Sucker Punched: Umm... That Wasn't Part of the Script
One minute I was holding it all together—leveling up, doing everything “right.” The next, I was jobless, single, and second-guessing everything I thought I knew about myself. The universe had other plans, apparently. What followed was a rude awakening—one that stripped me of everything I thought I needed to feel whole. It was the first crack in the script I’d been clinging to. The moment I started questioning not just what happened, but the stories I’d been telling myself all along.
The Broken Poet
5/19/20252 min read
It was the last day of work, and I went to return my equipment.
It was a bittersweet feeling.
I was salty about being let go—but deep down, I knew this was how it needed to be.
This time, the universe didn’t ask.
It put a giant stop sign in front of my face and forced me flat on my ass.
It made me look at what was actually in front of me—for once.
I was moving in the wrong direction, and I knew it.
But now what?
The silence was deafening.
And to make things worse, it was just weeks earlier that my relationship with him had fallen apart.
I tried to stay positive. Tried to trust the process.
But I felt like I had nothing left to hold on to—no job, no clarity, no momentum.
Just time.
And fear.
And shame.
And an out-of-control internal dialogue.
A quiet realization: I had no idea who I was…
at a time in my life when I thought I should’ve been more settled.
And maybe that’s what hurt the most—
Not just getting dumped.
But realizing I had so much work to do long before he ever called it quits.
Deep down, I started to wonder:
Was I too unstable?
Too insecure?
Too messy?
Was I worth choosing when I wasn’t at my best?
When I wasn’t glowing, thriving, achieving?
How was this fair?
I’ve worked so hard for so long.
This should’ve been the time I started reaping the rewards.
This should’ve been the season that made all the pain worth it.
How did I end up here?
This wasn’t in the fucking script—at least not the one I wrote for myself.
And that’s when it started.
Cue: the pity party. Day zero.
Not all at once. Not with drama.
It was slow.
Quiet—but only on the outside.
The kind of thing you don’t even recognize until it’s already happened.
My mind was unraveling a labyrinth of insecurities,
each one waiting its turn to take over.
I was broke.
Out of work.
Out of shape.
My wardrobe sucked.
Girl, WTF.
It was embarrassing.
I started showing up smaller.
Quieter.
I didn’t want anyone knowing how dysfunctional I actually felt.
I kept the panic to myself.
The uncertainty.
I clung to hope that I’d somehow make it out of this disaster unscathed.
What really stung was that I finally thought I was getting somewhere.
Not thriving, exactly—but clawing my way out of something.
I wasn’t ready to rewrite the script again.
I’d just started believing in the last version.
The overthinking channel was static in my head,
playing tricks on me,
leading me to believe things about myself I knew weren’t true.
I wasn’t ready to deal with any of it—
Not the healing.
Not the moving on.
Definitely not the dating again.
I didn’t want to be seen.
Didn’t want to make small talk.
Didn’t want to explain who I was
at a time when I didn’t even have the answer myself.
But I clung to anything that made me feel okay.
Even if only for a moment.
Psychic readings.
Horoscope tarot videos at 2 a.m.
Sad girl music.
Gym sessions.
I was desperate not to let the cracks show.
Not while we were still loosely connected.
Not while he could still watch from a distance.
He didn’t get to think he was the straw that broke me.
Even if I felt broken.