Life lately has felt like a quiet power shift. Not dramatic. Not loud. But strong.
And it’s not about the people around me — it’s about me.
Me, learning that I don’t need to shout to be heard.
Me, choosing silence when baited.
Me, stepping away not to be rude, but to protect my peace.
There’s been a pattern in my days — something I’ve only just started really owning. When I talk things through, I feel strong. Calm. Clear.
But when I bottle things up, I slip. I fall back into overthinking, self-blame, people-pleasing, and shrinking myself to make others more comfortable. And I’ve done enough of that to last a lifetime.
The Shift
This weekend was full of those tiny moments that usually build up into chaos. The kind of tension that simmers in subtle ways — a facial expression misread, a plan questioned, a comment thrown like a dart wrapped in “concern.”
But instead of being pulled into it like I used to… I just didn’t bite.
I made plans to go see my nan during the holidays. Simple, right?
Yet somehow, that sparked subtle digs — questions about safety, the dog, the kids — not out of love, but out of control.
Normally I’d over-explain. I'd feel guilty. I’d change my mind to keep the peace.
But this time?
I calmly said, “I know dog behaviour. I’m fine.”
I didn’t ask for permission.
And when the topic suddenly switched to my son’s messy room, I clocked it for what it was: distraction.
I stayed neutral. I didn’t react.
And when dinner was “suddenly” ready in a tone laced with awkward peace offering, I replied simply:
> “Okay. Call me when it’s done.”
No sarcasm. No drama. Just detachment.
That moment of power — so small to anyone else — was massive for me.
The Emotional Whiplash
The swings between love bombing and criticism have become so obvious now. And I don’t dance to the rhythm anymore.
I’ve been standing firmer. Not nastier. Just clearer.
My face may not show smiles every time. My voice may stay calm instead of cracking with emotion. But every time I choose not to respond to bait, I take a little bit of me back.
Rooted in Rescue — and Resilience
It’s wild how much of this journey has mirrored what I learned from rescue work.
Working with animals taught me how behaviour stems from fear, insecurity, and survival.
It taught me how to spot patterns.
And now I see those patterns in people, too.
Especially the ones who panic when they lose control.
When I ran the sanctuary, I watched guinea pigs and rabbits go from scared and reactive, to peaceful and bonded — once you gave them space, consistency, and calm.
It’s the exact same with people.
Except I’m the one giving myself the space now.
And I'm also the one saying — kindly but firmly — “You don’t get to mess with my peace anymore.”
GGT: My Pocket of Purpose
Running Guinea Gourmet Treats right now is honestly one of the most grounding things in my life.
It’s where my energy goes instead of into pointless arguments.
It’s where I pour my heart when I feel overlooked or drained.
And it’s where I get to give back to the animals and rescues that remind me what real connection looks like — no manipulation, no power struggles. Just love, structure, and care.
Like right now — I’ve got a box of random leftover forage building up. Not enough for a full blend, but way too good to waste.
So I’m giving it away to a rescue — and letting the GGT community choose who gets it.
Why?
Because turning leftovers into love feels good.
Because giving feels better than explaining myself to people who don’t listen.
Because the rescue world taught me what showing up with heart really looks like.
Final Thoughts
I’m still learning how to hold my ground. Still practicing the art of being calm and unshakeable.
But with every silent exit, every emotion I don’t hand over, and every forage mix I post instead of argue — I’m choosing me.
And that version of me?
She’s got roots.
She’s got fire.
And she’s not going anywhere.
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