anger – Echo R.S

When doing the right thing gets you punished

You know what’s crazy?

How you can do the right thing—and still get punished for it.

Yesterday, I had to work with the guy I reported to HR. He watched me walk in like nothing happened. I kept my head up, walked right past him like he didn’t exist. But I felt sick to my stomach the whole time.

What blows my mind is that another girl once said we didn’t get along, and they changed her entire schedule. But me? I report someone for crossing a boundary—and I’m still scheduled to work with him.

Make it make sense.

HR told me it was my fault because I gave him my phone. Mind you, he offered to help me. I thought he was being kind. But now I’m being told I should’ve known he was trying to go through my gallery?

So let me get this straight: if I leave work at 2AM and get attacked, that’s my fault too? Because I should’ve prepared for it?

Is it ever the attacker’s fault—or always the victim’s?

I’m not trying to play victim here. I’m trying to handle this like an adult. But this whole situation is absurd. I’m losing work hours now because they’re trying to schedule me around him—the one who violated my trust.

And just to flex, he removed me from the bartender group chat. No explanation. Just a silent reminder that he still has power over me.

This is exactly why women don’t speak up.

Because when we do, we’re met with silence, side-eyes, or worse—retaliation. This story is older than time. Women speak up, and the system tells us to be quiet, to move on, to “watch who we trust.”

But if I was someone’s daughter—his daughter—would this be okay?

Or is it only “my fault” because I’m just another outsider, another “girl who should’ve known better”?

Let’s talk about what “should’ve known better” really means.

Should I have known that a man offering help had ulterior motives? Should I have known that handing over my phone meant he’d invade my privacy? Should I have known that by trusting someone, I was “asking for it”?

Using their logic, would it be my fault if I got raped? Because my shirt was too short? Because I bent over to pick something up? Because I have a vagina?

This is what it looks like when a company protects its image instead of its people.

I spoke up. And REGAL CINEMAS retaliated.

Not the man who violated my boundaries. Me.

The same company that constantly brags about “valuing employees,” “supporting safety,” and “fostering community.” The same company that now wants to focus on me having my phone out—a rule no one enforces.

Even my boss said, “I don’t know why they’re focusing on that. Everyone is on their phone from time to time.” Then he turned around and called me “sista.” Like we’re good.

No. We’re not good.

You didn’t have my back. And now I’ve lost hours I need to survive. I have bills. I have responsibilities. I have a right to feel safe at work.

Instead, I feel exposed. Violated. Silenced.

All because I told the truth.

Now what am I supposed to do?

Continue working there? For men who don’t give a damn about me?

I don’t start my new job until the end of next month.

So do I stay?

Do I keep showing up to a place that’s shown me I don’t matter?

Do I endure the ache of uncertainty, the discomfort of being unseen, unheard, unsafe?

Crazy world we’re living in.

I didn’t think this happened in the real world.

All those trainings we took I thought it was for entertainment purposes. Oh how naive I was.

I can see why women stay quiet. But silence never was my calling.

Journal Entry #12

Started Off Great… Ended With Me Snatching My Damn Phone Back

Today started off like a really good day. One of those rare mornings where the sun hits just right and you’re almost fooled into thinking the good energy will last. I got up early for class—bright and early, which is already an accomplishment because I am not a morning person. I was running a little late, but I made it, sat down next to my usual partner, and was feeling okay… until the teacher decided to mix up the groups. Of course.

So I say goodbye to the person I’m most comfortable with and get placed with two people I’ve barely spoken to. Great. Side note: I used to think me and that original partner were aligned somehow, like something kept pulling us together for a reason—but now it feels like we’re being forced apart. Maybe I’m overthinking. Maybe I’m not. Who knows.

Anyway, the new group? One person was younger and hard to understand. The other constantly veered off topic like a damn podcast with no editing. And all I could think was, why couldn’t I just stay with my old partner? We actually had a rhythm.

But then the teacher assigns us a group activity—acting out different conflict styles. And suddenly, I’m back in my zone. I immediately knew I wanted to act out the competing style—you know, the one where it’s all about getting your point across with zero concern for anyone else’s feelings. Maybe it came to mind so quickly because I’ve seen that type up close and personal more times than I can count.

The teacher gives me the backstory, and I go in—I create a full script. The girl in my group, the one who gets off topic, is nervous, so I write her lines too. And guess what? The script kills. Everyone’s laughing, including me and my group, and I feel this surge of warmth. Like maybe today is gonna be one of those days where everything just aligns. Even if nobody else noticed that moment, I did.

