the choreography of smallness.
...an exit interview.
My last post was about what breaks on the inside. This one’s about what erodes from the outside. Different angle, same gravity.
There were no final meetings.
No “before you go” folders. No offboarding call with a smile in someone’s voice, thanking me for all I gave while quietly preparing to replace me.
Still, I felt it had to be done. Even now, I believe in a certain order of things. In closure as ritual, if not reward.
So I’m conducting this myself.
This is the exit interview.
Not to explain, I’ve already done too much of that.
Not to accuse, you wouldn’t recognize yourself in any of it anyway.
Just to record. An attempt at clarity, if not absolution.
Let me begin.
Duration of Employment:
Years.
Decades, if you count the time I spent in training, learning the mechanics of approval, the choreography of smallness.
I was fluent before I had words. No one had to teach me how to smile at the right time. I knew.
Position Held:
Support system.
Blame vacuum.
Spare battery.
Occasionally: muse, momentary mystery, right arm, emergency contact.
Mostly: the one who didn’t make things harder.
Compensation:
Invisibility, dressed as inclusion.
Attention, intermittent and arbitrary.
The privilege of proximity, which I mistook for care.
A seat at the table, so long as I didn’t ask for anything that wasn’t already on the menu.
What You Took:
Time I’ll never get back.
Energy I invested like capital, believing it would compound.
Certainty, in my memory, in my perception, in whether that thing you said actually meant what it felt like.
What I Gave (Without Being Asked):
Loyalty. More than once.
Silence, when it would have been easier to scream.
Admiration, offered like a gift, returned like a receipt.
A dozen versions of myself, each customized to the preferences of the room.
Key Learnings:
That some people love the way you bend, not who you are standing upright.
That kindness can be mistaken for weakness… and often is.
That if you’re not careful, you will disappear into the role you play.
And no one will notice until the lights come up and you’re no longer onstage.
Things Left Behind:
A jacket I never liked but wore because you once said it suited me.
The version of myself that waited for your texts like they were weather reports.
The instinct to say “It’s okay” before I even know what happened.
Things Reclaimed:
My own name, said without squirming.
The afternoon light, when it hits the floor just right and no one’s asking me for anything.
The ability to leave.
Reason for Leaving:
Redundancy.
Reduction in self.
Failure to meet delusions of worth.
Also: I woke up tired.
I left rooms heavier than I entered them.
I shrank by degrees…until I nearly disappeared.
Would You Return to This Position?
No.
Not even if you asked differently.
Not even if you noticed, now, what I gave.
It’s not about punishment, it’s not about closure. It’s about gravity.
What pulls me back, and what no longer does.
There’s no more appetite for rooms where I can’t speak plainly.
No more fascination with being tolerated.
No more admiration offered in advance.
This wasn’t a departure.
It was erosion.
It was subtraction in slow motion, until even I stopped asking what was missing.
You’ll say I disappeared.
But I was evaporating the entire time.
And you only noticed when there was nothing left to hold.
There’s no file to close.
No summary report.
Nothing owed.
The role is no longer listed.
The position no longer exists.
And I have learned to stop applying for things that hurt to get.
File Under: Benefits Not Included.
The Ash Files—Where life’s unexpected moments get filed away—sometimes neatly, sometimes under “figure it out later.” From writer/creator ASH, expect weekly musings, honest stories, and a reminder that no one has life entirely figured out [least of all me].✨
Loved this. This speaks perfectly about divorce without saying the word.
this is so real. The title alone.