Paranoia Purple

This Ain’t That

Have you ever found yourself deep in a discussion—or worse, an argument—and suddenly realized you’re not entirely talking to the person in front of you? Instead, you’re having a conversation with someone from your past. Someone who no longer holds space in your life but whose impact lingers. The conversation splits. You’re engaging with ghosts, shadows of people who shaped what you don’t want and can’t bear to live with again. It’s like you’re constructing a moat around the castle of your emotional well-being, laying bricks between you and this new person—bricks they didn’t earn.

You’re projecting into a future you dread repeating, even though you've done the work—therapy, reflection, reemerging into the world, testing your healing. Yet, fragments of your former self surface. That wounded person within you is striving to make peace, set boundaries, and shield themselves, sometimes with anyone nearby, not necessarily the right someone.

We are the sum of our parts—our experiences, the love we’ve received, the pain we’ve endured. Each interaction, each new connection, experiences a piece of those parts. For those who’ve faced deep, traumatic pain and courageously sought healing, the work is not just for self-preservation. It’s also to prevent that pain from spilling onto others. Healing becomes a stopgap against further harm.

In those moments when you see yourself slipping back into old patterns, reacting from old wounds, it’s hard to discern whether you’re setting healthy boundaries, running away, or self-sabotaging. The lines blur. Overthinking kicks in. Am I protecting myself or closing off? Why am I trying this again? Am I capable of healthy relationships, or am I doomed to repeat the same cycles with different faces? Why am I spiraling into these thoughts?

And then you pause. You gather all the versions of yourself at a roundtable of the self. You reassure the heart-pricked version that they are safe because you are their safety. You remind yourself that you’ve grown to love yourself so deeply that you won’t remain where your heart is unwelcome. You turn to your healed self, asking them to lead, to illuminate the path, while the less elevated parts take a back seat. You accept that this internal dialogue will recur, and that’s okay. Healing does not make perfection—it makes space. It’s a guidebook that protects and redirects, helping you find the light when you stray. We will lose our way when we are courageous enough to journey forward. Life is nothing if not motion, back and forth between our parts, our lessons, and the magic of what we build when all of it connects.

This ain’t that. It’s something new, something potentially frightening. But the light will always guide you back.

You are safe. You— are your good thing.