Humans Don't Taste Good Enough To Eat

There’s a gulf—a wide, often stormy one—between being sacrificial and becoming the sacrifice. Oh yes, we can absolutely place ourselves on the spit of life and next thing you know, we’re roasting over a fire, wondering how in the world we got there. 

But let’s talk about it. More specifically, let’s talk about how fine the line is between letting someone in your life and letting someone end your life.

At what point are you being selfless, and at what point are you becoming less of yourself?

Alright, you already see where we’re going today: Deep sea diving, dear reader. Put on your goggles, sunscreen, and flippers, because this isn’t just surface talk—it’s about to go under.

Quick question: Have you ever been married? I have. Have you ever been divorced? I have, too.

I remember it like yesterday—saying those two words you’re only supposed to say when you really mean it: I do. And I remember just as vividly saying the two words you’re never supposed to say: I don’t. Full disclosure—my ex-husband had an affair, so my divorce came with its own set of painful clarity. But even before I walked away physically, I had emotionally exited when the infidelity happened. The divorce wasn’t a sudden cliff—it was a gradual drift that eventually revealed the truth I had been denying: the relationship had expired like molded milk in a carton.

Marriage isn’t just about love. There are couples who stay together for the kids, for finances, for cultural pressure, or simply because they’re afraid to start over. But no matter the reason, every couple eventually arrives at a crossroads where a quiet, piercing question rises up from the heart: Is this person my future or my past?

Only one person can answer that—you.

So if you have a mirror nearby, and you’re in a relationship that feels off, ask yourself aloud: Is my partner part of my future… or my past?

Because here's the truth: sometimes someone shows up in your present life, but they are absolutely a past person.

Let’s get into some definition. There are only two kinds of relationships that exist on earth. I don’t care who you meet, what they look like, how much money they have, or how much fun you seem to have together—every human connection can be divided into two categories:

1. Past People
2. Future People

Past People come into your life because of old wounds. They are connected to unhealed trauma, unresolved patterns, and broken beliefs about love and worth. You might think you chose them, but really, your inner wounds did. Past People feel familiar, not because they’re right, but because they mirror what you’ve already survived. A telltale sign? You feel emotionally drained after spending time with them. Their words are rooted in nostalgia, regret, or repetition. They speak in circles, not forward motion. They can’t dream with you. They can’t build. They can’t sustain. And they were never meant to make it past Monday.

Future People are different. They enter your life because you’ve evolved. Because you’ve done the healing work. They are attracted to your light, not your wounds. Future People show up because your habits shifted from survival to excellence. When the rain comes, they dance. When chaos arrives, they don’t escalate, they collaborate. They are built for the long haul.

Think of it like this: imagine two cars. One designed to last 75,000 miles. The other, 300,000. The long-distance car has fewer alerts, less drama, more resilience. It doesn't break down at every bump in the road. That’s what future people are—they’re not immune to struggle, but they are designed to endure it with integrity and resilience.

Here’s the clearest way to distinguish them:

Past People take. Future People give.

And here’s the harder truth: the only reason you keep attracting past people is because you haven’t fully healed yet. You must go within to stop the cycle.

Over the thousands of years that have passed, we’ve discovered so much—about DNA, medicine, flight, space—but still, we struggle with the seemingly simple things: how to begin and how to end a relationship. Most relationships don’t start on solid ground. They begin with laughter, attraction, surface-level similarities like a love of garage sales or the same pizza toppings. But then normalcy hits. And suddenly, you’re doing actual life with someone who was only meant to teach you a temporary lesson.

What’s the lesson?

It’s this: How to choose givers, not takers. 

How to walk away from those who take your energy and never replenish it.

Let’s define the difference between being sacrificial and being the sacrifice:

Being Sacrificial:

1. Finding time you don’t have to help.

2. Loving even when you're frustrated.

3. Speaking hope into a hard situation.

4. Listening with empathy and presence.

5. Constantly seeking ways to grow in how you give love.

Being the Sacrifice:

1. Tolerating verbal abuse or cruelty.

2. Losing yourself entirely in the relationship.

3. Dropping your goals to protect their ego.

4. Explaining away physical harm.

5. Letting your joy wither in their toxicity.

Relationships are work. But they aren’t renovations. Don’t let anyone treat you like a construction zone. 

Healthy love is maintenance—mow the yard, clean the gutters, keep it tidy. If someone cheats, that’s not maintenance. That’s flood damage. And even after the water clears, mold has set in. The foundation is no longer safe.

"For better or worse" covers two people. When you invite a third? The contract has changed. The trust is broken. The us no longer exists.

Here’s what you need to remember: You and your partner can weather any storm. But your partner should not be the storm. 

Love should be the shelter, not the lightning. And if you’re feeling confused, neglected, or abused, remember—denial is not a river in Egypt. It’s the silent killer of intuition. 

Toxic relationships heat the water so slowly you don’t realize you’re cooked until you try to escape and your legs don’t work.

You don’t have to die on the altar of someone else's issues. 

You don’t have to bleed in the name of “commitment.” Kill the version of you who tolerated past people. Kill the version of you who settled.

Ask yourself this: Am I acting like the me five years ago… or five years from now?

We’ve come too far together, dear reader. Don’t go backward now. Keep choosing you. Keep choosing healing. Keep choosing the future.

Because you were never meant to be the sacrifice. You were always meant to be the light.

So how do you move forward? How do you stop choosing pain dressed in pretty words? 

You begin by realizing that closure isn’t something they give you—it’s something you give yourself. You stop auditioning for the role of “worthy,” and you realize you already are. You stop asking if you're too much, and start wondering why they were so little.

You see, the moment you recognize your own value is the moment you become unavailable to those who don’t. And when you finally stop begging people to stay, you’ll start inviting peace to move in. That’s when life shifts. That’s when the old versions of yourself—the self-doubting, self-silencing, self-sacrificing you—finally get laid to rest. 

Not out of bitterness, but out of growth. And that is the true healing.

Now, this isn’t to say future people are perfect. They’re not. No one is. But future people will fight with you, not against you. They’ll communicate, not manipulate. They’ll hold space, not hold grudges. They won’t always get it right, but they’ll always try—and that alone makes all the difference. 

Because love isn’t perfect. But it should always be safe. It should make you feel seen, not small.

So if you find yourself asking the question, Am I the sacrifice or just being sacrificial?—that’s your gut knocking. Open the door. Listen closely. Love shouldn’t cost you yourself.

The ultimate act of self-love is protecting your peace, even if it means walking away from what once felt familiar. Because survival isn’t the goal. Thriving is your purpose. 

And here’s the beautiful truth: once you’ve loved yourself through the hardest goodbyes, you’ll never settle for half-love again. You’ll know what real love feels like. You’ll stop mistaking chaos for passion, and silence for peace. You’ll stop romanticizing red flags because they remind you of home. Instead, you’ll build a new home—within yourself.

A peaceful one. A sacred one. A future one.

So here we are, dear reader. We’re ull circle. Tied in a bow.

Let this be the reminder: Love shouldn’t make you question your worth. It should affirm your worth. Let this be your permission to grow, to let go, and to heal. Heal out loud. Whatever that means for you. 

Because you are not the firewood.
You are the fire.
Now, burn all that doesn’t serve you and exist inside of your awesomeness. 

Until next time, 

Maria 🌹