You Don’t Get to Skip the Broken Version of Me

A reflection on grief, healing, and who gets access to you after the storm.

There’s a version of me that many people didn’t stick around for.
The version of me that was cracked wide open by grief—
that wept on kitchen floors, sat in silence for days, and questioned everything I ever thought I knew about love, life, and loyalty.

When my mother passed, the grief was earth-shattering. But what I wasn’t prepared for—what no one warns you about—was the secondary loss.
The people who disappeared.
The silence from those I thought would show up.
The gaping absence of friends who knew I was hurting but chose distance over discomfort.

Let me be clear:
I will forever grieve my mother.
That will never change.
But grief evolves. It changes form. It softens around the edges and makes room for other things—clarity, boundaries, courage.

I’ve spent years working through not only the pain of losing my mother, but also the pain of losing people I once loved—people I thought would be there. And my way of healing has never been loud. I chose to walk away quietly. I chose to let the layers of my grief heal individually and slowly. I gave myself time.

So now, on this side of healing, I say this with love and without apology:
You don’t get to cozy back up to the healed version of me if you abandoned the broken one.

This isn’t about bitterness.
It’s not even about forgiveness.
It’s about boundaries.
About understanding that not everyone deserves access to who you’ve become—especially if they couldn’t be there when your world fell apart.

And if you’re reading this, nodding your head with tears stinging your eyes, know this:
You’re not wrong for remembering how people showed up—or didn’t.
You’re not unkind for being protective of your peace.
And you’re not heartless for not wanting to offer grace where grace was never extended to you.

💭 Food for Thought: If You’re Struggling With Who to Let Back In…

1. Ask yourself: “Do they deserve access or just proximity to my glow-up?”
   Some people don’t want you, they want the healed, polished version of you they think they can benefit from. Know the difference.

2. Remember that grief is a loyalty test—pay attention to who stayed behind the curtain.
   Who showed up when there were no posts, no parties, and nothing to gain? That’s who gets a front row seat. Everyone else? Balcony seats at best.

3. Honor your healing by not shrinking your standards.
   You didn’t put yourself back together just to let someone who dropped the ball pick it back up like nothing happened. Honor your work. Protect your restoration.

I’m not a mental health professional.
I share stories and truths from a life lived in love, loss, and the slow, brave journey back to myself.

And a big part of my healing came from founding The Heart of Miss Bee, Inc.—a space to honor my mother, and to walk hand in hand with others navigating grief on their own terms.

If you’re out there, healing quietly, I see you.
Keep going. And remember—not everyone deserves access to your afterglow.

With love and protection,
Kinyatta