Ever since I was young, and old enough to recognize how unkind people can be, I began yearning for solitude. I longed to exist in my own protected bubble, to live for no one else but myself and my happiness. I didn’t want to carry the emotional weight of others through their expectations, their feelings or the constant awareness of what they might be thinking about me. I didn’t want to perform. I didn’t want to explain. I just simply wanted to exist happily. And to me, that felt like the purest form of freedom. Sadly though, the uncomfortable truth is that humans were never meant to live entirely alone. We are social creatures by nature, wired for connection, attachment and belonging. Complete isolation isn’t sustainable, no matter how peaceful it may seem on the surface. There’s something quietly tragic about that realization to me, because I’ve discovered that I am the happiest when my world is small. When my circle is limited. When I am alone or surrounded by only the few people that I know, without a doubt, genuinely care about me. Also, equally tragically, after more than two decades of living, leaning and unlearning, I can only count those people on one hand. Toxic social environments have a way of convincing us that connection must come at the cost of our peace. That we must endure the discomfort, emotional neglect or subtle cruelty just to avoid being alone. But solitude, when chosen intentionally, is not loneliness. It can be refuge. It can also be healing. It can be the space where we finally hear ourselves think, feel without judgment and reconnect with who we are beneath all the unnecessary noise. There are days when I grieve for my dignity when I remember how harshly I was criticized for simply being myself. How easily I was overlooked, how often I was brutally set aside. Like a forgotten furniture pushed into a corner, covered up, hidden and eventually forgotten. I don’t know how many people have felt this way, but for the most of my life, sometimes even among those closest to me, I have always felt either overheard or overwhelmed, never quite in the middle. And eventually, I just grew tired. It made me realize the despite being adults, old enough to build lives, careers and have families, some people just never outgrow their playground bully phase. They simply transform. The behavior just evolved, more socially acceptable, yet no less damaging. And even when we’re well into our adulthoods, there will always be people like that. Rarely do I feel fulfilled in social situations, especially when I find myself surrounded by certain groups. Most of them probably didn’t realize the impact of their words or the way they treat others, but sometimes, I simply don’t have the energy to endure it anymore. Defending myself feels futile. They are often too closed-off to understand. Staying silent, on the other hand, is just as exhausting. Just how much is one person expected to carry, anyway?
I’ve made peace with the fact that no one can ever fully know or understand another person. Still, there are some moments when I wish someone had tried, truly tried. Even a sliver of understanding would have meant something. A little compassion would have gone a long way, especially when I had offered them more than enough of my own. Then again, this is a harsh world we’re living in. We can’t always get what we want. But we can, fight for what we need and right now, what I need most is peace. If that means choosing silence, resilience or choosing to disengage in spaces filled with people who do not inspire, nourish or respect me, then so be it. Not every environment deserves my presence, and not every voice deserves my response. What I’m trying to say is simple: pick your battles.
Not every opinion carries weight, and not every judgment deserves to be internalized. Sometimes, it’s healthier to accept that some people simply do not know any better and likely, never will. That’s not arrogance, it’s clarity. You do know better. You know what costs you your peace and what preserves it. In a world that constantly demands emotional access, discernment becomes an act of self-respect. Perhaps this is where a small, quiet ‘god complex’ becomes necessary. Not one rooted in superiority, but in sovereignty. The belief that your inner world is sacred, and that you alone decide who gets influence over it. Choosing peace is not avoidance, it is wisdom. And nothing, no validation, no argument, no fleeting sense of being right, is more important than protecting it. Sincerely, Cherie. (PS: Sorry if I hadn’t been writing here as much lately. I’m currently dealing with a private family emergency. I’ll try and write some more when I find the time. Until then, thank you for the understanding). The Whiffler is free today. But if you enjoyed this post, you can tell The Whiffler that their writing is valuable by pledging a future subscription. You won't be charged unless they enable payments.
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Monday, 29 December 2025
So I've Decided That My Peace is Expensive.
Sunday, 28 December 2025
Neurodivergence & Mortality
Death is a topic that the wider human race often avoids. It is an uncomfortable truth that one day, we will be gone from this world. It’s as though much of human kind is pre-occupied with a collective denial of our mortality. Of course, this somewhat makes sense; if we acknowledge the temporary nature of our existence, it raises complex questions about purpose and the value in striving to achieve more. For neurodivergent people, particularly Autistic people, this conversation is further complicated. Our life expectancy is generally shorter, and we live with an increased threat of death via interpersonal violence. My own personal experience of the topic is wrought with trauma. Death is at the core of my acquired neurodivergence. It is my fear of death that drives my Schizophrenic paranoia. It has taken many years of reflection to realise that. So, I find myself constantly battling with the question of whatnthe purpose is in my existence, and if there is any point in trying to achieve good things if one day they’ll be largely forgotten anyway. Having recently been diagnosed with liver cirrhosis these questions are prominent to me. I am, of course, a parent. A major part of my existence is for the love I have for my children. My departure would cause immense pain to others, and I would rather that wasn’t my legacy. However, on the broader question of my purpose as a mortal creature, I find myself again returning to Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell:
My physical, even conscious existence in this world may be temporary. That is the truth of most human experiences. However, the words and actions that I release into the world forever alter the trajectory of the future. Even in simple terms, I am constantly changing the path of photons that have travelled through space. They reflect off my body, and their path will never be the same again. I talk to others, and they internalise the little comments that I don’t even notice, then carrying them to others, who carry them to others, and so on. Simply by existing, I alter the path of the universe. As such, I find I am less lost when it comes to the purpose of my temporary existence. Because, it would seem, my physical body is the only temporary part of this existence. The ramifications of my being here will go on for all of time, even if only in a small way. In fact, it is likely that the result of my existence will grow exponentially as time continues. So, while mortality drives a lot of my existential dread, there is a strange comfort in the fact that my actions, and the actions of my neurokin, will long outlive the human race. It would seem that there is something we owe to this world, and that is to release as much mindful kindness into the world as we can before our temporary embodiment ceases. We are not as mortal as it would seem. You're currently a free subscriber to David Gray-Hammond. For the full experience, upgrade your subscription.
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Dear Reader, To read this week's post, click here: https://teachingtenets.wordpress.com/2025/07/02/aphorism-24-take-care-of-your-teach...
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A slightly unconventional guide to your first time ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ...
