The Switch

“I was raised to be kind to everyone.”

That’s something I used to say a lot growing up.

Because I was.

I was raised to be kind. Polite. Respectful. Soft spoken. Forgiving. Easygoing.

Sit pretty. Stay quiet. Keep the peace. Fit in.

Digestible.

Growing up, that worked.

I was innocent. Naive. The “good girl.”

In middle school, I remember my friends thinking it was hilarious to try to get me to say tiny cuss words like “damn” or “hell.”

That’s how innocent I was.

I didn’t sneak out. I didn’t smoke. I didn’t drink. I didn’t party.

I had my first drink at 21. I smoked weed for the first time at 25 with my best friend Megan in the house we rented together. I waited until what I THOUGHT was marriage at 19, but…long story. Military romance.

I genuinely tried to do life “right.”

For the most part, people liked me. Adults praised me. I was easy to handle. Easy to trust. Easy to bring around.

Even my mom has said before that she proudly used to tell people she never really had problems with me growing up until I hit around 16.

That makes sense to me now.

Because that was the exact age where everything emotionally started colliding.

Identity. Divorce dynamics. Fear. Anger. Pressure. Confusion. Wanting independence. Feeling emotionally pulled between households. Trying to figure out who I was while also trying not to lose anybody.

I DID have a rebellious phase for about a year in high school, but that phase came from a lot of pain and confusion happening underneath everything.

When I turned 16, I was finally old enough to decide I didn’t HAVE to go to my dad’s every single weekend anymore.

And things were already getting really rough emotionally around that time.

Every time I got closer to Mike, things got worse with my dad. Then I’d go spend time with my dad, come home angry, defensive, emotional, and full of attitude with my mom and stepdad.

Then as I got older, Mike became more involved in trying to discipline and parent me too, and I struggled with that a lot at the time.

Before that, it had mostly just been my mom correcting me, so emotionally I think I started reacting with: “You’re not my dad.”

And because everything was already emotionally tense between both households, I started feeling emotionally cornered no matter where I went.

Things became very emotionally intense on both sides in different ways, and as a teenager, I honestly didn’t really have the emotional tools to process any of it in a healthy way yet.

Everybody was pulling at me emotionally from different directions, and I don’t think anybody fully realized how much pressure I was under mentally at that age.

One night everything exploded.

I pushed my mom away from me. She called the police. I got arrested.

Turns out later she never actually intended for me to get arrested.

But between my whopping rebellious phase, my attitude, and me mouthing off to the cop because I was angry and emotional, they threw me in the back of that cop car SO fast with cuffs on my wrists that literally left marks for days.

Looking back at it as an adult…it’s almost darkly funny in a: “Girl…you were spiraling” kind of way.

Like an episode straight out of Shameless.

Years later when I got diagnosed with BPD, so much of that time period suddenly started making sense to me.

Not as an excuse. Not as a free pass.

But as understanding.

The emotional intensity. The fear of abandonment. The identity confusion. The explosive emotions. The impulsivity. The black and white thinking. The feeling of constantly emotionally drowning while also trying to keep everybody from leaving at the same time.

For years I thought I was just “too much.”

Later I realized there were actual psychological reasons underneath so much of what I was experiencing internally.

Then my dad found out and completely lost it on my mom over the phone.

After that, everything shifted.

I ended up going to live with my dad for a few months. I switched schools. Left my friends. Left my best friends Nathaniel and Brittany.

Looking back now as an adult, I understand why my mom reacted the way she did that night.

At the time, all I felt was anger, betrayal, confusion, embarrassment, and pain.

But now? I think she was scared.

I think she was starting to see some of the same explosive emotional qualities in me that she had experienced with my dad for years, and in that moment, she genuinely thought she was protecting me before things got worse.

And honestly…she probably was.

Because I was spiraling.

I was pushing every limit. Emotionally overwhelmed. Angry. Self destructive. Self depleting. Mentally crumbling under years of tension between both households.

I was carrying emotions way too big for a teenager who still didn’t fully understand herself yet.

And when you grow up constantly feeling emotionally pulled between two worlds, eventually something inside you starts splitting too.

I was in therapy during that time too, and things got really psychologically and emotionally unhealthy for me there.

It became one of the periods in my life where I felt the most emotionally tormented, mentally unsafe, and honestly…one of the most alone.

I felt disconnected from everybody. My friends. My routines. My sense of safety. Even myself.

And suddenly I was thrown into this completely different school environment at East High in Sarasota that honestly felt straight out of a movie like Bring It On: All or Nothing.

Except by then…I wasn’t that peppy anymore.

I wasn’t the bubbly “good girl” version of myself people were used to.

I was exhausted. Confused. Angry. Hurting. Trying to survive emotionally while pretending I was okay.

And unlike the movies, I didn’t exactly get some perfect happily ever after there either.

