Tilting at Windmills: On Truth, Congruence, and the Refusal to Carry What Is Not Mine

There are moments in life when what looks like collapse from the outside is actually integration on the inside.

I have learned that my periods of exhaustion—sleeping deeply, withdrawing, crying, saying no—are not failures of strength. They are the visible signs of inner work taking place. When something unresolved surfaces, my system slows everything down so it can be metabolized honestly. This does not always look productive. It rarely looks impressive. But it is real.

I often return to the image of Don Quixote tilting at windmills—not as a symbol of foolishness, but as a metaphor for inner battles misunderstood from the outside. What appears irrational or excessive to others can be deeply purposeful to the one living it. Inner work does not announce itself politely. It disrupts.

For much of my life, I was taught—explicitly and implicitly—to participate in narratives that were not true for me. Speaking honestly came with consequences. Silence and compliance were rewarded. Over time, this taught me to live against myself in small ways, then larger ones. The cost of that incongruity was high.

What I know now is simple, though not easy: I am no longer willing to actively participate in what does not feel true to me.

This does not mean I believe I possess the truth. I don’t. I remain deeply curious about the world, other people, and the complexity of human experience. What I am certain of is much narrower and more grounded: I can recognize when something is not my truth, and I no longer abandon myself to belong.

There is an important distinction here that I didn’t always have language for.

Curiosity is outward-facing.

Congruence is inward-facing.

Curiosity asks, “What might be true?”

Congruence asks, “What is true for me to live by?”

I can remain curious about others while refusing to act against my own alignment.

This has become especially important as I’ve learned to name something I once couldn’t: extraction.

Some relationships are reciprocal. They offer mutual presence, reflection, and care. Others operate primarily by extraction—of energy, labor, validation, or emotional regulation. This is not always malicious. Often it is unconscious. But its impact is real.

Extraction looks like being asked to carry what someone else will not examine.

It looks like being recruited to stabilize a story someone cannot face alone.

It looks like tasks replacing care, defensiveness replacing reflection, and shock when boundaries appear.

For a long time, I tolerated this because I was told that connection—any connection—was inherently healthy. I now understand that connection which requires self-betrayal is not healing; it is reenactment.

When I stop participating in these dynamics, I may appear unsupportive or distant. In truth, I am simply no longer abandoning myself. What looks like withdrawal is often discernment. What looks like conflict is often refusal.

I don’t take pleasure in recognizing incongruence in others. There is no victory in it. In fact, it is often sad. Many lives are built around compromises that once made sense and later became prisons. Leaving those structures can be costly, and not everyone is in a position to do so.

But I am no longer available to help maintain them.

This does not make me superior. It makes me responsible—for my own life.

The work I am doing now is largely internal. It happens quietly, in reflection, in rest, in images and metaphors that help me understand myself. Don Quixote and his windmills are not about fighting the world. They are about confronting the parts of myself that once confused endurance with virtue.

I am not here to convince anyone of anything. I don’t need validation, agreement, or applause. What I need—and what I now protect—is congruence between my inner life and my outer actions.

If that means walking alone for a time, so be it.

If that means disappointing people who benefitted from my over-giving, so be it.

I am not certain about the world.I am curious about it.

But I am certain about this:

I will no longer live divided.

The Sword Against the Windmill.