Makingsenseofwhathappened - Makingsenseofwhathappened

To Anyone Who’s Still Carrying It

You don’t get over it in a straight line. You just don’t. And anyone who tells you different hasn’t been through it or hasn’t faced it yet.

Harassment doesn’t always leave bruises you can point to. It gets under the skin in quieter ways. It makes you second-guess what you heard, how you felt, what you wore, what you said. It can turn a job into a minefield and your own instincts into something you stop trusting.

And it doesn’t end the day you leave the job, or file the report, or speak the truth out loud. Sometimes it lingers. In your body. In your sleep. In how you walk into new rooms.

But here’s what I know: healing doesn’t have to look heroic. It’s not always confrontation or closure. Sometimes it’s just getting through the day without that weight taking over. Sometimes it’s finding one person who listens. Sometimes it’s deciding to stay. Or leave. Or try again.

Whatever it looks like --- that’s valid. You’re allowed to move forward without explaining why it hurt or proving that it did.

It was real. You’re not imagining it. And you are absolutely not alone.

Most people think of harassment as a “moment.” But it’s what happens after — the isolation, the doubt, the silence — that changes your life.

It wasn't a secret. It was a system.

Tree swallows.

Birds around New York city. 1942.

Internet Archive

“I always knew the world moves on.

I just didn’t know it would go without me.”

The Cost of Staying

Sometimes it’s not that you didn’t want the job.

It’s that you wanted it too much.

You worked too hard. Put up with too much. Got good at things you never thought you’d be good at. Found your rhythm. Found your people. Maybe even started to believe you belonged there.

And then it changed.

Or maybe it didn’t. Maybe it was always like this and you just finally let yourself admit that the cost was too high.

That staying meant watching someone else get away with it. That staying meant shrinking a little bit each day. That staying meant carrying your own silence like it was professionalism. Like it was maturity. Like it was strength.

But here’s the truth no one wants to put on a poster: Sometimes leaving is the only way to protect yourself.

And that doesn’t mean you failed. It doesn’t mean you weren’t strong enough. It means the place wasn’t safe enough.

And maybe that’s not the ending you deserved, but it’s not the end of your story either.

4th thing maybe: who did you 'work for' and why?