In late June, I found myself at the Mata Yuum gatherings, surrounded by people whose souls felt rare and luminous. In just four days, I was hooked on their warmth, their energy, and their presence. When I left, I carried the glow with me… and then the ache. Have you ever missed not just a person, but an entire energy?

A few days later, my phone lit up. A friend’s face appeared on FaceTime—but instead of the joy I expected, I froze. Bruises. On their arm. Their neck. Their back. My heart pounded. What would you do if someone you cared about was in danger?

The next morning, I drove down to San Diego without a second thought, booked us a week in an Airbnb, and helped them start packing. But why did they leave so much behind in their ex’s home? Was it attachment? Fear? Something else?

When I offered my apartment in the Bay Area, they accepted. At first, there were small acts of care—reorganizing, cleaning—done without telling me. Part of me felt grateful. But another part whispered, “This is my space.” Where are my boundaries in this?

Over time, the air between us changed. Every disagreement ended with the same threat: I’ll just go home. Over and over, the same words, like a weapon disguised as a choice. How many times can you hear the same ultimatum before it stops being a plea and starts feeling like manipulation?

And then, the obsession with reputation. They worried endlessly about what others thought. I wanted to say, Look at me. My own reputation had been torn apart before — back when I served on the boards of BAIA and BDABA. People were furious with me and my fellow members, and still, I stood. Why cling so hard to what others whisper?

I started this journey trying to rescue someone. But at what cost do we keep carrying someone else’s weight? When does compassion cross into self-betrayal? And if the person you saved starts draining the life out of you… do you keep holding on, or finally let go?

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