🌵 Let Go of the Cactus: A Prickly Tale of Pain, Guilt, and Liberation

🎭 Cue the Martyr Monologue

Once upon a time (okay, like… last Tuesday and also every year before that), I was the emotionally evolved equivalent of cactus hugger.
Not in a sweet, plant-loving way.
More of a “grip-the-pain-until-I’m-bleeding-just-to-prove-a-point” kind of way.

Apparently, my subconscious had its heart set on winning an Emmy for my emotionally overproduced miniseries of suffering—complete with dramatic monologues, slow zooms on tear-filled eyes, and lots of unnecessary voiceover.

But if an Emmy couldn’t be won, then my ego was more than happy to settle for an Oscar—for the feature film version of my pain.
Cue the emotional cinematography, award-winning costume design (emotional armor, obviously), and a climactic betrayal scene in a thunderstorm.
Very Best Actress in a Codependent Role, if I do say so myself.

🧃 The People, the Pain, and the Prickles

When people hurt me—like, say, my ex-husband, who emptied our joint bank account while I guilt-spiraled over falling in love with someone else…

Or Nikki, who confessed to having an affair with my boyfriend Duane in a group meeting she orchestrated. She declared to the group that she would apologize but instead filled my DMs with steamy plot twists…

Or Kevin, who volunteered to ban Nikki from the group for her orchestrated attack on me, then dropped the ball—and came back later to say I dropped the ball…

Or my friend Nyra, who struggled with jealousy and competitiveness, projected that on me in a rather heinous way, and shortly after attempted to start a sexual relationship with my boyfriend Dustin…

And let’s not forget the school district I work for—ah, the beautiful, fear-based land of fines, fees, and policies designed like spiritual obstacle courses.

I must admit: I often cling my resentment like it’s a 401k.

As you can see, this future Emmy-winning martyr is not short on grievances.

🛋️ Feng Shui’ing the Emotional Carnage

When those moments happened, I didn’t just feel pain.
I made a home in it.
Decorated it.
Feng shui’d the emotional carnage.
I treated my pain like it wasn’t real or valid unless I was continuously bleeding.

So naturally, I wrapped those cacti in a big ol’ bear hug to ensure I kept bleeding.

My ego—ever so punctual when I’m in pain—entered the stage with a clever little twist:
I believed, and wholeheartedly defended, my right to judge the transgressions of others.

They hurt me, and they owed me an apology, damn it!
Letting go was NOT an option.
Letting go meant they “got away with it.”
Letting go meant they were right, and I deserved the pain.
Letting go meant I was folding my boundaries. Gasp! Heaven forbid!

Clearly, I’m the sole guardian of justice in this dimension, and I carry out my judgment with a holy decree of bitching and moaning 🙄.

🌵 The Cactus Isn’t the Problem

But here’s the thing about pain:
You can’t heal when you’re busy blaming the cactus for being spiky.
(Read: blaming humans for being human.)

It took me a long time to realize I was the one with a death grip on the damn cactus.

Sure, I’d been poked by the unloving cactus spikes of others. But if I had pulled out the cactus needle and LET IT GO—if I had forgiven the cactus for being a damn cactus—the wound would have healed in relatively short order.

Instead, I did a body-surfing dive into the whole thicket of cacti while shouting, “See how much you hurt me?!”

I white-knuckled pain while calling it self-love. It was anything but.
I rehearsed betrayal and erected a fortress of protection that I called “boundaries.”
I obsessed over “what they did” while conveniently ignoring the damage I was doing to myself—
body-surfing over cacti to the emotional soundtrack of “I Am the Victim,” on repeat, full blast, with a chorus line of blame dancers twirling behind me.
It wasn’t healing. I was auditioning.
Trying to earn sympathy. Trying to assign blame.
Trying to make pain feel meaningful by turning it into a stage performance.
It was a Broadway-level drama starring me, written by my ego, and directed by my pain.
And like any great production, it needed constant funding—so I kept feeding it my peace, my clarity, and my ability to move on.
All so I could keep belting the high note: “Look what they did to me!”

🪞 The Mirror in the Needles

I’ve learned this lesson far too many times, yet here I am—trying to coach a friend through a bad breakup, telling him to “just let go of the cactus.”

I desperately want to lead him out of the desert and into my revelation:

Ruminating on pain doesn’t make it go away.
Assigning blame is just trying to use your own cactus needles to draw someone else’s blood.

No more pain. No more blood.

🌸 The Practice of Letting Go

This did not happen all at once.
Some cacti I peeled off finger by finger.
Others, I needed to be metaphorically smacked with before I got the message.

But I began to understand:

Forgiveness isn’t about saying “it’s okay.”
It’s about saying, “I deserve peace.”

Letting go of each cactus has become a rebellious act of self-love.

And no, my forgiveness hasn’t produced apologies or changed behavior within any of the aforementioned grievances. But the truth is, I never needed them to be free and at peace—those were just conditions I stubbornly applied.

I truly believed it was my job to withhold forgiveness in order to hold the other party accountable.
The irony.
As if withholding anything could ever hold anything at all.

All withholding ever did was keep love and peace out of my reach.

🌲 From Cactus Hugs to Tree Hugs

Now? I make an effort not to talk much about Kevin. Or Nikki. Or my ex.
Not because I’m repressing anything—
But because there’s nothing left to say.

I accept them as the beautiful cacti they are.
And I hope they grow dazzling flowers in my absence.
They truly are beautiful cacti.
And I am free.

So to the people, the systems, and the versions of myself that once kept me clinging to pain, I say:

Thank you for the lesson.
I’m swapping cactus hugging for tree hugging. 🌲

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