The Bag I Didn’t Pack, and the one we don’t need to.

They packed sunscreen and sandals.
I packed silence and self-restraint.

Maybe you know the weight of that.
Maybe you’ve been the one who swallows disappointment, makes excuses for others’ behavior—not because it was fair or even right, but because someone had to. And that someone was usually you.
Maybe you’re already nodding your head.

Recently, some family members chose to do something. I wasn’t invited.
A trip they quietly hid from me.
I don’t care that they went.
I care that they concealed it. . . . . like children trying not to get caught.
That they made a choice that bypassed relationship in favor of comfort.
That they knew it might hurt me and did it anyway just quietly, so they wouldn’t have to see my face when it landed. It felt immature the way it was navigated.

But what hurts just as much, if not more, is that this isn’t the first time it’s happened.
I wasn’t asked. I wasn’t included.
I wasn’t even considered.
And it’s not jealousy. This isn’t about being center stage.

It’s about that aching question that rises up when you’re left out by the people you love most:

Am I even part of this? Do they see me as someone who belongs?

Maybe they thought I was too busy with work. Maybe they assumed I’d say no.
But… I wasn’t even given the chance. Not asked. Not told.
Just left to piece it together after the fact.

It makes me question my role as someone who has tried to hold space for others, only to find the space I thought I held shrinking.

And again, I felt the old pull:
Be the mature one. Don’t make a scene. Don’t let it hurt you.
Choose to think about what is true, and what I know now, and what I talk about in The BRAVE Way Home:

Boundaries are not about controlling others. They are about choosing yourself when others don’t.

I cannot change them.
I cannot make others behave differently.
I cannot force people to consider me.
I cannot parent people into emotional accountability.

But I can choose how I respond.
I can tell the truth about how it feels.
I can stop performing emotional resilience for the sake of preserving relationships that don’t preserve me in return.
I can let this hurt and still hold my head high.

This is what boundaries look like in real time not pretty, not perfect, but real.
They say:
I deserve to be considered, even if you didn’t. I deserve to be included, even if you didn’t think to.

And maybe the bravest thing I can do right now is to put the "maturity bag" down.
Not slam it down in anger (though everything in me wants to).
Not hand it off.
Just… set it down. Gently. Quietly.
And walk myself home.

Because no matter what others choose I choose me.

Breathing through the ache of being excluded, I remind myself:
My worth doesn’t vanish just because someone else failed to see it.
I can answer my own need for acceptance and comfort, instead of waiting for someone else to show up with it.
I don’t want to be the person, or the version of me, who begs for belonging.

Healing is not always confrontational.
Sometimes, it's simply refusing to carry what was never mine to carry.
Leaving breadcrumbs for someone else who’s trying to find their way back to themselves.

That is what this journey is about.
Pouring another cup of coffee.
Putting my hand over my heart and saying:

“I see you. I know this hurts. You are okay. This wasn’t part of what was meant for you. You are home.” TBH- I sat on my porch and rocked myself!

Because home isn’t always a place.
It’s a choice a deeply rooted return to yourself, especially when no one is offering a map.

And that is the brave way.

Author’s Note

I know sharing this comes with risk. I know some people especially those who struggle with their own honesty may feel uncomfortable with mine.
Yes, people sometimes weaponize the truth instead of receiving it.
But I don’t have to hand them ammunition.

I can tell the truth without naming names.
I can share my story without asking for permission.
I can protect my peace and let my healing be seen.

Because this isn’t about revenge.
It’s about release.

And if you’ve ever been hurt, left out, or silenced…….this story is for you.
Not to point fingers, but to open palms.
Not to shame anyone, but to remind you that you matter.
Your experience matters.

You don’t have to carry it anymore.
And you’re not alone.