The Last Morning in Colorado

It’s my last day in Colorado, and to say I’m anxious would be an understatement. I don’t want to go home. Not yet. Not to face what’s waiting for me there.

This week of solitude has been… intoxicating. They say there’s an art to being alone without feeling lonely — and once you master it, it’s called freedom. I think I’ve tasted that freedom for the first time in my life. The stillness, the quiet, the way the mountain air seems to listen more than it speaks. It’s been a storm of emotions — so fierce that I can’t even name what I’m feeling anymore. Not sad. Not fine. Not angry. Just floating — somewhere between numb and overstimulated, both restless and exhausted.

If I knew my husband would let me go without a fight, I might breathe easier. But he won’t. He’ll resist, manipulate, twist, and pull — as he always has. He’ll try to wear me down, the way he used to. But I can’t let him this time. He’s going to have to stand on his own, learn how to live without the safety net I’ve always been. And yes, he’ll throw blame like confetti — especially that one mistake he’ll never let go of.

But I’m not the same woman I was when I arrived here. I’m stronger. Sharper. A little wild, maybe. I’ve rediscovered parts of myself I thought were gone — and I’m not willing to lose them again.

Yes, it’s been hard, watching my children navigate their father’s chaos, but I had to be selfish this once. I had to choose me. They’ll learn to find their own balance with him — that’s not my burden to carry anymore.

So for now, I’m surrendering to the in-between — the space between who I was and who I’m becoming. The space that feels uncertain, powerful, and alive. Whatever comes next, I’ll face it — with God in my corner and the echo of these mountains still in my veins