I think there’s a guy in class who’s interested in me. I don’t know, maybe I’m imagining it—but it feels like we keep being placed near each other on accident… or not. He steals glances, speaks to me more than anyone else, and even walked me out after class. Told me about a great opportunity at a real estate office, which was actually dope.

But the thing is, he’s not really my type. He’s older, which is a plus. He was in the army—which I like. But physically? Not doing it for me. Shallow? Maybe. Honest? Definitely.

What really rubbed me wrong was when we were in class discussing the negative connotations of words in society, and this man—this man—blurts out “black.” I said excuse me?? He tried to backpedal with “oh I don’t know, I just heard that it is.” I shut that down quick. I told him that wasn’t going on the list and to forget about it.

Then he starts telling me about his culture—he’s Cuban—and for some reason assumed I could just look at him and tell. Like, no. When I asked, he literally said, “Come on, you can look at me and guess.” Nah. Then he tells me in his culture, they’re very discriminating—as if that’s something to be proud of. What even made him think that was okay to say?

Anyway. That’s the man who (unfortunately) has a crush on me.

Fast forward to later in the day—I head to work. I just had a great morning, but work always manages to humble me. First off, I applied to another job to get more hours and benefits. They finally called me back, and I went to orientation yesterday. But tell me why the next session isn’t until the end of next month. What kind of operation is that?

Still, I go into work in a good mood. But the customers? Slick. And my coworkers? Discouraging. I tell one I’m taking psychology because I’ve always been in love with the subject, and he hits me with, “You don’t need school for that. You can learn everything through experience.” Okay, philosopher. If he actually understood psychology, he’d know better.

They act like psychology only applies to counseling. Like I’m wasting my time if I’m not trying to be a therapist. But psychology is everywhere—it’s in journalism, marketing, politics, writing, society. It helps you understand what resonates with people, how behavior shifts, what people crave versus what they ignore. You learn how to read people, how to analyze. Even how to tell stories that stick.

Words matter. Words outlive us. And if mine can help even one person feel seen or understood, how is that not rooted in psychology?

But I wasn’t quick-witted today. I wasn’t expecting to have to defend myself after such a good start. And honestly? I wasn’t as assertive as I would’ve liked to be. I couldn’t think of anything clever in the moment. They planted this little seed of doubt in me—and I hate that I let it settle, even for a second.

And just when I thought the day couldn’t get more annoying, this guy from work is helping me set up my portal for the new job—because he works there too. I hand him my phone and this man says, “I saw your nudes, thanks for that.” I said give me my fucking phone, and snatched it back. Then he has the audacity to say, “Watch your mouth.”

Excuse me?

What I should’ve said was: “You bald-headed, broke, dusty, stank old man—don’t you ever in your life speak to me like I’m some little girl. Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?”

I locked my gallery. I checked that. You weren’t supposed to be browsing through my shit. You were supposed to be helping me sign up for my damn schedule. That crossed a line. Hard.

He jokes like we have this love-hate dynamic, but honestly? A lot of the guys at work sexualize me. And while, sure, it sometimes gets me free stuff, it also makes me sick. They visualize me naked, they objectify me, and I hate it.

This is the same dude that calls me a gold digger, which—boy, relax. You don’t even have gold for me to dig. He stays on my ass about not cleaning up every single night, like he doesn’t disappear from his post for hours while guests are waiting on him. And I don’t say a word.

He and his little crew talk behind my back like middle schoolers. Never about what I do right, just knitpicking the flaws. Never to my face. I had to hear I was doing something “wrong” from another manager, like they didn’t even have the guts to tell me themselves.

And don’t even get me started on the managers. Hiding in closets, on their phones, earbuds in. But I’m the problem because I didn’t mop one night? I’ve been there over two years. I know when I leave, they’ll talk about me like I didn’t do anything. Like I didn’t carry weight. Like I didn’t show up.

I’m just so over it.

I wish I could start this new job sooner and leave every one of them behind—let them rot in their little cliques, talking about everyone else, pretending like they’re better than they are. Miserable, insecure people who can’t see past their own limitations.

Let them talk.

I’ve got a vision—and they’ll never see it, because it wasn’t given to them. God gave it to me.

Silence Isn’t Weakness — It’s Strategy

Let me talk about these two girls real quick. Yes, both of them have made appearances on my blog before, and yes — they’re back again because apparently, they don’t learn. And trust me, I’m trying to keep it respectful, but these girls be trying it. And I really mean trying it.

Girl #1.

