Am I allowed to rise?

There comes a time when the people around you start to feel less like support… and more like shadows. I’ve been circling this truth for a while now — telling myself they’re just “busy,” “going through their own stuff,” or “not that bad.”

But the reality is:
I feel invisible in their presence.
Worse — I feel small.

I thought I had walked away from the toxic ones.
I thought I’d outgrown the chaos, the gossip, the one-sided emotional seesaws.
But here I am — still tangled in friendships that make me question who I am.

And the truth?
I feel stuck.
Like I’m inside a vortex I can’t quite climb out of.
Bound to people who make me feel worthless and undervalued.

I used to think friends were supposed to help you shine, even on your dark days.
But lately, I’m realising:
The brighter my light gets, the more uncomfortable they become.

It’s subtle.
They only appear when they need someone to talk to, or someone to hang out with.
There are no likes, no comments, no support — just quiet observation from the sidelines.
They check in when they sense I’m down, as if to say, “I’m doing better than you.”
One message, a quick ego boost, and then they vanish again.
Present only when I’m low.
Absent when I rise.

And still, I stay.

Not because I don’t see it — but because some part of me still wonders if I’m allowed to rise.

Some part of me still doesn’t feel worthy to walk this path as a writer, a poet, a healer.
Even though I believe in my work, there’s a thread deep inside that whispers,
“If you truly believed, why would you let people like this in?”

I’m done asking what I’m missing.
I’m not missing anything.
I’m just no longer in tune with the people I once clung to like life jackets, terrified that letting go of them meant having no one left at all.

But I’ve already walked away from so much.
I’ve survived darker things than solitude.
And I’m learning: peace is not a performance.
It’s not smiling through friendships that drain you.
It’s not staying silent, so you don’t cause a fuss.
It’s not shrinking to avoid their jealousy.

Peace is choosing yourself, even when it feels lonely.

So here I am.
Choosing to rise, even if it means rising alone.
Choosing to stop dimming just to keep the room comfortable.
Choosing to stop giving my power away to people who never knew how to hold it.

No more quiet allowances.
No more subtle betrayals.
No more giving out keys to my light.

This version of me remembers who she is.
And she’s done letting people treat her like she’s forgettable.