I have to decide, and that realization didn’t feel empowering. It felt sobering. Not because I wanted someone else to make the choice for me, but because I finally understood that waiting was a decision too. One I had been making on repeat without calling it that.
For a long time, I told myself I was still gathering information. Still observing. Still giving things space to reveal themselves. But the truth was, everything I needed to know had already been showing up consistently. I wasn’t undecided. I was avoiding the weight that comes with choosing.
Being the one who has to decide means there’s no one left to defer to. No external cue to wait for. No shared responsibility to dilute the impact. It means acknowledging that clarity has arrived, and pretending otherwise only prolongs the tension.
What made it heavier was realizing how much depended on my inaction. How many things continued as they were because I hadn’t interrupted them. I wasn’t trapped. I was paused. And pausing started to feel like self-betrayal once I noticed it.
I have to decide because no one else is going to absorb the consequences for me. No one else will feel the cost of staying misaligned the way I do. Even when others are comfortable with things continuing, I’m the one carrying the internal friction. And that friction doesn’t resolve itself.
There’s a strange loneliness in being the decider. People assume certainty feels clean and confident. It doesn’t. It feels quiet and heavy and deeply personal. It means knowing that whatever you choose, something will be lost. Even the right choice requires grief.
I noticed how often I hoped circumstances would decide for me. That something would break or escalate or resolve on its own so I wouldn’t have to be the one to initiate change. But that hope kept me suspended. Nothing was forcing my hand. Which meant the responsibility stayed with me.
Deciding isn’t about control. It’s about ownership. About accepting that this is my life and I don’t get to outsource the turning points. Even when I didn’t create the situation, I’m still the one who has to choose how long I stay in it.
I have to decide also means accepting that clarity doesn’t always come with certainty. Sometimes it comes with enough information to know what no longer works. And that has to be enough.
What shifted for me was realizing that not deciding was costing me more than deciding ever could. The mental energy. The emotional drag. The constant background awareness that something needed to change. That cost was quiet, but it was constant.
I don’t need the decision to feel easy. I need it to feel honest. I need it to reflect where I am now, not where I was when I first agreed to something. Growth changes what we can tolerate, and ignoring that doesn’t preserve peace. It erodes it.
Being the main character, unfortunately, means recognizing when the story is waiting on you to move it forward. Even if you wish it wasn’t. Even if you’re tired. Even if you’d rather not be the one to make the call.
I have to decide because staying still isn’t neutral anymore. And once you see that, continuing to wait stops being patience and starts being avoidance.
Final Thought
Not deciding is still a decision.
Clarity doesn’t remove responsibility.
And choosing is how you reclaim agency.
Disclaimer
Main Character, Unfortunately reflects personal reflection and lived experience. It’s not professional advice or a substitute for therapy or clinical guidance. Take what resonates. Leave what doesn’t.
