They Say I Changed. Good.
Volume 9 of The Bad Wife Files
Casey Peck
6/29/20253 min read


Because I was never meant to stay small enough to survive their comfort zone.
“They say you’ve changed.”
Yeah.
I f*cking hope so.
Because I used to tolerate being ignored.
Used to apologize when I cried.
Used to silence myself to keep the peace.
Used to believe it was my job to make an unhealthy relationship work.
And now?
Now I ask questions.
Now I say no.
Now I walk away instead of explaining.
Now I speak up when it’s uncomfortable, especially when it’s uncomfortable.
So yeah, I changed.
Because staying the same would’ve killed me slowly.
What They Really Mean When They Say You’ve Changed
“They say you’ve changed” is rarely a compliment.
It’s often laced with judgment. With control. With disappointment that you’re no longer easy to manipulate.
What they really mean is:
You stopped performing
You stopped being accessible
You started choosing your peace over their approval
You stopped explaining, shrinking, apologizing, fixing
They liked the you who played nice.
The you who bit her tongue.
The you who wore pain like a perfectly applied shade of lipstick.
This version? The one with boundaries and a backbone?
She’s “too much.”
Let them choke on it.
I Wasn’t Always Like This
There was a time I:
Said “it’s okay” when it wasn’t
Swallowed the hurt just to avoid being called dramatic
Stayed quiet to “pick my battles” Bent so far backward I forgot what standing felt like
I thought that made me strong.
Patient.
Loving.
But it made me invisible.
And you can only disappear inside yourself so many times before something breaks.
For me, it was the version of me they liked.
I let her go.
The Old Me Was Built to Survive Him, Not to Live Free
Let’s be real:
The version of you they’re mourning?
She was built in survival mode.
She knew how to:
De-escalate a fight before it started
Decode moods like her life depended on it, because sometimes it did
Carry everyone’s emotions but her own
Shape-shift to avoid conflict
She was brilliant. Strategic. Strong as hell.
But she was also exhausted.
You didn’t betray her by changing.
You honored her by evolving.
They’ll Try to Guilt You for Growing
Here’s how it sounds:
“You used to be so easygoing…”
“You’ve really changed since the divorce…”
“I miss the old you.”
“Don’t forget where you came from.”
Let me translate:
“You used to let me treat you however I wanted.”
“Your new standards make me uncomfortable.”
“I miss when your needs didn’t inconvenience me.”
“Please stay small so I don’t have to grow with you.”
It’s not nostalgia. It’s control, dressed up as concern.
Newsflash: You’re Allowed to Change
You’re allowed to:
Outgrow dynamics that were never healthy
Change your mind after learning the truth
Develop a backbone in a family that taught you to stay silent
Leave a marriage that left you empty
Choose peace over legacy
Burn the costume and show up as your whole damn self
Change isn’t betrayal.
It’s proof you were paying attention.
How to Handle the Ones Who Miss the Old You
1. Stop explaining your evolution.
Growth isn’t a group project. It doesn’t require a permission slip.
2. Set boundaries anyway.
Even when they guilt you. Even when they call you cold. Let them. Cold is better than controlled.
3. Let the discomfort come.
When you change, people will project. Let them. Don’t absorb it.
4. Keep going.
Your new life depends on you not falling for the guilt trip of nostalgia.
Here’s What They’re Not Saying Out Loud
They don’t miss you.
They miss the version of you who didn’t make them reflect.
The one who:
Didn’t hold them accountable
Didn’t challenge the dynamic
Didn’t set the room on fire when it needed to burn
The version of you they loved was the one they could mold.
But this version?
She’s not here to be molded.
She’s here to take up space.
And the ones who matter won’t ask you to shrink again.
You’ve Got This and I’ve Got You
They say I changed?
Good.
I changed from codependent to conscious.
From reactive to regulated.
From pleading to powerful.
From “pick me” to “don’t even try me.”
So no, I don’t miss who I used to be.
Because she was surviving something I’ll never tolerate again.
And if that makes me “too much,” “too distant,” “too loud,” “too angry,” “too whatever”?
Good.
Then let me be too much, too healed, too alive, too free.
Because this version of me?
She’s not coming back.
She’s moving forward. Unapologetically.