I Am Tired of Advocating For Myself.

I finally worked up the courage to tell my upstairs neighbor that she had been waking me up with the furniture she drags across the floor in the middle of the night—right over my head.

At first, I actually decided to keep my mouth shut. I had just moved in, and I didn’t want any trouble with anyone. In fact, the last thing I wanted was a neighbor getting so angry about my polite confrontation, that they intentionally make my life a living hell. So, after the first couple of incidents, I ordered a new set of earplugs on Amazon.

But later that week, when making conversation with the building manager, I casually asked who lives above me, just in case I needed to approach them one day. When she asked why, I opened up about the noise that was waking me each night.

We have quiet hours, so the manager informed my neighbor about my complaint, and it stopped for a while. Apparently, she was painting late at night with a rolling chair, and had remedied the situation by placing a rug underneath so it wouldn’t make noise. Considering that I had almost kept my mouth shut, and spent money on earplugs that may not even work, or that would make my ears uncomfortable—the discomfort of speaking up was well worth it.

But last night it happened again. And this time, I had trouble getting back to sleep. So this morning, after much deliberation, I decided to say something.

I knocked on her door, and that is when I met my neighbor for the first time. I could instantly tell that she was on guard. We were both nervous. I calmly introduced myself as her downstairs neighbor, and told her that I just wanted to let her know that there is a piece of furniture she rolls across the floor that woke me up last night.

At first she said she didn’t know what I’m talking about. But when I brought up the exact time it happened (2:30am), and previous late-night instances that had already been addressed—she apologized, and told me it wasn’t intentional.

I said, no worries. I was friendly about it. Before leaving, I introduced myself again and told her to let me know if she needs anything, and that I hope she enjoys herself.

I am still nervous about it as I have mostly had terrible experiences confronting neighbors about disturbance. They have been situations where we start out friendly. They seem accommodating and act like they care, but they never stop the noise, or in some cases—the weed smoking that seeps into my bedroom vents.

Even if it’s against the rules.

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When I lived in Berlin, my downstairs neighbor loved blasting music on his surround-sound system. He was a middle-aged gay German man who owned his flat, had a fancy sports car parked out front, and who was ‘living his best life’ in one of the nicest parts of the city. He had always been friendly towards me and my roommate, and for most of my time living there, we were on good terms.

But my floor bed was above his sound system, and the music noise and vibration kept me up at night. The first time I complained, he turned the music down a smidgen, and told me to text him anytime it’s too loud. So, I did. He would always turn it down a smidgen—not enough to make me comfortable, but enough to make himself feel like he was being considerate. Then, he would resume blasting his music at the same earthshattering volume the next time, as if he never got the memo.

After a few weeks and several rounds of texts, he passive-aggressively told me to get Ohropax with a smile emoji :-)

To his credit, Ohropax is one of the best brands of earplugs. Along with a loud fan, they helped a great deal when I later moved in with an abusive Mother who had an excruciatingly (purposely?) raucous early morning routine, complete with loud self-talk, occasional screaming, moving heavy furniture, and incessant dog barking.

But in that moment with my neighbor, I was pissed that he pushed the problem onto me to wear earplugs for the rest of my tenancy—when earplugs wouldn’t solve the problem, and he could simply just choose to be more considerate.

Things came to a head when one night, I went downstairs during my neighbor’s loud late night party to ask him to turn the music down. He screamed at me in front of all his friends, humiliating me and bringing me to tears.

That was the end of me being able to speak up. I pushed back and tried to fill out a Lärmprotokoll—an official document for noise disturbances—but I knew that the building managers didn’t care about me, city officials wouldn’t care for me over him, and other neighbors were not impacted enough to serve as a witness.

Eventually, for many reasons—I just moved out.

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To be honest, I realize that I am tired of advocating for myself.

Since I moved out of my abusive family home, I notice that I don’t want to rock the boat with anybody—and especially when it comes to my housing.

It’s not because I can’t find my voice, or because I don’t have courage.

It’s because I’ve done it so much and it has exhausted me. Before moving here, I spent weeks and months on phone calls, drafting articulate emails with receipts, fighting for my life, standing up for myself, and ensuring I receive justice—with very little emotional support aside from the 988 suicide hotline and occasional kind words from my subscribers.

I am tired. I just want to rest. My nervous system is recouping.

So when little things nudge at me, threatening my sleep, comfort, or basic necessities—it can feel overwhelming.

I wholeheartedly believe communication is key, and silence will not save you.

It’s important to be clear and vocal about your needs so that they can be properly met. Not every person, place, or situation will be able to meet those needs—but surprisingly, some will, and they will do so wholeheartedly.

Being vocal guides you towards who and what is right for you. Either way, you only dishonor yourself by remaining silent, and pretending your needs don’t exist.

So I admit that I feel a pang of guilt from self-betrayal when I am dragging my feet about self-advocacy.

But is there room to acknowledge that I’m a little burnt out?

Deep down, I know it doesn’t have to be like this…

I wonder what life would be like if I lived in a system that truly supported me, where I didn’t have to fight so hard, carve my path so alone—and, most importantly, where I didn’t have to be afraid of experiencing more abuse, simply because I had the audacity to speak up for myself.

Where I don’t have to be afraid of being trapped in a situation where someone is purposefully negligent. Or where they’re like, “Oh, you don’t like that? Here’s more.”

…

In this new era, I am trying to soften into my body, letting go of habits that disconnect me from myself. Releasing old coping mechanisms I used to take the edge off my inescapable pain…like Doomscrolling.

I believe this will create space for me to retain more emotional energy for my holistic wellbeing. I wonder, if having more of that energy will allow me to advocate for myself in a way that feels grounded, rather than depleting, and to attract more healthy, supportive people into my life.

Only time will tell. For now, I’m still rooting down, containing my fears, and reminding myself that there’s no escape from stress or discomfort—there are only more graceful ways of handling it.