Call it delusion if you want. I’ve been called worse for trusting myself. For noticing patterns early. For refusing to stay silent just because something hadn’t fully fallen apart yet. There’s a special kind of dismissal that comes when you name a truth before it’s obvious. People don’t argue with you. They patronize you. They tell you to relax. To wait. To stop assuming.
So I waited. I quieted myself. I stayed longer than my instincts advised because I didn’t want to be seen as dramatic or reactive. I wanted to be fair. I wanted to be reasonable. I wanted to give things the benefit of the doubt. And every time I did, I paid for it later with clarity that came too late to save me the energy I’d already spent.
Being early to the truth makes people uncomfortable. It disrupts the narrative they’re still invested in. It threatens the illusion that things are fine just because they aren’t visibly broken. So instead of questioning the situation, they question you. Your tone. Your timing. Your emotional stability.
And for a while, I internalized that. I started believing that noticing was the same as imagining. That intuition was just fear in disguise. That if I couldn’t logically explain something yet, it didn’t deserve attention. I learned how to override my body with my brain. I learned how to argue myself out of my own knowing.
But delusion doesn’t come with consistency. Intuition does.
The same realizations kept resurfacing no matter how calm I was. No matter how patient. No matter how much I tried to be open-minded. The same discomfort showed up in different forms, attached to the same patterns. And that’s when I stopped calling it delusion and started calling it information.
People think delusion means fantasy. But real delusion is staying when your body has already clocked what your mind is trying to rationalize away. Real delusion is convincing yourself that clarity will arrive if you just endure long enough. That your discomfort doesn’t count until it becomes undeniable to everyone else.
What I’ve learned is that you don’t need consensus to be correct. You don’t need a dramatic ending to justify leaving. You don’t need permission to trust your own perception. You just need honesty about what you’re seeing and courage to stop pretending it means nothing.
Calling it delusion is easy when you don’t have to live with the consequences. But I do. I’m the one who carries the emotional residue when I ignore myself. I’m the one who has to rebuild trust with my own intuition every time I silence it for the sake of being palatable.
Now, when something feels off, I don’t rush to explain it away. I don’t demand that it make sense immediately. I let it exist. I observe. I collect context, not to convince others, but to confirm what I already feel. I let time reveal whether the discomfort was fleeting or informative.
And more often than not, it’s informative.
Call it delusion if that helps you stay comfortable. I’ll call it discernment. I’ll call it self-trust. I’ll call it refusing to gaslight myself just to keep the peace. I’ve done that long enough to know where it leads.
I don’t need my intuition to be socially acceptable. I need it to be honest. And it has never led me astray the way ignoring it has.
Final Thought
Call it delusion if you need to.
I’ll call it listening before the proof gets loud.
Being early to the truth doesn’t make you wrong. It makes you prepared.
Disclaimer
Delusional, But Correct is written from personal reflection and intuitive experience. It’s not professional advice or a substitute for therapy or clinical guidance. Take what resonates. Leave what doesn’t.