Stop Putting Me On a F*cking Pedestal -- It's Not Praise—It’s a Cage by CancerMystique

A Permission to be Powerful Premium Post

EDITOR’S NOTE: Permission to be Powerful is growing fast. In that spirit, a bunch of writers came together to show their support. I’m immensely grateful. I’ll be sharing a new piece every day for the next 10 days.

Now, let’s get into it…

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Dear Permission to be Powerful Reader,

Stop putting me on a fucking pedestal.
It’s not praise. It’s punishment.

It’s the excuse you use to admire me instead of show up for me.
It’s the beautiful little box you keep me in—safe to worship, but never safe to hold.

I’m tired of being everyone’s safe space while having nowhere safe to fall.
I’m tired of my strength being the excuse for others not to even try.
I’m tired of being the backbone no one checks on—until they need something held.

The Superpower I Chose: Invisibility

When I was younger, someone once asked:
“If you could have any superpower, what would it be?”

I said: Invisibility.
Not because I wanted to sneak around or spy.
But because I wanted to live in my truth without the weight of being seen only through the lens of what I give.

And ironically…
I grew up becoming just that.
Visible for my light.
Invisible in my need.

Everyone sees the magic.
But no one sees the cost.
I’ve always been told I’m too much:

Too loving.
Too powerful.
Too sensitive.
Too smart.
Too magical.
Too strong.

But no one ever noticed:
I had too little safety.
Too little softness.
Too little celebration.
Too little space to be.

Why I Built the Armor

So I built the armor—
Not because I was born strong,
But because I never felt safe enough to take it off.

And because no one ever told me that my sensitivity was sacred.

Everyone called me “too much”—too emotional, too intense, too wise, too honest—
But it wasn’t about me being too much.

It was about them not having the capacity to hold the fullness of my authenticity.
So I protected myself.

I wore strength like a second skin.
But it was never about pride.
It was about survival.

The Truth About Pedestals

You want to know what the pedestal really is?
It’s not about admiration.
It’s about avoidance.

It’s how people keep me close enough to be inspired—but never close enough to be responsible.
It’s how they admire my throne without ever rising into their own.
It’s how they justify their absence by claiming, “You’re good. You’ve got this.”

But I don’t.
And I shouldn’t have to.

My Love Was Never Meant to Be a Temporary Medicine

My love has been used like medicine by people who never planned to be my home.
That is my trauma frequency. I’m healing.

Friends that admire me but can offer little emotional support in return due to the lack of work in their own life.
Men who want to acknowledge and have access to my strength through sex but can't even muster up the courage to go to battle with themselves to become the higher versions of themselves that could meet me on my throne—while hoping I'll come down off mine.
Family who feed me the delusion of appreciation only so they can use me as the rock they fail to build for themselves.

How can these people ever hold space for my depth—see me, love me, hold space for the depth that keeps me invisible—when they won't even swim in the deep end for themselves?

What does the pedestal reinforce?
That my fullness was inconvenient unless it served someone else.

The Mirror Moments: Life as My Teacher

Recently, life mirrored all of this back to me in ways I couldn’t ignore:

My father called—not to check on me during one of the hardest moments of my life, not to see how I was healing from mold toxicity—but to tell me how excited he was to finally connect with the daughter he had before me.

“I had to call you,” he said. “You were the first person I thought of.”

And while a piece of me was glad to be that person…
Another part of me sat in silence thinking:

I haven’t heard from you.
I’ve been vocal about how hard this has been.
I’ve cried through my recovery.
And the only time you call… is when you want to celebrate someone else.

I realized in that moment:
I’m not your daughter.
I’m your emotional container.

I’m where you place your joy.
But never where you pour your concern.

Same with my brother.
As soon as I moved and started a new chapter, he cut me off.
No reason. No conversation. Just absence.

Same with some of my friends—who celebrate me when I give, uplift, support, hold, and mother…
But who disappear the second I need support for me.

When You’re the Star, but Never the Sun

I’ve been the star in everyone’s life—while no one knows how to shine for me.

I’ve been inspiring people who aren’t even willing to rise.
Mothering people who refuse to grow.
Performing wisdom for people who aren’t even walking in truth.

And it’s draining.
Because I don’t want to be someone’s temporary source of light.
I want mutuality. Depth. Emotional safety. Realness.

Loneliness vs. Performance Love

I’ve spent too many years trying to be relatable—shrinking my depth, dimming my insight, apologizing for my wisdom—just to not feel alone.
But the truth is: loneliness is better than being surrounded by people who only love the performance of me.

Compassion Isn’t Always Truthful

And let’s be real…

At some point, you have to ask:
Is this person in a transition…
Or are they just addicted to getting attention for the bullshit they keep choosing?

Because I’ve tolerated a lot under the illusion of compassion.
But what I’ve really been doing is betraying my boundaries in the name of love.

Here’s Where I Stand Now

So here’s where I stand now:

I am done being the strong one who’s never held.
I am done being the soul who answers everyone’s cries while mine go unheard.
I am done performing worth through labor.
I am done trading my power for proximity.

I am no longer available for:

• Emotional contracts that expired long ago
  

• Friendships that lean but never lift
  

• Lovers who only show up in fantasy, but not in form
  

• Being admired, but never met
  

• Being tolerated for my talents, while my soul is unseen
  

And I’m not coming down from it again just to feel chosen.

If you want me, you’ll climb your own.
If you love me, you’ll show it in presence—not performance.

And if you only came for the light but never brought your own?
I will meet your silence with distance.
And walk away holding my whole self.

The Real Lesson: Reclaiming My Throne

Because everything I’ve walked through—everything that cracked me open—was here to teach me what love is not, so I could reclaim what love is.

The pedestal wasn’t praise—it was a disguise for avoidance.
The armor wasn’t strength—it was a survival suit built in a world that didn’t know how to hold me.
And the emptiness I felt around people who admired me but never showed up for me?
It was a divine alert.
A soul alarm clock ringing, telling me: It’s time to come home to your throne.

Not the pedestal they built out of projection.
But the throne built from my truth.

This was never about being better than anyone.
It was about remembering I don’t belong to people who only want my light—but not my depth.
I don’t belong to patterns that ask me to betray myself to feel loved.
I don’t belong to dynamics where I have to shrink, mute, mother, or prove.

I belong to myself.

And from that place…
I will magnetize only those who meet me in truth.
Who walk in their own wholeness.
Who see me not as a fantasy—but as a full, feeling, sacred being.
Not because I performed for it.
But because I finally chose me.

The armor is breaking.
Not because I’m weaker.
But because I’m finally safe enough to rise without it.

And this time, I don’t need a pedestal to feel loved.
I just need my truth.
And the throne that was always mine to sit on.

With embodied sovereignty + unwavering self-respect,

— CancerMystique™ 💋

Where strength isn’t a service—it’s a sacred birthright.
Where emotional labor is no longer a currency for love.
Where being “too much” just means I’m no longer shrinking.
And where the pedestal is shattered—so I can finally be free.