pushed to the side? Only you know.