As my 47th birthday inches closer, I’ve found myself doing something I’ve never taken lightly: auditing my life.

Not just the visible things—the routines, the goals, the habits—but the quiet parts too. The relationships. The emotional labor. The things I’ve been carrying simply because they’ve been there for a long time.

If you’ve followed my blog, you’ll remember that during the tail end of COVID, I met a man through Facebook Dating. Yes—Facebook Dating. And yes, fast forward three years later, this is a man I was still dealing with.

But as I approach January 6, 2026, I knew one thing with certainty:
That relationship—situationship, really—could not follow me into this new year the way it was.

It was stale. Dry. Lifeless.

Much like the dry hair I chopped off on December 21, 2025. (We’ll come back to that in another blog.)

When You’re Present, But No Longer There

One evening, as he once again launched into a rant—this time about one of his two children’s mothers (women I’ve never met and whose names I still don’t know)—I noticed something shift in me.

He spoke about trauma from years ago. Old wounds. Old stories. Same complaints.

And while he talked, I dissociated.

Not dramatically. Quietly.

I was physically there, but emotionally gone—working on a journal cover, creating something for my future, while he stayed rooted in his past. I felt annoyed. Disgusted, even. Not because pain isn’t real—but because it had become his personality. His permanent state.

At some point, I asked myself:
Why am I still listening to problems that no longer involve me?

Wanting More Shouldn’t Be an Offense

Trying to redirect the conversation, I suggested we talk about us. About planning simple outings for 2026.

Nothing extravagant.

A park.
A movie.
Dinner out, not just picking food up and eating it separately.

That’s when the conversation took a turn.

He told me everything costs “BIG MONEY.”
He implied I didn’t have money to do anything for him.
He suggested my long-term plan was to wait three years before “attacking his wallet.”

And then—almost casually—he reminded me that I had asked him for gas money a few weeks earlier.

That moment told me everything I needed to know.

Choosing Peace Over Proximity

I realized then that this wasn’t about money.

It was about resentment.
It was about emotional immaturity.
It was about someone who saw my needs as a burden instead of a shared experience.

So I ended the conversation the only way that made sense.

I told him to get help for his unresolved trauma—and that maybe one day, he’d find a woman with the kind of money he believes is required to show up emotionally.

And I walked away.

What I Learned From Letting Go

Here’s what this season taught me:

• If someone complains every day and it stresses you out, it’s time to let go.

• Don’t stay connected to someone just because you’re afraid of starting over.

• Wanting more—more presence, more effort, more peace—is not asking for too much.

• Growth requires pruning. Even relationships.

Turning 47 isn’t about loss for me.

It’s about release.

And I’m walking into this next year lighter, clearer, and far more honest with myself.