I am not like them.

Recently, I shared a deeply personal blog post recounting my experience of being dehumanised in my former workplace—an honest account of the pain inflicted by both students and colleagues. I wrote it not to shame, but to shed light on the quiet and persistent realities so many of us silently carry.

The response was overwhelming. Messages poured in—some from former colleagues, others from strangers—offering sympathy, understanding, and warmth. I realised then the power of truth, its ability to ripple across distance and time, stirring what some hoped had long been buried.

But I also recognised something else: that truth, though righteous, can be unsettling. My words—my experience—had the potential to cause discomfort. Not because they were untrue, but because they forced reflection. Because they held a mirror to behaviours many would rather not see. And perhaps, for some, it stirred guilt and grief, the same emotions I had battled through in silence.

So, I made the difficult decision to remove the post.

Not because I recanted a single word. Not because I sought to protect reputations at the cost of my own healing. But because, despite everything, I cannot bring myself to perpetuate harm—even with the truth on my side.

I am not like them.

They wounded me, yet I will not weaponise my truth to wound in return. My voice remains, my story stands, and my dignity is intact. But I will choose compassion over vengeance, even when compassion was not afforded to me.

That is the difference. That is my peace.