She had the audacity to hit my phone going off about a blog post like I was supposed to be scared of her. As if I wouldn’t rock her sh—anyway. I let that situation slide. Never even got an apology, but I’m not the type to hold hate in my heart. I thought we were cool. Cordial, at least. Especially since we share someone we both care about — someone who wouldn’t want to see us fighting.

She came to my birthday. We were cool. But I realized real quick — she’s one of those people who takes more than she gives. I wish my dog could see that. He’s a good man. Solid. He does everything he can for her, and it’s never enough. She’s ungrateful. A social media groupie who thinks she’s Latto, Megan, and Nicki rolled into one, with zero talent to back it up. Just a chicken head clucking on the timeline.

She said getting my dog a pinky ring for his birthday was “too much” and got him a PS4 controller instead. But when it’s her birthday? Valentine’s Day? Christmas? She expects the world. Cluck cluck cluck, that’s all she really knows how to do.

But it gets worse. She put her hands on my dog. Yeah, you heard that right. On a man who doesn’t deserve that. A good man. And the crazy part? When she got called out on it, she laughed. Like it was a joke.

I wasn’t there, but I saw the video. And I swear, the revenge fantasies I had? Jail-worthy. But I have too much to lose. And I know God’s going to handle what I can’t. Because if the roles were reversed, and he laid a hand on her, he’d be in jail.

And all this? Over a missed text? Girl, are you okay?

She blew up because he didn’t respond fast enough while he was with his day ones. Next day, he’s scrambling to make things right with her. And I’m over here like — I can’t even defend him if this is what he keeps running back to.

She doesn’t love him. She wants to own him. She confuses control with closeness. And I hate that I’ve been dragged into it. But I’ve been forced in — intentionally and unintentionally. So now I’m watching his choices in women create problems for me. And it’s tiring.

Now on to girl #2.

I work with this one — thankfully, not for much longer. Not because I can’t handle her, but because she can’t handle me.

We got called into work early one morning. I had just finished a shift at midnight and had to be back by 8. I’m walking up, tired, annoyed, and she’s standing at the door holding it open for everyone… until she sees me. And lets it close.

Like, girl — are you blind? Or just stupid?

She’s lucky I didn’t kick that door down with her walrus-built body standing behind it. But another coworker saw and let me in. I greeted her and walked right past Miss Flipper like she didn’t exist.

Later, during the meeting, I hear her gossiping about me to the same girl who let me in. And of course, the story’s one-sided. But I’m not one to go backwards. I had moved on — or at least I tried to.

Still, I won’t lie: I wanted to stand up and snap. Slap her across the mouth on some Will Smith time and tell her to, “keep my f-ing name out of your mouth” But again — I’ve got too much to lose. I can accomplish way more using my mind than I ever could with my fists.

Here’s the thing:

I’m not mean. But people are pushing me. Testing me. And just because I care — about loyalty, about love, about doing right — doesn’t mean I won’t call it how I see it. Just because I’m quiet doesn’t mean I’m weak. I’ve got empathy and emotional intelligence — and that’s exactly why I choose silence over scenes, peace over pettiness, and growth over gossip.

I don’t need to get in anyone’s face. I don’t need to throw punches. Because writing is my punch. But just because I’m empathetic doesn’t mean I’m soft. Just because I think things through doesn’t mean I won’t call you out.

I’m not here to make everyone feel good.

I’m here to speak the truth.

Journal Entry #11

Sometimes I feel stupid. Like I’m no good at anything.

I’ve lost interest in things I used to love — writing, thinking, chess. There was a time where I could feel when something I created was enough, but lately, I don’t trust that feeling anymore. I ask myself if this is depression. And if so… what’s the point of it?

It feels like depression exists only to drain me, limit me, convince me that I’m not who I once was. I doubt my voice, my thoughts, my creativity. Is my writing even worth reading anymore? Is it still as clever or thoughtful as it once was?

What’s made this season harder is this undercurrent of quiet, unresolved anger. I feel like something important was taken from me — maybe it was my peace, my trust, or just the illusion that I could depend on people who claimed they’d always be there. Add in loneliness and abandonment, and the anger only grows. Abandonment has taught me to not let people close because there’s a chance they’re not ment to stay, so I keep people at an arm’s length. I know it sounds like a cliché. But it’s also true.

Worse still, I seem to attract people who only want to take from me emotionally. They dump their baggage on me like I’m built to carry it, but they can’t even handle it when I hand them mine. People like Hallo.

