The invisible contract

These fears get wired into us long before we even know what they mean. And somewhere early on, before we understand what’s happening, we start making quiet agreements. Not on paper, not out loud, but deep down, a part of us says:

“If you keep me safe, I’ll be whoever you need me to be.”

So we start paying attention.

We notice what makes someone smile, what makes them pull away, what brings comfort, and what stirs tension. And little by little, without even realizing it, we adjust. We hide parts of ourselves and exaggerate others. We get good at it—really good. And for a while, it seems to work. It keeps us close to the people we need and helps us survive whatever world we land in.

But over time, it starts to feel less like a choice and more like a fact. It simply becomes the way we navigate the world. We don’t notice that there was ever a moment before the deal was made.

You can see it later, if you look closely enough. It shows up in how we think:
“I have to earn love.”
“I can’t be too much.”
“I shouldn’t make a fuss.”

Nobody ever sits us down and teaches us these rules.
We pick them up, like a lint roller gathers cat hair, and they cling to us long after it passes over.

The fact is, many of those old agreements no longer suit us. But they don’t just fall away because life has become safer or we’ve grown older. They stay wired in unless we pause long enough to notice them.

That’s the work I do—the work I care about.
Not because people are broken or need fixing. But because they signed an invisible contract somewhere along the way that they didn’t even know existed, they deserve the chance to tear it up.

When you spot the old terms clearly, it’s like the spell starts to break. You realize you can choose new terms now—terms that don’t cost you your voice or your peace.

That’s where real freedom begins.
Not because you fought harder. But because you never had to keep earning what was already yours—because you remembered.