Who are you actually punishing?

A reflection on silence, detachment, and the soul cost of performative peace

Lately, I’ve noticed a wave of posts sweeping through the spiritual and self-help spaces —

Quotes about detachment.

Declarations of “no chasing.”

A kind of poetic silence, framed as strength.

And yes — sometimes it is strength.

Sometimes, silence is a boundary.

But other times?

It’s just… mood lighting for avoidance.

We rarely talk about the difference between silence that protects…

and silence that punishes.

One comes from peace.

The other is laced with pride.

One creates space to breathe.

The other holds its breath, hoping you’ll notice it left the room.

Let’s be honest — we’ve all done it at some point.

Gone quiet, not to heal… but to be missed.

Disengaged, not from clarity… but from hope they’d finally get it.

Posted something “deep,” secretly hoping it landed like a breadcrumb trail to our pain.

We called it boundaries.

But maybe it was just sulking in sacred font.

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Picture this:

Someone pulls back without a word.

No message. No explanation. Just… vanishes into the vibe.

They’re still around. Watching. Posting. Sharing quotes.

But not talking to you.

It looks like empowerment.

But sometimes?

It’s just unspoken punishment with a glitter filter.

They’re hoping you’ll feel the absence. That you’ll reach out. That you’ll chase.

And when you don’t?

The silence gets louder.

The quotes get longer.

And the story they tell themselves gets even more dramatic.

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Now imagine someone quietly stepping back… but for real.

No games.

No cryptic energy.

No hashtags about "choosing peace."

They’ve tried.

They’ve spoken.

They’ve owned their part.

But the dynamic didn’t shift — so they honour themselves and leave with love.

No audience.

No performance.

Just a clean line drawn from truth.

That’s not detachment to punish.

That’s detachment to preserve.

And it doesn’t demand to be noticed…

because it already knows its worth.

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I’ve seen this happen again and again —

Not just online, but in real life.

One person expresses something honestly.

The other disappears.

Not because they’re calm.

But because they can’t hold their own discomfort.

They didn’t expect to be met with self-respect.

They expected to be needed, and when they weren’t…

they punished in silence.

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Withholding communication isn’t healing.

It’s a timeout for the ego — and it rarely ends in clarity.

So let’s ask it gently:

When you stop speaking — not because you’re centred, but because you want to be felt —

Who are you really punishing?

Because if they don’t respond… if they don’t come chasing…

It’s not their story that hurts.

It’s yours.

And that pain?

It ricochets back.

It lingers.

It grows in the dark.

Until eventually, you're not even sure who abandoned who —

them, or you.

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Let’s be real:

We’ve all been the main character in a silent film that no one else was watching.

We’ve all stared at a screen, pretending we didn’t care… while sneakily checking if our story was viewed.

We’ve all crafted a “letting go” post with just the right amount of mystery.

And it’s fine. It’s funny. It’s human.

But it’s also a cue to pause and ask:

Is this growth … or just great lighting?

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Real detachment doesn’t always come dressed in empowerment.

Sometimes, it shows up cloaked in confusion.

It starts with:

WTF just happened?

Why does this treatment feel like crap?

Did I do something wrong?

Am I being punished for something I don’t even understand?

For me, it often begins with a full-blown investigation.

I scan every angle of the situation.

Was there a misunderstanding?

A breakdown in communication?

Did I miss something important — something that hurt them?

Is this silence deserved, or is it just familiar?

Because I’m human.

Sometimes I do mess up.

Sometimes I am the one who needs to make it right.

But if I’ve looked honestly, if I’ve asked the hard questions, and something still feels off…

That’s when I pause.

That’s when I apply unconditional love — to them and to me.

And then I step back.

Not to punish.

Not to prove anything.

But because I’m committed to learning from the discomfort —

not sitting in it for the sake of staying close.

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Choosing yourself isn’t about being right.

It’s about being real.

And self-respect?

It rarely arrives alone.

It brings shadow work in one hand… and soul peace in the other.

True detachment doesn’t punish.

It liberates.

It says:

I don’t need you to hurt in order to heal.

I don’t need to be chased to feel chosen.

I just need peace — and I’ll choose that, even if you don’t understand.

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Real detachment walks away, not with a pout… but with peace.

Not in silence designed to echo… but in stillness that speaks only to the soul.

If you’ve found yourself on either side of this dance — it’s okay.

You’re not alone.

Most of us are just learning how to hold ourselves better.

But the next time you go quiet, ask yourself gently:

Am I creating space to breathe…

or a void I hope they’ll fall into?

Because that one question?

It might just change everything.