Good. Let ‘em pray about it.
They won’t say it to my face—my family’s more into passive-aggressive potlucks and cryptic group texts—but you can feel it.
It’s in the way they flinch when I use words like “boundary” or “therapy.”
It’s in the awkward silences after I say something uncomfortably honest…
like “I’m not coming over if Uncle WhatshisName is still allowed near women.”
They think I’ve been taken over.
And you know what?
I have.
I’ve been possessed by something radical and supernatural:
👉 Clarity.
👉 Standards.
👉 A spine.
👉 The audacity to heal where I wasn’t supposed to survive.
They don’t recognize me anymore.
Because I stopped contorting myself into a version of “fine” that made them comfortable.
I stopped apologizing for existing.
I stopped showing up to emotional crime scenes wearing a smile and bringing pie.
Now I say “no” like a period, not a negotiation.
Now I make eye contact when I say, “That was abuse.”
Now I let the silence land and sit there while they twitch in their lawn chairs.
So yes, I’m “different.”
Yes, I’m “cold.”
Yes, I “changed.”
Possessed?
Hell yeah.
By the ghost of every version of me that died trying to make them proud.
She came back. Wearing combat boots. And holding receipts.
I don’t shapeshift anymore.
I don’t shrink to fit the family photo.
I don’t show up unless I’m spiritually hydrated and emotionally armed.
These days, I arrive like an IRS audit with glitter:
Uninvited, undeniable, and a total violation of their expectations.
They think I’m under a spell.
And maybe I am.
It’s called:
“Not This Sh*t Again.”
So let ‘em stare. Let ‘em whisper.
Because if reclaiming my identity looks like possession to them?
I hope the demon’s unionized.
And we’re just getting started.
My Family Thinks I’m Possessed
They say I’m cursed, a total mess, But really, I just said “no” with finesse.
They prayed for demons, called a priest, I booked a spa and found my peace.
Possessed? You bet—by calm and sass, By therapy tools and zero f*cks to pass.
They miss the puppet I used to be, But honey, I’m fully ghosted—and free.
—The Funny Phoenix, spinning heads with boundaries
