Choosing Alignment Over Attachment

It’s a strange time to be alive.

The political climate in the United States has divided people in ways I never remember experiencing before. Lines have been drawn through families, friendships, communities. Things that once felt like differences of opinion now feel like fundamental breaks in values.

For a long time, I tried to tolerate that. I told myself that love meant making room. That family meant endurance. That disagreement didn’t have to be disqualifying.

Until one day, it was.

A family member said some things to me that were hateful. The way he spoke, the way he treated me, the way he spoke about other groups of people — it all landed in my body as deeply wrong. Not uncomfortable in a passing way. Unacceptable in a way that made my chest tighten.

What struck me most wasn’t just how he spoke to me, but how little regard he had for anyone else’s pain. How easily he centered his own comfort and best interest while dismissing the suffering of others. And how clear he made it that disagreement would not be tolerated.

If you challenged him, even gently, you were shut down. Belittled. Punished.

It was intensely triggering. Not because of politics, but because of the posture. The entitlement. The demand for compliance. And in that moment, something in me didn’t negotiate.

I stepped away.

Completely.

I cut off all contact.

At first, I surprised myself. I had felt a real connection with this person. This wasn’t someone I had already emotionally written off. And there was a part of me that immediately questioned the decision.

Was I being too harsh? Was I overreacting? Was I just discarding someone because my feelings were hurt?

So I didn’t rush to justify it. I sat with it. I noticed what it felt like in my body to no longer be in contact. I paid attention to whether regret surfaced. Whether longing showed up. Whether I felt pulled to repair or explain.

It’s been more than nine months.

And I still feel exactly the same way.

I don’t miss him.

That surprised me more than the initial decision.

What I realized over time was that staying in that relationship required something from me that I was no longer willing to give. Silence. Complicity. Tolerance of attitudes that felt abusive, not just toward me, but toward others.

By remaining connected, I felt I was implicitly endorsing something that violated my values.

And after everything I’ve lived through, I am no longer willing to do that. This wasn’t an impulsive discard.

It was a deliberate boundary.

A choice made with grief, not anger.

It’s sad. It’s painful. It’s deeply unfortunate.

But it’s also clean.

I don’t have room in my life for people who require me to shrink, self-silence, or betray my own sense of what is humane in order to stay connected.

That’s not punishment.

That’s discernment.

And choosing it didn’t make me feel powerful or righteous.

It made me feel aligned.

For the first time, I wasn’t reacting from fear or habit.

I was choosing, consciously, what — and who — gets access to my life.

And I understand now that this is what freedom actually asks of us.

Not grand gestures.

Just the quiet willingness to walk away from what costs us ourselves.