High Road

Welcome, lovelies and beau’s, to the final post in the New Beginnings and Transformations series. This post is the closing chapter—the aftermath of everything that transpired after the trip. But before diving in, consider this post as a symbolic representation of my first life coming to an end.

If you’re new here or need a refresher, I highly recommend starting at the beginning with “Tale of Two Lives”. Then, follow along with “The Adventure Awaits” and “Chaos Ensues” before arriving here at the “High Road”. These posts encapsulate the journey that shaped me into who I am today.

Reflecting on the first half of 2024, I recognize that I was focused on the unfairness I felt in certain situations. I spent a lot of time seeking solutions and trying to fix things, rather than accepting things as they were. I placed a lot of importance on how others perceived me, sometimes at the expense of my own needs. But despite all the challenges, one thing I held on to was my sense of loyalty.

Loyalty has always been a core part of who I am, even when it wasn’t reciprocated. There was a time, years ago, when I had the opportunity to tarnish someone’s reputation, yet I chose not to. Despite everything, I respected the relationship we once had even if I was no longer content with it.

However, back in my college days, I had my fair share of roommate conflicts. It’s almost inevitable—put four strangers under one roof, and tensions are bound to arise.

Imagine four people, completely unfamiliar with one another, suddenly sharing a living space. Each end of the hallway had two bedrooms, with roommates sharing a personal bathroom. For some, this might have been routine, but for me, it was my first time sharing a space like this. The transition wasn’t easy—it was an adjustment in every sense of the word.

And some experiences from that time still stand out. This is one of them.

At the time, I found myself in a heated argument with two of my roommates over something minor—though, in that moment, it felt all-consuming. Frustration ran high, emotions were intense, and I never could have predicted that this disagreement would take such an unexpected turn.

A few days later, I was called into a meeting with our apartment management. Confused, I sat down, only to be told I had been reported—for walking too loudly and slamming doors in my own apartment.

At first, I thought they were joking. I laughed out loud, only to realize they were equally confused. Wait, what? I was in complete disbelief.

Once the shock wore off, my instinct was to defend myself. Without thinking, I shifted the blame onto the two roommates I had been arguing with, subtly making them look bad in the process. In that moment, I felt justified. But guilt crept in almost immediately—something about it didn’t sit right.

Before I became close with my newest roommate—the one in the room next to mine—I had been much closer with the other two. We had already built a strong bond the semester before, and at the time, everything felt fine. So it didn’t make sense that they would report me without ever mentioning they had a problem with me. But I also didn’t think anything of it.

It wasn’t until the end of the semester that the truth finally came out. When I confronted my roommate, and she finally admitted that she had been the one to report me—not the two I had assumed. The betrayal stung even more because she was the one I trusted most, the person I considered my best friend.

Yet instead of coming to me and having an honest conversation about something I wasn’t even aware I was doing (aside from one moment of frustration), she went behind my back. And if that wasn’t enough, she and the other roommates even had a Christmas party—without me. It felt cruel and heartless, and she didn’t even seem to care about the damage she had unintentionally caused between the three of us.

That experience taught me a valuable lesson which is to never make assumptions. I was so sure that it had to be those two roommates—after all, why would the person I trusted most betray me like that? I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

Looking back, I should have known better. Before our falling out, I had been close with the other two. One helped me get involved on campus, and the other even offered to trim my shower curtain to the right length. But when I became close with the newest roommate, everything changed.

The signs were there, but hindsight is a catch-22. It’s always easier to recognize patterns in retrospect than it is in the moment. And honestly, that’s one of the reasons good-hearted people are so often taken advantage of—or not believed when they speak up.

This lesson goes far beyond just roommate conflicts—it extends to life itself, especially when it comes to trust, perception, and human nature. While we all face experiences that sting, wound us deeply, or shake us to our core, they ultimately teach us valuable lessons. These lessons help us grow and, in many cases, make us stronger. And for that, I am truly grateful.

Now you’re probably wondering—how do all these experiences connect?