Yes, Hallo — who once told me we could never be a thing because his friends liked me. As if he’s doing them a favor while also coming off as he’s the one who friend zoned me. Like he’s the one who told me no. Now he comes around like we’re friends, talking endlessly about a girl he’s “talking to,” telling me how she cried when he called it off. It sounded more like he wanted me to be impressed that someone was sad over him. But the way he tells it — as if he was the reason she was ever happy — had me rolling my eyes internally. You might’ve been there during happy moments, sure. But you weren’t the sole reason.

What irritated me most was how he talked nonstop for thirty minutes — I gave him my full attention. But as soon as I offered my thoughts, he picked up his phone and started texting. His excuse? A friend was in the hospital. And while I hope that’s not a lie, it felt convenient. I made a note right then: I won’t let people use or drain me like that again.

You don’t get to barge into my job, unload all your drama, ask for favors, and offer nothing in return. He asked for a Sprite “on the house,” and I gave him one. The drinks cost $6, but I showed love because I knew the loopholes in the system. Then, the one time I needed help — I was hungry, and asked him if he could help me get a discount (not free food) at the restaurant where he works — he suddenly had a hundred reasons why he couldn’t.

That’s not a friend. That’s someone who sees you as useful.

So the next time he called me I didn’t answer. And when he texted saying, “See how you’re not picking up? You say I only talk to you at work,” I replied, “Did you need something?”

He said he just wanted to talk. And I felt myself boiling, because why do you think I’m your emotional dumpster? You come around saying you don’t want me, but still touch my arm caressingly like you do. Call me like you want to form a connection but then say you’re too busy to text. Then you remind me you’re still into someone else. The nerve.

So I sent him: “Loll I’m not your therapist.”

And of course, he didn’t like that. Said it was harsh. Said “never mind.” But I felt… satisfied. Like I finally took back something I’ve been letting people borrow for too long — my energy.

And still, I know he might come back. For some reason, boys like when I’m mean to them.

There was another guy I met at Universal — handsome, smart, working on his master’s in business. He found me on Instagram (a little creepy, a little flattering), but once we started talking, I realized he wasn’t really interested in me. It was all about him. Where he’s from, what he’s doing, how proud he is of himself, which he has every right to be. But not one question about me. So I let it fizzle.

Then there was a guy in my communications class. Warm eyes. The kind that made me feel seen for the first time in a long time. But when I found out his age, everything changed. I think he felt the spark too. But now there’s a strange awkwardness between us. The age gap left more than a number — it left a gap in conversation, in shared space.

All of this — the burnout, the boys, the emotional freeloaders — it’s a lot. But what I’ve come to realize is:

I don’t have to deal with people the way I used to.

I don’t have to be the nice girl who listens to everyone’s problems while mine go unheard. I don’t have to accept breadcrumbs of affection from men who want the benefits of me without the burden of loving me. And I don’t have to dim my anger just to keep things polite.

No, I’m not the girl I used to be. But maybe that’s okay.

Maybe I’m becoming the woman who finally chooses herself.

This is 26 🎉🎂🥳

Let me start by saying: today is my birthday. Happy birthday to me.

And let me finish by saying: my patience is being tested at record levels.

We all know I don’t like when things don’t go my way. Now multiply that by ten—because it’s my birthday.

People love to tell me what they can and can’t do. It’s always me compromising.

I hate being there for people who don’t show me the same courtesy.

I hate when people don’t respond to my messages.

I hate when I ask a question and people act like they didn’t hear me.

I hate how inconsiderate people are.

I hate the games people play.

I hate that when someone disrespects me, I have to get out of character just to be heard—and still somehow end up the bad guy.

I hate putting others’ needs before my own.

I hate not getting everything I want.

I hate not being able to control everything.

I hate that my blog doesn’t get much traffic.

I hate how much I think about people who don’t think about me.

I hate how people always make everything about themselves.

I hate when my dog doesn’t listen.

I hate not being understood.

I hate people who play victim.

I hate compromising.

I hate failing.

I hate when God doesn’t talk to me.

I hate not feeling like myself.

I hate feeling insecure.

I hate feeling unloved.

I hate feeling ignored.

I hate feeling like I can’t be myself.

I hate feeling like I’m not important.

I hate feeling like I’m not special.

Though I’ve expressed my feelings through this post I still have so much anger. There is still so much left to say. I have a feeling at the bottom of my heart. Discouragement scapes the depths of my brain. Irritation is at the root of my emotions. On the edge of becoming numb and forgetting the world and its people. Forgetting that I care for people, forgetting they have emotions and they too need someone to lean on. But when am I going to stop letting people have full access to me when I barely have partial access to them?

I know this is kind of negative for my birthday—but honestly, what better way to start it off than with a little cathartic writing?