Eventually my mom found out how bad things had gotten and brought me back home.

I was able to return to my school, finish the year with my friends, take my exams, and I remember feeling genuinely relieved and happy to be home again.

Things slowly stabilized after that.

But I think that entire period of my life shaped me more than people realize.

I think that’s why I gravitated so easily toward people like Brittany during my senior year of high school.

She was blunt. Confident. Direct. The type of person who just SAID things.

She had backbone. She spoke honestly. She didn’t over explain herself constantly. She didn’t shrink herself to make other people comfortable. She wasn’t trying to be digestible all the time.

I admired that long before I fully understood why.

Meanwhile Brittany was just…herself.

Comfortable in her own voice. Comfortable taking up space. Comfortable saying things out loud that everybody else tiptoed around.

Deep down, I desperately wanted access to that part inside myself too.

I think part of why bluntness fascinates me so much now is because I used to be the exact opposite in the places that mattered most.

Especially with my dad.

I couldn’t stand up for myself with him.

Not really.

There was too much fear there.

Too much emotional unpredictability. Too much intensity. Too much fear of making things worse.

Eggshells.

So I learned to shrink around him. Monitor myself. Stay quiet. Keep the peace. Walk on eggshells.

And I think those “mousy” qualities people talk about? I HAD them.

Badly.

That’s part of why it frustrates me now when I see people unable to speak honestly or stand up for themselves, because deep down…it reminds me of who I used to be.

A version of myself that felt scared to fully exist.

Once I got into high school, I started hearing something completely different from the people around me.

My friends. My boyfriend. People close to me would say things like:

“Why don’t you stand up for yourself?” “You need to say something.” “That wasn’t okay.” “Stop letting people walk all over you.” "You heard that, right?"

That used to confuse me so badly.

Because it felt like I was being taught two completely opposite things at the same time.

Be kind. But not TOO kind. Speak up. But not TOO much. Be honest. But don’t make people uncomfortable. Be yourself. But not if yourself is too loud, emotional, blunt, intense, awkward, confrontational, opinionated, sensitive, or “too much.”

And deep down, my biggest fear was: “I don’t want to lose them.”

So every time I naturally said the thing everybody ELSE was clearly thinking but too scared to say out loud, I’d immediately feel it.

The look. The awkward silence. The kick under the table. The: “Why would you say that?” energy.

Eventually I started wondering if maybe something was wrong with me.

I genuinely questioned for years if maybe I was just socially different somehow because everybody else seemed able to naturally participate in these fake social performances that exhausted me.

People gossiping behind closed doors but acting fake nice in person. People secretly resenting each other while smiling at family dinners. People swallowing their real feelings to avoid confrontation. People walking on eggshells constantly.

Meanwhile I’m sitting there like: “…Are we not all seeing the exact same thing right now?”

I could FEEL tension immediately. I noticed energy shifts. I noticed fake behavior. I noticed when people were uncomfortable, passive aggressive, jealous, resentful, dishonest, performative.

It made me feel crazy sometimes because everybody else seemed willing to just play along with it.

So I learned to shrink.

I softened my words. Over explained myself. Over apologized. Over performed kindness. Over tolerated things that hurt me.

Because deep down, I thought: “But if I’m not nice…they’ll leave.”

Then I remember finally reaching my senior year of high school.

And ironically, it was Brittany. The very same girl who always told me: “You need to speak up.” “You need to stand up for yourself.”

And one day…I finally did.

I honestly don’t even fully remember what the situation was about anymore.

I just remember the feeling.

Pure nervousness mixed with adrenaline. My heart pounding. That shaky rush of fear mixed with confidence. And somehow, deep down, knowing it felt right.

I remember walking into the lunchroom where we usually sat.

And for the first time, I told someone clearly how something they said or did made me feel.

I remember saying what happened. That It wasn’t okay... That I was hurt. That we weren’t okay and I'm done pretending to be.

That was pretty much the gist of it.

That moment changed something in me forever.

Because for the first time, I realized speaking up didn’t kill me.

The world didn’t end.

“It’s not the end of the fucking world if they think you’re a bitch.”

She always said that.

And maybe that’s true.

Because when I really look back at the women I admired most growing up, they ALL carried qualities that deep down…I wanted to embody myself.

The blunt girls. The confident girls. The girls with backbone. The girls everybody misunderstood at first because they spoke directly and didn’t perform fake sweetness constantly.

Girls like Brittany.

Girls who were blunt. Direct. Honest.

Girls who said exactly what they meant instead of dancing around everything.

I loved that about them.

Even fictional characters too.

Buffy Summers. Cordelia Chase. Monica Geller. Lois Lane. Fiona Gallagher. Blair Waldorf. Georgia Miller.

