Something shifts

 

I think I’m starting to accept that I’m not just in people’s lives—I’m dropped into them like a match into a gas leak.

Something shifts when I show up.

Sometimes it’s good. Sometimes it’s chaos. But it always changes.

I’ve seen people rise after knowing me. I’ve seen them walk away stronger, braver, lighter. And I’ve seen it cost me more than I ever got back. Pieces of me stay with them long after they’re gone, like I’m bleeding parts of myself into the cracks they didn’t even know they had.

Maybe that’s the whole job. Maybe I’m here to fix something, even if fixing it leaves me empty.

Maybe that’s why there’s so little left of me some days.

And maybe that’s why I don’t end up in a lot of people’s lives—most don’t need what I bring, or they can’t survive it.

If I’m in your life, it’s not random.

Something’s going to break or heal, and I can’t promise which one comes first.

I’ve learned I can’t control it. God knows I’ve tried—and every time I did, it blew up in my face and left me gutted. So now I just let it happen. I show up. I burn bright. And when it’s done, I take what’s left of me and keep moving.