When "Do You Girl" Doesn't Fucking Cut It

“Do you, girl.”
That’s the kind of bullshit people throw at you when your life is unraveling in real time.

“Focus on your goals.”
“Do you!”
“FUCK him!”

Give. Me. A. Break.

The sentiment? Cute.
But let’s be real—what the hell does that even mean?

And more importantly, where the fuck are you supposed to begin when your heart’s on fire and no one else notices the smoke?

You can’t just flip a switch and suddenly feel empowered.
Like the pain disappears because you lit a candle and whispered a few affirmations.

Nah. That’s not how any of this works.

Last year started off on a high note—it felt promising.
I was finally turning things around—leaving a toxic job, chasing growth, leveling up after years of stagnancy post Mr. Almost.

I was making moves, friends.
Life felt like it was finally aligning.

And then I met him.
Ouuuf—this one was different.

He swept me off my feet. Checked all the boxes.
Made real effort. Planned dates. Communicated like an actual adult.

I remember thinking: Could this be real?
I pinched myself daily.

After years of emotional deprivation, he made me feel seen.
Like this—this was what I had been missing.
I finally started to believe again

But then… he started to pull away.
Subtly. Strategically. Like a slow bleed I didn’t want to acknowledge.

One minute he was all in, the next, he was slowly ghosting me—with manners.

I tried to address it, but he denied anything had changed.
Still, I stayed hopeful. I clung to crumbs.

Because when someone gives you a taste of the connection you’ve been starving for,
you convince yourself it’s still there—even when it’s already gone.

I was left wondering if any of it had been real.
I replayed everything.
Every conversation. Every gesture. Every moment that felt solid.

I searched for red flags I should’ve caught.
And the self-doubt crept in…

Was it me?
Was I too much?
Too intense?
Too honest?

Because after everything I’d been through, I really thought—finally—this was it.
My moment.
My turn.
My good thing.

And that’s the most toxic part.
When someone pulls away without explanation, you turn on yourself.
You start rewriting the story, convincing yourself you imagined it all.

But I didn’t imagine the consistency—until it stopped.
I didn’t imagine the effort—until it vanished.
And I sure as hell didn’t imagine how cold it felt when he started pulling back.

Once the spiral starts, it’s like a vortex—and it’ll suck you in with everything it’s got.

Eventually, I called him out.
And he ended things—said we felt more like friends than intimate partners.
*Head scratch*.

And just like that, it was over.

The grief hit like a goddamn tsunami.
You’d think we’d been together for years.
But it had only been a few months.

Ridiculous, right?
Trust me—I know.

But I couldn’t focus on anything else.
I was unraveling.

I started slipping at work—the job I had been so excited for.
The one that felt like the start of something solid.

I couldn’t sleep.
Couldn’t concentrate.
Couldn’t pretend I was fine.

And before I knew it, the job was gone too.
Everything I had worked for—gone in a matter of weeks.

And at 38 years old, I found myself right back where I swore I’d never be.

Starting over.
One more fucking time.

But here’s the thing…
The story didn’t end with him.
Not even close.

Eventually, I just… stopped.
Not in some dramatic “I’m done” kind of way.

It was slower. Quieter.

I stopped rereading old texts.
Stopped stalking his page.
Stopped romanticizing a version of him that never really existed.

And that’s when it hit me:

He didn’t break me.
He just exposed where I was still broken.
He was the mirror.
I broke myself trying to make someone stay who was never built for the long haul.

So no, I didn’t “do me” right away.
I grieved.
I unraveled.
I cussed him out in the shower more times than I’d like to admit.

But eventually—
the vortex stopped.

And in the silence, I started asking real questions:

What now?
Who am I without the noise?