Strong women. Blunt women. Emotional women. Protective women. Women with backbone. Women who took up space. Women who said what they meant and meant what they said. Women who loved hard but still had boundaries.

Women who weren’t afraid to be fully themselves.

It makes complete sense now why I gravitated toward personalities like that my entire life.

Because deep down, I think I always wanted permission to become that person too.

There’s a version of me that used to terrify me.

The louder version. The angrier version.

For a long time, I thought that side of me was the problem.

Because I knew if I wasn’t careful, pain could turn into rage. Hurt could turn into destruction. Fear could turn into emotional chaos.

Especially with BPD and splitting, where emotions can feel massive and consuming and all or nothing.

And honestly, my whole life has felt like trying to balance between two extremes.

Between being completely soft… and becoming completely hard.

Between being spineless… and becoming somebody cold.

Like I’ve spent years teeter tottering in the middle trying to find this perfect sweet spot between kindness and self respect. Softness and strength. Grace and boundaries.

Trying to honor the person I WANT to be… without becoming the person I’m afraid of becoming.

Because I am a Christian. I believe in light. I believe in kindness. I believe in forgiveness. I believe in leading with love.

But I also think people need enough darkness in them to protect themselves when necessary.

Enough anger to recognize abuse. Enough strength to say no. Enough backbone to walk away from things that destroy them. Enough fire to protect the inner child that never felt protected before.

And I think for years, I was missing that part entirely.

So I overcompensated with softness.

Trying to keep the peace. Trying to keep everyone else. Trying to make everybody comfortable. Trying not to upset people. Trying not to be abandoned. Trying not to be “too much.”

Meanwhile slowly losing pieces of myself along the way until eventually…I didn’t even know who I was anymore.

And I think that’s part of what made my identity crisis so intense for so many years.

Because when you spend your whole life shape shifting to survive different people, different households, different environments, different expectations, eventually you stop knowing which version is actually YOU.

You just know who everybody else needs you to be.

And eventually that becomes exhausting.

So eventually something inside me started fighting back.

Not because I became cruel. Not because I became heartless.

But because survival eventually sounds a lot like anger when you’ve spent your whole life swallowing yourself whole.

And maybe that’s part of healing too.

Not just becoming stronger.

But becoming the version of yourself your inner child would have felt safe running to.

The version of yourself that finally knows how to protect her. Comfort her. Speak for her. Stand up for her. Fight for her.

And I think about that a lot now.

Because the version of me I’ve become today? I’m proud of her.

Not because she’s perfect. Not because she always gets it right. Not because she never struggles.

But because she survived. Because she kept growing. Because she kept trying. Because she stayed soft without allowing herself to completely disappear anymore.

And one day, if I have daughters, I want to teach them that balance too.

That being a woman does not mean being one thing.

We are complicated. Emotional. Layered. Human.

We can be soft AND strong. Gentle AND protective. Forgiving AND boundaried. Loving AND honest.

And...I think another thing I’ve realized about myself over the years is that as much as I protect myself now… I protect the people I love even harder.

I may struggle trusting people sometimes. I may keep my circle smaller now. I may have stronger boundaries than I used to.

But when I love someone? I love fiercely.

I defend the people I love like nothing else.

And I think that’s part of why I relate so much to women like Buffy, Fiona, and lionesses in general.

Because softness and protectiveness can exist at the same time.

Loving deeply does not make someone weak.

Sometimes the strongest people are the ones who know exactly how painful the world can be… and choose to love fiercely anyway.

And I think society misunderstands feminine energy sometimes.

People talk about femininity like it only means softness. Quietness. Submission. Sweetness.

But real femininity in the real world is so much more complex than that.

Look at lionesses.

They nurture. Protect. Lead. Hunt. Fight. Love fiercely. Defend.

There’s softness there. But there’s also power.

And I think healthy womanhood is learning how to hold both.

And honestly, I think that’s part of why living on your own is so important too.

Because when you’re not constantly surrounded by other people’s expectations, emotions, routines, opinions, needs, moods, and identities… you finally get quiet enough to hear yourself.

When you’re not living FOR somebody. Not attached to somebody. Not emotionally enmeshed with everybody around you.

You finally get space to figure out: Who am I actually?

What do I like? What DON’T I like? What kind of life do I want? What kind of people do I want around me? What kind of woman do I want to become?

You finally get time alone with yourself.

Time to sit in your feelings. To think. To journal. To pray. To go to therapy. To clean. To cry. To scream. To laugh. To dance around your house with the speakers practically blown out. To make a mess. To eat a tub of ice cream alone in the bathtub. To drink wine straight out of the bottle. To ugly cry on the kitchen floor. To rest. To heal. To let things go.

Because there’s nobody there watching you. Nobody there stopping you. Nobody there telling you who you should be in that moment.

And I think for people who struggle with identity issues, trauma, people pleasing, BPD, or emotional enmeshment especially…that alone time becomes life changing.

