The Power of Leaving

I leave.

I don’t argue.
I don’t over-explain.
I don’t wait for someone to treat me right after showing me they can’t or won’t.

When it no longer feels how it’s supposed to feel, when God whispers “this ain’t it,” I go.

I was 13 years old the first time I knew it was time for someone to leave. I walked into my mom’s room and asked her, “How much longer are you going to allow him to treat you like this?”

I was talking about my stepdad.

Even then, I knew what it looked like when someone was no longer aligned with your value. I couldn’t understand why someone as incredible as my mother would stay with a man who couldn’t see her. Who didn’t appreciate the daily love and light she brought into his life.

What I didn’t know yet was love.
Or marriage.
Or soul ties.
Or how complicated it is to walk away when your heart is still holding on.

I just knew it was time for her to go.

As I grew through life and learned to feel and be love, I became like her. I stayed too long too.

In friendships.
In relationships.
In jobs that drained me.
In rooms that didn’t see me.

I stayed because I didn’t want to be “too sensitive.”
Because I thought maybe if I worked harder, loved better, gave more… it would shift.

I stayed because I wanted to be loyal.
Because I wanted to “see it through.”
Because I wanted to prove I could handle it.
Because I didn’t want to be the one who walked away.

But growth taught me something. Leaving isn’t failure. Leaving is faith.

It’s trusting that I don’t have to shrink to keep a seat at someone else’s table.
It’s believing that what’s meant for me doesn’t require me to be mistreated.
It’s knowing that choosing myself is not betrayal, it’s self-love.

Here’s the truth: You can only change you. And nothing changes unless you do.

Eventually, I found my way back to the wisdom of my 13-year-old self. I remembered what I didn’t understand then, that my mother was leaving just not loudly.

She was leaving smart.
She had children to protect, a life to restructure, and a heart to detach from slowly.

She waited until my sister and I, her two oldest, were off to college. Until she had a plan. Until she knew she could do it on her own. It wasn’t necessarily weakness that kept her there. It was Strategy. Strength. Survival. And now, as a woman, I get it.
While she told me that question was a big turning point for her making the decision to go, to take back her power, she didn’t stay because she didn’t know her worth, she stayed until she could leave well.

Here’s what I know now:

If you’re allowing someone to treat you poorly, you are betraying you.

And for what?

Why give anyone the precious gift of your time, your peace, or your best years when they’ve shown you they don’t deserve them?

Softness isn’t staying silent through disrespect. Softness is honoring your worth enough to walk away.

I don’t force what’s no longer flowing. I don’t chase what’s not choosing me. I don’t prove anything to people who already know what they’re doing.

God speaks through discomfort. When the assignment is up, I don’t need closure. I don’t need approval. Now when he shows me it’s time to go, I go.

Without drama. With no guilt. But with clarity, grace, and power.

It’s not always easy. But it’s always freeing.
And freedom is a soft life requirement.

This week, I’m asking:

🖤 Who or what have you outgrown, but you keep holding onto out of comfort?
🖤 Where are you betraying yourself just to belong?
🖤 What would it look like to leave and not look back?

If this resonates, send it to someone who needs the reminder.

Because we don’t beg to be loved here. We don’t shrink to stay connected.

We leave. And we choose to live, well.