Setting Myself Free

Starting over is hard. It’s uncomfortable, uncertain, and sometimes painfully lonely. But you know what’s harder? Waking up years from now, still shrinking myself to fit inside a love that drains me. Still making excuses for his indiscretions. Still hoping that maybe this time he’ll show up the way I deserve. Still carrying the weight of protecting his image while my own spirit quietly breaks behind closed doors.

I’m not here to prove my worth to someone who can’t see it. I won’t waste another piece of my life waiting for someone to become who they promised to be. I keep reminding myself—this isn’t starting over. This is me setting myself free.

I’ve told him I can’t do this anymore, but he won’t hear me. He’s still holding on, still clinging to the version of us that used to feel safe. He tells me if I would just open my heart, I’d see that we could get through this. But what he doesn’t understand is that my heart doesn’t feel anything anymore. It’s quiet now. Empty in a way that’s peaceful and yet I worry that it will never feel again.

I don’t feel sad. Or angry. Or fine. I’m just… floating. Numb, overstimulated, confused, and tired all at once. And yet, somewhere deep inside, there’s this flicker—a fragile kind of hope that maybe this emptiness is where the healing begins.