Because when your entire life has been spent adapting yourself around everybody else, silence can feel terrifying at first.

But eventually? That silence becomes freedom.

Because for the first time, there’s nobody there telling you who you’re supposed to be.

And slowly, piece by piece, you start meeting yourself underneath all the survival modes.

And honestly? That’s usually around the same time people say love finds you when you stop looking for it.

Because once you finally start becoming yourself… and loving yourself… the right people can finally find the REAL you too.

Not the watered down version. Not the digestible version. Not the people pleasing version.

You.

And that’s exactly what happened to me.

I wasn’t looking at the time. I had practically sworn off men completely, honestly. Lol.

And somehow, that ended up being the exact season of my life where love found me anyway.

And now life has come full circle in the weirdest way.

Because now I meet girls who remind me of younger me.

Girls who apologize too much. Girls afraid to speak up. Girls terrified of confrontation. Girls who overthink every emotion. Girls who don’t trust their own voice yet.

And now THEY come to ME for advice.

That’s surreal.

Because somehow… I became their Brittany.

I became the blunt friend. The backbone friend. The “say it how it is” friend. The person they come to when they need honesty instead of performance.

And weirdly enough… I’m proud of that.

Because maybe everything really does come full circle.

Maybe the parts of ourselves we spent years getting punished for eventually become the exact parts that help other people heal.

“It’s not your job to be everybody’s ray of sunshine.”

That sentence changed something in me too.

Because I realized I had spent YEARS trying to make myself digestible for everybody else.

Easy to vent to. Easy to silence. Easy to access. Easy to misunderstand. Easy to keep around because I never fully challenged anyone.

“I need them.”

“No you don’t. You’re just digestible.”

That part hurt because it’s true.

Because sometimes people don’t deeply love you… they just consume you easily.

Some people only know how to love you when you’re convenient. When you’re soft enough. Easy enough. Quiet enough. Understanding enough. Small enough.

The moment you stop shrinking yourself… the moment you stop pretending… the moment you finally say what’s ACTUALLY on your mind…

suddenly you become “too much.”

Or worse: “A bitch.”

And honestly? I’ve realized I have fewer people in my life now because of that.

But the people who REALLY love you? The people who truly see you? They stay anyway.

Even when you’re not easily digestible like everybody else wants you to be.

Because real love is not built on convenience. It’s built on truth.

And the right people would rather have the real version of you than the watered down version that keeps everyone comfortable.

That used to terrify me.

Because growing up, I thought being liked came from being pretty, agreeable, kind, soft, easygoing, emotionally safe for everyone else.

But now life looks different.

My body changed. My health changed. My trauma changed me. My confidence changed. My voice changed.

And now sometimes my fear is the opposite.

What if people DON’T like me because I’m too blunt now? Too bold? Too intense? Too honest? Too emotional? Too confrontational?

I still fluctuate between those versions of myself constantly.

The people pleaser. And the woman who’s finally tired of betraying herself.

I think healing feels exactly like that sometimes.

One version of you is terrified to change because being agreeable kept you safe.

And the other version is begging: Please stop abandoning yourself.

There’s a version of yourself that eventually gets tired of watching you abandon yourself for everybody else.

Tired of watching you over explain. Over shrink. Over apologize. Over tolerate things that hurt you.

And eventually something inside you starts fighting back.

Because sometimes the angry voice inside you is not your enemy.

Sometimes it’s the version that pulled you back from the ledge over and over again. The version that finally said: “This is enough.” The version that got tired of watching you cry over people who crossed the line. The version that became the scream that saved you. The version that refused to let you disappear.

That’s exactly what healing feels like sometimes.

Not becoming somebody new. Not becoming cruel. Not becoming cold.

Just finally becoming someone who feels safe enough to stop shrinking.

Maybe “the switch” isn’t becoming a bitch.

Maybe it’s finally becoming someone who refuses to abandon herself anymore.

And maybe the strongest thing a woman can do is stop confusing being liked with being whole.

And maybe that’s the biggest shift of all.

Because I went from caring so deeply about being liked… to caring more about becoming whole.

Integrated. Grounded. Authentic. At peace with myself. Truly who I am.

Not the version built for survival. Not the version built to avoid abandonment. Not the version built to keep everybody else comfortable.

Just…me.

Fully. Honestly. Completely.

Even if that costs me people.

Because at the end of the day, I’d rather lose relationships built on performance than lose myself trying to maintain them.

And maybe real healing is finally deciding that being whole matters more than being liked.

Because becoming whole might cost you the wrong people.

But it won’t cost you the right ones...

“For am I now seeking the approval of man, or of God? Or am I trying to please man? If I were still trying to please man, I would not be a servant of Christ.” Galatians 1:10

Kristen, Unfiltered Xo 💋