After showing up with presence, clarity, and care, she disappeared into silence. But this time, I didn’t chase. This time, I walked.

You’re Gonna Miss Me When I’m Gone is about closure without a conversation, the quiet power of emotional integrity, and why women always feel it when the man they underestimated stops waiting to be chosen.

Most people think the ick is about the other person. But the real ick—the one that sticks—is about watching yourself betray your own standards. In this piece, I break down a session with “Julie,” who realized the man she was dating wasn’t her boyfriend—he was her symptom. The moment she called herself a prostitute wasn’t shame—it was liberation. This is the gift of the ick.

A working-class clinician goes nuclear on the wealthy execs who tried to silence him. Armed with evidence, court filings, and moral clarity, Enrique Arteaga declares open war on the systems that weaponize HR policies and hide behind privilege. You thought he was gone? Think again.

The knock wasn’t just on their door. It was on the door of every lie that told me I was powerless. When I served them, I reclaimed my name.

Some men learn manhood from role models. Others learn it in the wreckage of emotional warfare. I don’t fix chaos anymore. I outlast it. I outbuild it. I outlive it.

She didn’t love me. She exposed me. In trying to earn her, I abandoned myself. But collapse has a way of revealing the blueprint. And now I build. Not for her. For the man I was always meant to be.

She asked me to take her name off my site — like scrubbing the stench of her mediocrity would save her from what she really is: a coward in clogs hiding behind trauma-informed buzzwords while letting real harm happen under her watch. I took it off. Not for her. For me. Because I don’t hang plaques for termites. Consider this my final act of sanitation.