Well a couple of years later, I found myself in a similar situation. But this time, I recognized it for what it was. I had a friend who constantly spoke poorly of others, and eventually, I realized I couldn’t be okay with that. I didn’t want to surround myself with people who constantly find issues with anything and everything—especially when those circumstances are within their control. It’s an entirely different situation when they’re not.

So, I spoke up.

Soon after, we had a disagreement, and tensions began to rise. Over time, I began to sense a shift in our friend group. It felt like I was no longer a part of it, even though I had been the one to welcome her in. That alone made me realize something wasn’t right. Eventually, I confronted her about it. While she acted surprised and hurt, it felt more like a reaction to being caught than genuine emotion.

A short while later, a third party wanted to get to the bottom of things, so they heard us out individually. When we were alone, they made questionable comments about her and others that I knew were wrong. I refused to join in, having been through something similar before. My goal was to understand her perspective, not tear her down. Even when things escalated and she treated me horribly, I still refused to stoop to that level. After all, it was a lesson I had already learned, and I wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.

I’m not sure if it’s the weight of being misunderstood or the injustice of it all, but I can’t pinpoint a single moment that led to my victim mentality—because there wasn’t just one. It wasn’t me against the world; it was me standing up for better conditions, for fairness, and for understanding. Ever since I found my voice, I’ve had a deep passion to advocate, not just for myself, but for others as well. Maybe I didn’t always handle things perfectly, but my intentions were always pure.

Time and time again, though, I found myself in the same situation—one where my perspective was overlooked. Instead, others' perceptions or opinions were taken as the truth. The more I tried to share my side of the story, the more I felt dismissed.

It became a pattern—a snowball effect of misunderstandings.

I wasn’t depressed, but I found myself stuck in an environment that perpetrated these circumstances. This caused me to feel unmotivated, stressed, and withdrawn. I stopped sharing my ideas, my creativity, and my problem-solving. I stopped interacting with others because, no matter what I did, there was always resistance.

I built walls, hoping someone would care enough to break them down. Unfortunately, that’s not how things unfolded. Instead, the snowball effect continued—job loss, family conflicts, and fallouts—only deepening the divide.

The fallouts were a harsh awakening. Everything changed the moment I got home from the trip. It was as if I had been jolted awake from a dream I had been living in for far too long because before the trip and job instability, I was content. I didn’t question much. I was grateful for my life, my relationships, and the world around me. I felt on top of the world.

When friends talked about disagreements with their families, I couldn’t relate—I had never experienced anything like that. Sure, I got upset from time to time, but I was quick to forgive and move on. There had never been a time when we didn’t talk. I felt fortunate.

I also had a close-knit group of friends who, although they hadn’t always been there for me during my struggles, had supported me in other ways. I loved each of them for who they were and believed they were dealing with their own challenges. I remained firm in the belief that the connections we shared were genuine, and that they loved me for who I was, just as I loved them for who they were.

But after the trip, everything shifted. It was like I was awoken with a new perspective on life. I started questioning everything.

For the first time, I realized that while I had always viewed my childhood as positive, there were also moments of hardship and confusion I had never fully acknowledged. My parents divorced when I was young. I lost a brother. The pets I loved passed away. My grandparents, who had helped raise me, were gone. The family dynamic grew more distant and less supportive. And things no longer felt the same.

Sure enough, regrets surfaced. Unspoken grief made itself known. And suddenly, my perfectly intact world felt like a mess.

I also began to notice the gaps in my relationships. Growing up, I had always felt guilty for not being able to spend more time with my nieces and nephews or spoil them when I had the chance. With one challenge after another, I never had the stability I had always dreamed of. At one point, I even made the difficult decision to buy gifts only for my friends on their birthdays and my relatives during the holidays, just to balance out my earnings.

At the same time, I realized that while I felt guilty for not spending enough quality time with some of the most important people in my life—my nieces and nephews—I had experienced the same thing growing up. Outside of my parents (for the most part) and grandparents, no one came to my sporting events or extracurricular activities. Not even close friends showed up for significant events in my life.

It was a painful realization.

