I wish I could be there every day. Not to fix anything or try to rewrite the story, just to sit with what’s here. To let the day be what it is instead of twisting it into what could have been. I try to stay present, but my head still drifts… Imagining ways it might have worked, how we might have stayed happy, stayed a family. But it’s hard. Honest things usually are.
I’ve carved out this life here. Rough at first, then slowly smoothed into something that feels like mine. Sometimes I wish I could hand it to you, like a small gift. Here, this is what I’ve made. It feels like a fresh start, like all the rooms in my head have been repainted. Furniture rearranged. Lighter. Easier to breathe.
But I don’t say much, because I don’t want it to sound like I’m happier without what was. That’s not true. It’s more complicated than that. Grief and gratitude live side by side. Memory and hope share the same kitchen. So instead of bragging or announcing every little thing, I let the small wins glow quietly, like candles in a window.
The old life still tugs at me sometimes. The bars, the clubs, the beaches, all of it fueled by alcohol. Some nights were fun, sure. But mostly it was sameness. A way of not thinking. That part of me was stuck, heavy, unmoving. I can’t go back to that. Not now, not ever. It makes whole places feel too tight to breathe, because they remind me of who I let myself become.
What I want now is growth. Not the shiny, social media version. Just the small kind. Killing off my ego a little more each day. Wanting less. Needing less. Learning how to sit still and actually feel content with what’s already in front of me.
And I’m not “waiting on” anyone. That’s not it. I’m just keeping my head clear. No dating, no distractions, no noise. Nothing romantic or sexual. I don’t want it. I want to finally be okay in silence. Okay being alone in my own head without reaching for someone to fill the space. It’s been a long time since I felt that way.
And here’s what I’ve learned. No one person should hold everything sacred in my life. I used to lean so hard on one connection to carry all of it: my joy, my pain, my secrets, my future. That weight bent me, and it bent others too. It wasn’t fair. Now I see how much I need friendships, chosen family, people who each hold a piece. A net of closeness instead of one fragile rope. That’s how I want to live. That’s how love becomes lighter instead of breaking us.
More than anything, I want ease. To talk without fighting. To share without armor. To have some version of what we once had, without the collisions. Because there’s still so much love and history there. And I think that will always matter.
The work of simplifying isn’t glamorous. It’s saying no to the pull of old habits. It’s letting myself sit with discomfort. It’s small things stacking up. A sober morning, a page written, an honest call returned, a night of real sleep. They look small, but they add up. They’re how I know I’m actually changing.
If I could wish for anything right now, it would be peace. Peace for me. Peace for the people who have been part of my story. Rest that feels real. Friendships that spread out the weight of living, instead of dumping it all on one person. Growth that doesn’t need to be loud to be real.
I wish I could show someone this life I’ve built. Not to prove anything, not to fix the past, but just to let the present be seen. For now, I’m learning that sharing doesn’t have to mean giving everything away. Sometimes it just means passing along what’s true, stripped down, steady.
Not rescue. Not performance. Just the pieces left after the pruning.