bells of realization

"You know if a friend leaves you drained instead of energized after spending time with them, then they shouldn't be worthy of the 'friend' title..."

"Yeah, you're right," I replied, while her words rang in the corridors of my mind like loud church bells—normal bells yet the meaning behind them is much more powerful than their simple brass construction would suggest.

Church bells say that God calls, that it's never too late to repent, to cleanse your soul. The bells within me, though, they meant something different: it's never too late to clean your circle, to prioritize yourself, to place yourself on that pedestal that others have occupied for far too long. And to hell with everyone else...and for once, be selfish.

These internal bells tolled with a clarity I had never allowed myself to hear before. Each resonant sound marking the moments I had diminished myself, made myself smaller, emptier, to accommodate those who took and took without reciprocation. The times I had called depletion "friendship" and exhaustion "loyalty."

The revelation wasn't dramatic—no lightning, no sudden transformation—just a quiet acknowledgment that perhaps I deserved more than relationships that left me hollow. That perhaps boundaries weren't selfish but sacred. That perhaps my energy was not an infinite resource to be harvested by anyone who claimed the title of "friend."

Her simple observation had struck something fundamental, awakening a permission I had never granted myself: the permission to choose who deserves access to my inner world, my time, my spirit. The permission to walk away from connections that deplete rather than nourish.

And in that moment of clarity, selfish didn't sound like a criticism anymore. It sounded like salvation.