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@jake_e.vaughn: si dance #fyppppppppppppppppppppppp #foryoupage #fyp #trending

Yvan Cruz
Yvan Cruz
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Friday 19 September 2025 10:48:20 GMT
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I carry a weight most of the people around me will never see. On the outside I respond, I organize, I listen — and on the inside my chest is tight from holding so many other people’s chaos. It’s exhausting being the person everyone runs to, especially when a lot of what they bring is not mine to fix. People unload their trauma and their drama on me as if I am a safe deposit box for their worst moments. They tell me things that hit old scars and pull at triggers I thought I’d patched up, and then expect me to be calm, helpful, grateful even. But every time I give, a piece of me frays. I am a people-pleaser. I say yes because I want peace, because I want affection, because the silence that follows “no” scares me more than my own depletion. That instinct used to feel like a superpower; now it feels like a trap that tightens every time I try to breathe. There’s this person — Hawk — who keeps coming after me. The way they target me isn’t always public; sometimes it’s a small, venomous nudge in DMs or passive-aggressive comments in group chats. It’s draining to always be ready for the next jab, to wonder if your name will be the one they pick today. Art is supposed to be safe for me — a place to create, to escape, to build community. But people tracing and passing off traced work as original cuts me in a different way. When someone claims a fully shaded tracing as “a base” it feels like my trust in the community is being erased stroke by stroke. I get furious — not because I’m jealous, but because tracing without credit cheats the people who learn, practice, and sweat over their lines. It undermines the craft and disrespects the hours and heart people pour into original pieces. That anger stays with me long after the heat of the argument dies down. Friend groups should be refuge, but my experience is the opposite: every time I’m around a certain group, drama follows like a shadow. I left once because it was too toxic, because I needed space to heal and to stop being their emotional garbage can. Leaving didn’t solve it — people still hold grudges and act like me trying to do my job as a mod is a personal betrayal. Being a moderator is a job with rules and responsibilities, not a personal vendetta against anyone. But they twist it, make it into something else: “She’s mean because she enforces rules.” That hurts, because enforcing rules means I’m trying to keep people safe — not hurt them. The resentment I get for doing what’s necessary chips away at me. I often question myself late at night: am I overreacting? Am I too sensitive? Then I remember the small patterns — the repeated disregard, the gaslighting, the people minimizing what I say. My instincts aren’t arbitrary; they’re self-preservation. I also feel guilty a lot. Guilt for wanting to step back, guilt for not being able to fix everyone, guilt for needing my own boundaries. Guilt makes saying “no” feel impossible, as if it would condemn me to losing people I care about. But the cost of giving away too much of myself is my own peace. There are days when the pressure turns into physical pain — headaches, stomach knots, the ache of an exhausted body that refuses to rest. My mind is buzzing with everyone else’s problems like a radio that won’t turn off. I lie awake replaying conversations, analyzing tone and punctuation as if meaning can be caught and fixed after the fact. I crave validation, but not the superficial kind. I want people to see the real work I do: the mediation, the quiet checks, the edits, the late-night messages to calm a panicked member. I want credit for the labor of care, for choosing community over chaos. Instead I get skepticism, rumor, and the occasional dramatic public rant. Sometimes I lash out, and I hate that about myself. The anger isn’t pretty — it’s sharp and it’s raw. But it’s also honest. When I finally snap, it’s because I’ve been compressing too much hurt into too small of a space. #vent
I carry a weight most of the people around me will never see. On the outside I respond, I organize, I listen — and on the inside my chest is tight from holding so many other people’s chaos. It’s exhausting being the person everyone runs to, especially when a lot of what they bring is not mine to fix. People unload their trauma and their drama on me as if I am a safe deposit box for their worst moments. They tell me things that hit old scars and pull at triggers I thought I’d patched up, and then expect me to be calm, helpful, grateful even. But every time I give, a piece of me frays. I am a people-pleaser. I say yes because I want peace, because I want affection, because the silence that follows “no” scares me more than my own depletion. That instinct used to feel like a superpower; now it feels like a trap that tightens every time I try to breathe. There’s this person — Hawk — who keeps coming after me. The way they target me isn’t always public; sometimes it’s a small, venomous nudge in DMs or passive-aggressive comments in group chats. It’s draining to always be ready for the next jab, to wonder if your name will be the one they pick today. Art is supposed to be safe for me — a place to create, to escape, to build community. But people tracing and passing off traced work as original cuts me in a different way. When someone claims a fully shaded tracing as “a base” it feels like my trust in the community is being erased stroke by stroke. I get furious — not because I’m jealous, but because tracing without credit cheats the people who learn, practice, and sweat over their lines. It undermines the craft and disrespects the hours and heart people pour into original pieces. That anger stays with me long after the heat of the argument dies down. Friend groups should be refuge, but my experience is the opposite: every time I’m around a certain group, drama follows like a shadow. I left once because it was too toxic, because I needed space to heal and to stop being their emotional garbage can. Leaving didn’t solve it — people still hold grudges and act like me trying to do my job as a mod is a personal betrayal. Being a moderator is a job with rules and responsibilities, not a personal vendetta against anyone. But they twist it, make it into something else: “She’s mean because she enforces rules.” That hurts, because enforcing rules means I’m trying to keep people safe — not hurt them. The resentment I get for doing what’s necessary chips away at me. I often question myself late at night: am I overreacting? Am I too sensitive? Then I remember the small patterns — the repeated disregard, the gaslighting, the people minimizing what I say. My instincts aren’t arbitrary; they’re self-preservation. I also feel guilty a lot. Guilt for wanting to step back, guilt for not being able to fix everyone, guilt for needing my own boundaries. Guilt makes saying “no” feel impossible, as if it would condemn me to losing people I care about. But the cost of giving away too much of myself is my own peace. There are days when the pressure turns into physical pain — headaches, stomach knots, the ache of an exhausted body that refuses to rest. My mind is buzzing with everyone else’s problems like a radio that won’t turn off. I lie awake replaying conversations, analyzing tone and punctuation as if meaning can be caught and fixed after the fact. I crave validation, but not the superficial kind. I want people to see the real work I do: the mediation, the quiet checks, the edits, the late-night messages to calm a panicked member. I want credit for the labor of care, for choosing community over chaos. Instead I get skepticism, rumor, and the occasional dramatic public rant. Sometimes I lash out, and I hate that about myself. The anger isn’t pretty — it’s sharp and it’s raw. But it’s also honest. When I finally snap, it’s because I’ve been compressing too much hurt into too small of a space. #vent
🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺والله احبه#لايك #فولو #حركة_الاكسبلور #وضفوني #beeeeso9 #معرض_الصور
🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺والله احبه#لايك #فولو #حركة_الاكسبلور #وضفوني #beeeeso9 #معرض_الصور
last clip so cute #jennie #jenniekim #jennieedit #jenniekimedit #jnkbabys
last clip so cute #jennie #jenniekim #jennieedit #jenniekimedit #jnkbabys
WASH YOUR HANDS
WASH YOUR HANDS

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