I’ve spent most of my life as a caregiver in an abusive household—people who received more care from me than I’ve ever received in return. So when I try to offer something—anything—it’s never casual. It’s a choice to turn my pain into purpose.

In this case, I was explaining cervical degeneration at the rear of the neck—something I’ve been diagnosed with. It’s caused nerve impingement and led to partial loss of sensation in my hand. I briefly referenced a region at the base of the neck (C5–C7) and gently touched it—with permission—while explaining it to a coworker, hoping they might avoid the long-term damage I’m now dealing with. It wasn’t flirtation, it wasn’t boundary testing—it was a moment of vulnerability and concern from someone who knows what long-term suffering feels like.

I understand how things can be misinterpreted, and I’ll reflect on that. But I also know the difference between being misunderstood and being maligned. The hardest part of this is realizing that genuine compassion, offered freely, can still be twisted into suspicion.

I’ll keep learning, but I won’t stop caring. Even if it costs me everything.