Unbound

I woke up this morning unsettled — not fragile, but fierce. Anger simmered just beneath the surface, sharp and clear. Yesterday, I told my husband I wouldn’t be home until the end of next week. At the time, he didn’t know where I was. Now he does. And honestly, I couldn’t care less.

His reaction was exactly what I expected — the same tired cycle of self-pity. How he hasn’t slept, how he hasn’t eaten, how hard this is on him. It’s always been that way — his world, his story, his pain. He even tossed in a guilt trip about the kids, assuming their thoughts without ever bothering to ask them. I read his words, shook my head, and hit block again — no hesitation this time.

That silence afterward felt electric. Freeing.

Coming to Colorado was the easiest decision I’ve ever made. Even sneaking my things into a suitcase felt strangely effortless — as if life itself conspired to open the door. It didn’t feel reckless; it felt right.

Since I’ve been here, I’ve done nothing but sit with myself — really sit with myself. No noise, no masks, no pretending. The emotions come in waves: sadness, anger, peace. And beneath it all, this steady pulse of strength.

I’m finally learning who I am. What I want. What I’ll never tolerate again.

It’s intoxicating — this sense of power, this freedom to just be. The unknown doesn’t scare me anymore. It calls to me. And for the first time in my life… I’m listening.