The Table Was Never Missing.

I used to think I was asking for too much.

Too much effort.

Too much honesty.

Too much consistency.

So I adjusted.

I softened my expectations.

I explained myself more than necessary.

I gave people room to meet me… and then gave them more when they didn’t.

And somewhere in all of that,

I convinced myself I was the problem.

—

But standing in the quiet… after everything burned down…

I realized something that didn’t feel empowering at first.

It felt heavy.

It felt like grief.

Because the truth usually does.

—

I was never asking for too much.

I was asking people

who were never capable of giving it.

—

I kept searching for a seat

at tables I built with my own hands.

Offering loyalty.

Depth.

Understanding.

To people who saw it as optional.

—

I called it love.

But if I’m honest…

it was effort without alignment.

Giving without being met.

Staying long after clarity had already arrived.

—

The hardest part to sit with isn’t that they couldn’t show up.

It’s that I kept trying to teach them how.

—

And then one day…

I stopped.

Not dramatically.

Not loudly.

Just… clearly.

—

I didn’t lose anything.

I lost the illusion

that I had to earn what should be given freely.

I lost the version of me

that believed love required proving.

—

The table was never missing.

I was.

—

And now that I’m back…

I don’t chase seats.

I don’t shrink to fit rooms.

I don’t translate inconsistency into potential.

—

I recognize what’s in front of me.

And I choose accordingly.

—

This isn’t anger.

It’s clarity.

And clarity doesn’t beg.

It builds.

👑

Signing off,

Southern Peanut