And just like that, I became the drama.
I woke up one day and it hit me that the version of myself that existed only to make other people comfortable had to be burned to ashes — and scattered somewhere beautiful, so I could always remember the girl I used to be. Because that girl? She made me the woman I am today. She laughed at things that hurt. She stayed silent when she should’ve screamed. She shrank herself to stay safe — because small was likable. Small didn’t ruffle feathers. Small didn’t get talked about.
Or so she thought.
But here’s the truth: even when you’re soft, they’ll still find a way to walk all over you — until you’re nothing but dust. And the worst part? The people who do it are always dressed like friends. Hollywood-actor frenemies (friends turned enemies). Co-stars in your life story who turn into villains halfway through the season until one day you look around and realize they’ve taken everything, they sucked the life out of you. What’s left is a half-dead version of you. People who meet you in your most vulnerable state, charm you with loyalty, drain you for parts, and walk out with your light — fully rebranded with your stories, your softness, your soul.
And you’re left standing in the aftermath wondering how you didn’t see it sooner.
The truth is, I saw the red flags, but I was too busy blaming myself to notice I was bleeding. I thought if I was generous enough, selfless enough, patient enough, they’d see my worth. But people like that don’t want to see you. They want to use you. They want to take every tool you spent years collecting — your kindness, your empathy, your intuition — and twist them until you don’t recognize yourself anymore.
And when they’re done, they write their own version of the story. In their version, you’re the problem. The villain. The jealous one. The unstable one. The one who couldn’t handle their shine. The girl who ‘changed.’
And you know what? They’re right. I did change. I stopped being a doormat and started being a door that stays locked.
After hundreds — maybe thousands — of the same tired dynamics, I realized I was never too much. I was just too aware. And that made me dangerous to people who weren’t enough for themselves. They caught me in a weak moment and confused access with ownership.
But never again. Now I’m becoming.
Becoming feral. Becoming alive. Becoming a bitch. A bitch who is unavailable to people who show up to drain. Becoming the woman that stands on business, because you don’t get it its not clocking to you??? I’ve become the bitch that doesn’t apologise for taking up space – or leaving the group chat when the energy gets ugly.
Becoming someone I’d gossip about isn’t about being flashy or problematic or perfect. It’s about knowing better. It’s about honoring every gut feeling I used to gaslight myself out of. It’s about refusing to entertain pick-me’s and shape-shifting social climbers with rehearsed charm and selective memory. It’s about not staying quiet just to keep the peace — because that silence always comes at your own expense.
I see through the performance now. I’ve rewritten the script. And I’m no longer pretending to be a supporting role in other people’s stories.
So yes — I became the drama. But I also became the boundary. The upgrade. The lesson.
And to all the jealous bitches who tried to copy and paste my personality — keep trying. You can mirror my mannerisms, steal my stories, even quote me word for word — but you’ll never recreate my lore.
Because I’ll never be the girl I used to be. But I’ll always thank her — because she survived hell long enough for me to finally take the lead.Â
The worst mistake they made was underestimating a woman who’s always in her prime — even at rock bottom.
