Waking up to the truth rarely happens like in the movies. There’s no dramatic music, no slow-motion montage, no whisper from the universe saying, “Linda… today you shall see clearly.”

No.
It usually happens in pyjamas, with bed hair, a dodgy knee, and a mug of coffee you reheated twice.

At first, the truth arrives quietly. It taps you on the shoulder while you’re brushing your teeth and says, “Just checking… does this still make sense to you?”

You spit.
Pause.
Stare at your reflection.

“Huh. Actually… no.”

This is the moment you realise that what you once called love, loyalty, or family harmony was actually a long-running soap opera you never auditioned for — yet somehow starred in, funded, and emotionally produced.

The truth doesn’t shout.
It raises an eyebrow.

Suddenly, things you once excused now look ridiculous:

• The “misunderstandings” that required you to apologise.
• The “jokes” that only worked if you hated yourself.
• The “rules” that applied exclusively to you.
• The financial arrangements that made you feel like a naughty child asking for pocket money — with your own money.

You don’t wake up angry at first.
You wake up amused.

You start thinking, “Wait… so I was the problem because I wanted respect?”
“I was ‘too sensitive’ because I noticed patterns?”
“I was ‘selfish’ for wanting peace?”

Oh.
Ohhhhhh.

That’s when the humour kicks in.

You laugh at how much energy you wasted trying to explain yourself to people who benefited from not understanding. You laugh at how often you gave the benefit of the doubt to people who wouldn’t lend you a pen. You laugh because if you don’t, you might scream — and laughter is far more elegant.

Waking up to the truth is like updating your internal software. Suddenly, the system runs smoother. You stop buffering. You stop crashing. You stop responding to nonsense notifications like “You should feel guilty for having boundaries.”

The best part?

You no longer feel the need to convince anyone of your reality. The truth has a funny way of standing on its own — arms folded, unimpressed, sipping your coffee.

And here’s the real punchline:

Once you see it, you can’t unsee it.
Once you wake up, you don’t go back to sleep — no matter how much someone preferred you unconscious.

So you get up.
You stretch.
You live.

And you think, with a small smile,
“Well… that explains a lot.”