My journey forced me to confront the true nature of my relationships. When I started spending time with my new friend from the plane, I noticed an immediate shift. Two family members seemed unusually focused on this new connection, almost as if they were overly concerned. Meanwhile, my family felt more distant or out-of-touch than ever. They refused to visit or check in, and it was as though they had pulled away. As for my friends, communication became sparse. Weeks would go by without a word from them, which was so unusual. They had always been compassionate and empathetic, but suddenly, it felt like everything changed overnight—or maybe, I had finally started to see these relationships for what they truly were. I tried to tell myself that they were just busy, but the reality was that I was in the hardest period of my life, and I needed them.

Despite years of friendship, I came to the painful realization that I didn’t really know some of my closest friends on a deeper level. I didn’t know their favorite color, their favorite meal, or their favorite trip. I had sensed a lack of intimacy in my friendships for years—not in a romantic sense, but in the way you truly understand and connect with someone. So, I tried to bridge that gap. I created a question jar, hoping to deepen our connections and get to know my friends better. But instead of embracing it, it felt like I was being shamed for wanting that kind of bond. It was as if who I was—someone who genuinely cared—wasn’t fully accepted. And that realization stung.

Shortly after, it felt like everyone in my life began to shift. Suddenly, texting wasn’t enough—everyone preferred phone calls or voice memos. But when I agreed to that, it felt like I was the one who was bending over backwards. I’ve always preferred texting because it gives me time to organize my thoughts and express myself clearly. On the phone, I often freeze, forget my words, and feel all over the place. The conversations also felt more confrontational rather than open and meaningful.

It was frustrating. I had spent so much of my life prioritizing others, but when I finally started putting myself first, it didn’t seem to make any difference to those around me. From that point on, it became clear—they didn’t truly like me for who I was. Yet I had loved them for exactly who they were. The feeling just wasn’t mutual.

I also started noticing a shift in my connections on social media. It felt like I was under a microscope, being judged for the way I chose to live my life. When I began painting again, I was told to "give credit where credit is due," as if I wouldn’t, or given unsolicited advice like not keeping passwords on my phone. It was as though everyone suddenly knew more about my life than I did. It was a strange, almost surreal experience.

It could’ve also been the result of back-to-back difficult situations that had worn me down. Right after, I became more sensitive, and when I tried to set boundaries, they didn’t quite work out the way I hoped. It felt as though my boundaries were being used against me, to treat me as less than. It was a confusing time for a while, trying to navigate through it all.

In the end, realized something crucial—the only person who would truly be there for me, no matter what, was me. I had to break down the walls I had built for protection. I had to re-learn how to trust myself again, to listen to my instincts, and to show up for myself the way I had always shown up for others. And once I did that, I no longer saw myself as a victim of the situations that had knocked me down. Instead, I took the time I needed to heal, recharge, and rediscover who I was. I started to rebuild from within. And I began letting go of what no longer served me. And in doing so, I found myself again.

As for what the future holds, I’m open to the possibility of reconnection. I believe that when the time is right, we may find our way back to one another. I truly wish everyone nothing but the best—even if we didn’t part on the best of terms. We’re all human, and we all deserve to be treated with respect. Communication is one of the best ways to make sure that happens.

With that said, I’m excited for what’s to come! I look forward to having everyone back on Monday, February 10th, 2025, for a new series, Rising From the Ashes. Don’t miss it! I’ve also created a poll that I plan to share again on Instagram and LinkedIn. In it, I asked if there’s any interest in me speaking up or sharing more about certain issues, and I also included a follow-up asking what types of issues people are interested in. While I’ve received feedback encouraging me to speak up more, I’m curious to know which topics you’d like me to focus on. Please look out for the poll, and I can’t wait to hear your thoughts!

As a signature of my blog, I’d like to end this post with a suggestion to “Pass on kindness.” There’s no time like the present to Inspire Those Who Inspire You. Acts of kindness, no matter how big or small, can have a direct, positive impact on someone else. Go out there today and change someone’s life for the better!

**These are my personal opinions and may not be those of my employer.**