Anyway. My Dryer Cut Off.

So I'm sitting under the dryer.

It is HOT under here. Maybe, just maybe because Im changing names to 'Do Not Answer' in my phone.

Dryer time is quality time...#iykyk

I recently had some quality time.

Time I didn’t realize I needed… which is usually how I find out I needed it.

Sometimes quality time looks like a long phone call that starts with, “I won’t keep you,” and somehow turns into, “Wait—what time is it?” Other times it looks like sitting across from each other over grits, no agenda, no updates, no performing—just two people pouring into one another because they actually want to be there.

Sometimes it’s a text message that lands at the exact right moment. Not a paragraph. Not a think piece. Just enough to say, I see you. And somehow, that balances out the quality time you didn’t even know you were missing.

And with me, that kind of time does something.

It feeds me.

It fuels me.

It inspires me in ways people don’t always expect—until I start writing.

That’s usually when folks realize, oh… that’s what that was.

Because quality time doesn’t just feel good—it reveals things.

It shows you who can sit with you when nothing impressive is happening. When the lights are dim. When the energy is low. When life isn’t offering highlight reels or good conversation starters. It tells you who values presence and who just enjoys access

And that’s where clarity kicks in.

Some people really love the idea of you—but not the maintenance. They want connection without consistency. Access without effort. The benefits, minus the responsibility.

That’s where I learned this (inspiration I tell you):

" if someone treats you like an option, you don’t debate it—you remove the option."

Not angrily.

Not dramatically.

Just… quietly unavailable.

There’s another quote that’s been sitting with me lately:

“Before you do me wrong, make sure you never need me again.”

Now, that’s not a threat. That’s just wisdom with receipts.

Because life has a way of circling back. People remember who answered the phone, who showed up, who listened without rushing, who poured without keeping score. So when someone moves careless with your presence, it tells you they either didn’t understand your value—or assumed you’d always be accessible.

That’s not confidence.

That’s assumption.

And quality time exposes that too.

I’ve seen it play out more than once. People I thought were in my corner got real scarce when things got uncomfortable or inconvenient. But let something pop off in their world?

Suddenly there’s urgency. Check-ins. “Just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

Oh.

Now you have time.

That didn’t make me petty.

It made me observant.

Quality time will do that. It sharpens your discernment without turning you into a villain. It teaches you that access doesn’t have to be automatic and closeness isn’t owed just because history exists.

Once I understood that, a lot of things clicked.

I don’t curate versions of myself. I don’t switch personalities depending on the room. I don’t do “this is the online me versus the real me.” If you’re with me, you’re gettingme- the same tone, the same sweet with hint of hood-ish, the same energy.

That used to feel risky.

Now it feels like a time-saver.

Because not everyone actually wants connection. Some people want convenience. They like you best when you’re easy to reach, easy to forgive, easy to reschedule around, and very flexible with your standards—mostly for their benefit.

I started noticing patterns. Who checked in without needing anything. Who could sit in conversation without trying to fix me, rush me, or drain the moment dry. And who slowly disappeared the minute consistency was required instead of charisma.

I took notes.

Just not the ones they thought I would.

Everybody wants the prize—trust, closeness, loyalty—without respecting the grind of actually being present. But time always tells the truth.

Some people tap out early and rebrand it as “protecting their peace.”

And here’s the part that sobers you quickly:

people don’t always miss you. Their ego misses your attention.

They miss how available you were. How forgiving. How you always made room. Once you stop doing that, things get awkward. Not because you changed—but because the dynamic did.

And that’s when people tell on themselves. Not loudly. Subtly. In effort. In tone. In how long it suddenly takes them to respond.

That’s when I realized something fun.

I wasn’t the problem.

I was the upgrade.

Some people don’t know how to deal with a version of you that’s clearer, calmer, and no longer negotiable. Your boundaries feel like attitude. Your peace feels like distance. Your growth feels personal.

It isn’t.

I didn’t get louder.

I got consistent.

I didn’t get cold.

I got selective.

I didn’t disappear.

I removed access.

And funny enough—life got better after that. Quieter. Lighter. Less performative.

The people who belonged adjusted. The people who didn’t… explained themselves without saying a word.

So if it ever feels like people are inspired by you—but only from a distance—let them be. Not everyone is meant to walk with you. Some people are lessons. Some are confirmations. Some are reminders of what you don’t have the energy for anymore.

You get what you feed with me.

And what you get now comes with boundaries.

Anyway.

My dryer cut off.