I used to be toxic — and I didn’t even realize it 💀

I was toxic, and not even in the fun, chaotic, reality TV way.

If past me met current me, she’d probably roll her eyes and write a passive-aggressive blog post about it.

Looking back at my old blog posts…yikes.

The cringe compilation

You know those tasks you have to do but every inch of you refuses?

That’s how I felt about going back through my old blog posts to see which could boost my blog’s traffic, be edited to be more helpful or even be used for future blog post ideas.

I thought I was serving up tough love…turns out I was just being a jerk with extra adjectives.

Acting “all that”

I acted like knowing me and being “in” (whatever that meant) with me was something people should aspire for.

“If I feel safe with you, you should take it as the greatest compliment you’ll ever receive in the world.”

I used to think trust was something you won, like a prize at a carnival — after enough trials, enough emotional rollercoasters, enough “prove you’re on my side” moments.

Now I know trust isn’t a prize; it’s a process — built in small moments, not dramatic tests.

“I require a lot of patience. If I get upset because you don’t understand me, that’s on you. You need to be more patient with me.”

I used to think, “If they can’t handle me at my worst, they don’t deserve me at my best.” But…maybe my worst needed a little work.

Past me thought patience was something people owed me. Present me realizes it’s a two-player game.

“I require a lot of patience” is not the flex I thought it was.

“If I’m your best friend, WHY do you have another best friend?”

I thought “best friend” was a title you could only hand out once — like a rare Pokémon card.

Shocking discovery: People can have more than one best friend without it being a personal attack.

Blaming other people for my feelings

“Why did you ask me a rhetorical question and expect an actual answer? Obviously, you’re just trying to make me feel DUMB for not knowing the same things as you, which makes me push you away, despise you and hate you. It’s your fault.”

I used to think patience was something people owed me.

If I got upset because someone didn’t understand me, that was on them — they weren’t trying hard enough.

And don’t even get me started on rhetorical questions. If you asked me one, I took it as a personal attack.

Clearly, you were trying to make me feel stupid. Clearly, you were the villain.

Turns out, not everything is a test of loyalty, patience or intelligence.

Sometimes, people are just talking. Sometimes, miscommunication isn’t sabotage.

And sometimes, my worst did need a little work.

Imposing my discomfort on others

“I wish people would stop doing things that annoy and distract me, because then I can’t help yelling and then they’re upset because I’m yelling. DON’T ANNOY ME THEN.”

This one’s giving “I am the main character, and everyone else is just an NPC causing problems on purpose.” 🥴

Past me thought emotional regulation was everyone else’s responsibility. If you annoyed me and I yelled? That was your fault. You made me do it.

Present me has since learned that’s not how self-control works.

I used to treat my reactions like a law of physics — “You annoy me, I yell.”

Now I know that’s not how being an emotionally mature human works. Shocking, I know.

Savior/superiority complex

I used to think I was dishing out wisdom, but really, I was just serving up sass with a side of superiority.

“When I see things other people do wrong, I can’t help needing to fix it. I’ll name off the problems and they’re like, ‘I don’t know how to fix all of this,’ and that’s my chance to step in.”

Past me thought “helpful” and “overbearing” were the same thing. If I saw something wrong, I had to fix it — whether you asked or not.

And if you didn’t know how to fix it? That was my cue to swoop in like a control-freak superhero.

I didn’t realize that sometimes, people didn’t need solutions — they needed me to be there and listen.

“I wish people would be more grateful when I help them out. I went out of my way to help them with something, and then they don’t even care? They don’t even realize how much I’ve done. If I was gone, they probably wouldn’t notice until they wondered about something I was doing. By then, it’d be too late.”

I used to think my acts of service deserved standing ovations.

Turns out, helping people and expecting excessive gratitude isn’t kindness — it’s a transaction they didn’t sign up for.

I’d “help” and then sulk when no one noticed. But real kindness doesn’t come with an invoice.

Why I was toxic

I was writing from a place of pain and calling it wisdom.

Back then, I didn’t know anything about sensory needs, food allergies or even autism. I’d heard of Asperger’s syndrome, but information online was scarce.

I thought sarcasm and passive aggression were personality traits.

The version of me back then was a reflection of the people around her. She clung to pleasing her family, believing their acceptance would shield her from criticism.

Yet she desperately aspired to break free. She didn’t know any better — but the pain she caused back then had real consequences.

How I’ve grown

If I wrote those posts now, they’d be about self-compassion, not self-righteousness.

Distancing myself from my childhood caregivers and working with a therapist helped me see my familial relationships more objectively.

My family conditioned me to be a people-pleaser — to smile, to always be sweet — especially to men. But behind closed doors, they said the meanest things.

I learned early on that being “nice” was a survival tactic, while passive aggression and guilt-tripping were ways people communicated.

I picked up a lot of toxic behaviors from my environment without even realizing it.

I thought love meant proving loyalty through conflict, that trust had to be earned through battle, and that sarcasm was just a personality trait.

I expected people to prove my worst assumptions about them wrong, while simultaneously trying to prove their assumptions about me wrong.

It was exhausting — for everyone involved.

Learning about autism, boundaries and emotional regulation shaped who I am today.

• I’ve learned to assume less and listen more.
• I’ve realized that people’s assumptions about me say more about them than they do about me.
• I’ve stopped seeing every disagreement as a betrayal.
• And I no longer treat kindness as a transaction — it’s something I give freely, without expectation.

I’m not perfect, but now I pause before reacting. I sit with my emotions instead of lashing out. I no longer need to be “right” all the time. I let people be wrong about me because I know my truth.

Growth didn’t turn me into someone new — it helped me become more ME.

Turns out boundaries didn’t make me “mean” — they made me harder to manipulate. Who knew?!

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They say “growth is uncomfortable,” but no one warns you that the biggest discomfort is realizing you used to be that person. You know you’ve grown when your past self embarrasses you more than your middle school fashion choices.

Personal development is just a long series of “what was I thinking?” moments. The good news? I’ve changed. The bad news? The internet is forever.

And let’s be real — give it ten years, and I’ll probably cringe at this post, too. Growth is a never-ending cycle of embarrassment and self-reflection. Can’t wait.