Resilience isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s the way you choose to stand in your light, even when shadows show up uninvited.
I’ve asked myself this question a hundred times. "What would I do if I saw him in public?" It sounds dramatic, I know. But if you've ever had someone touch your life and then leave behind a trail of fire, you'll understand.
We live in the “same” area. We frequent the same mall. And when we were together, we had a discussion and shared how we both want to be more active in the lifestyle, to show up in the kink scene, on platforms, and in the community. So, the thought of running into him? Very real. During the 30-day no-contact period, I rehearsed scenarios in my head. Bumping into him? I told myself I’d keep it casual, keep it moving. Done. Easy.
But then new truths surfaced, things changed, and so did my mental rehearsals. Now, it wasn’t just about seeing him—it was about seeing them. Him and her. At the mall. At a kink party. The thought made me want to disappear into the floor. I spiralled through endless "what ifs," because that's what overthinkers do—we build every scenario, even the impossible ones, just in case.
And then, life being the little trickster it is, threw me a curveball. Not the mall. Not a party.
But rather, I received a call from my boss, she called out the number asked me to take it down and give them a call and ask for help on a case, and I did. I dialled the number no answer, *shrug shoulder* “I’ll just call again later, they were most probably busy.” And I went about my morning, only to receive a call I answered as usual. Only for the person on the other end to introduce themself.
It was him.
# Pause for Dramatic drums# DUN DUN DUUUUUNNN!!!
My jaw hit the floor. But on the outside? I played it cool. Gave him the rundown, got the info I needed, ended the call. Then I gaslit myself for the next 24 hours. Told myself maybe I imagined it. Maybe I misheard his name. Maybe I am going crazy…I know what he sounds like. And that didn’t sound like him, that person sounded so cold and distant. It definitely was not him I am officially CRAZY, I thought to myself.
But the universe doesn’t play jokes. I called again the next day, heart clenched tight in my chest, voice shaky letting the storm churning inside me come out. I asked him to confirm his name. He did. And in that moment, the truth crashed down on me like a wave—undeniable, heavy, real. My stomach flipped, my breath caught, and yet, I didn’t crumble, not entirely really, my voice was definitely shaky and breathless, but I pushed on, got to the point of why I actually called.
That second call left me feeling tense. It reminded me of how toxic professional relationships can become when personal history lingers. I’ve been there before—working with an ex, trying to fake normalcy after a terrible break up, it didn’t matter at the time because we were on opposite sides of the building and worked in different departments. But company changed departments merged, offices moved and there I was working closely with him. The cracks were visible from the beginning, my tone was different with him, my answers clipped and so were his. It was a terrible experience to say the least and I promised myself I would never put myself through that again.
So, I reached out..
“Hi, Nirvana here, I hope you are well, sorry to message so late, its been a busy day.
I just wanted to acknowledge that when I called yesterday, I genuinely didn’t know it was you I was contacting. That said, even if I had known, it wouldn’t have changed anything—I would’ve still reached out because this is about work, and I’m committed to doing my job well. I just wanted to put it out there, that I am coming into this space with no tension or hard feelings. Any hard feelings are separate from this and in general because there aren't any such "Hard" feelings anymore. I truly hope we can work together respectfully and professionally despite everything, and build a healthy, light and positive work dynamic moving forward.
Mkay, keep well”
I messaged with no expectation, I was not hoping for an answer or anything of that sort and I still don’t. I did it for myself, I didn’t want awkward silence or forced professionalism. It was all for me, I’m a bubbly person, I’m engaging and fun when talking with clients and service providers. That’s how I work best. I wasn’t going to dim that part of me to accommodate discomfort rooted in a shared past. So, I sent the message.
And you know what? I felt lighter. Not because I am waiting for him to respond or not respond But because I did what I needed to do. I chose me. I chose my peace. My growth. My professionalism. My wholeness.
That message felt liberating, it was a moment of emotional bravery, of choosing my inner peace over fear or pride. I set my stance and was not afraid of it. And I felt powerful, not because I just messaged him per say, but I showed up for myself.I have always been what we all call the classic "push over", I will put my comfort and peace at risk because I don’t want to inconvenience the next person, or I will not stand on my boundary so I can be accommodating of that person. Before I sent the message, I was eating myself up with overthinking and “what if he” but I asked myself “What if I put myself and how I feel first?”. And that did it for me, this whole incident can be looked at as a ripple effect, I showed up for myself, I showed myself that I can take up space for myself and that I can control certain things and situations, and that was an amazing feeling.
This is about me. It’s about resilience—the quiet, unwavering kind that grows in the aftermath. It’s about all the ways I’ve stitched myself back together, stronger at the seams. It’s about the woman who sent that message not with hope, not with fear, but with resolve. That was a moment of power, of choosing clarity and self-respect over silence. That’s resilience. It's about showing up for myself in situations that once scared the hell out of me. It's about acknowledging that the things I once feared are no longer bigger than me. I didn’t run. I didn’t hide. I stayed. I faced it.
It’s about the woman I’ve become—confident, grounded, self-aware. It’s about honouring how far I’ve come and how deeply I’ve committed to my healing. It’s about recognizing the way I’ve learned to lead with both strength and softness. It’s about learning to let go—not with bitterness, but with grace.
It’s about me learning to hold space for my joy again. My laughter. My radiance.
This is growth. This is healing. This is power.
To anyone reading this, wondering if they’ll ever feel stronger, more whole, more at peace— you will. Maybe not today. But someday soon, you’ll do something that used to scare you, and you’ll realize you made it. You’re doing it.
Resilience isn’t loud. Sometimes it looks like a quiet phone call—the kind you make even when your heart is thudding in your chest, or even how you refuse to let the past control the present. It’s not always grand or visible, but it damn is powerful.
Xoxo
Nirvana