I wish I could say I loved you well, that I stood tall, steady and whole. But the truth is, I loved you from wounds. Wounds that you instilled. I loved you from fears that whispered louder than trust.
I lashed out when I should have listened, held on when I should have let go. I let my worth be measured in your hands, by your actions, as if your love could define my own.
I stayed, not because you deserved me but because I didn’t think I deserved more – until you spelled it out for me. Do you remember your words? “you deserve better” you said… I mistook your presence for devotion, attention for something more.
And when you showed me repeatedly that I was an alternative, not a choice, I swallowed the truth like a bitter pill, because leaving felt like losing myself. Leaving felt like the funeral of what could have been. Leaving felt like mourning your loss even when you were… are still very much alive. This was going to be a burial. A burial I was not ready to attend. A funeral I never thought would happen.
But maybe the real loss was staying, becoming a stranger in my own skin. Not recognizing the reflection of self. Not liking the reactions I was giving. Not liking the mean words I was uttering. Not liking the way I was showing up.
I wish I could say that I loved you well. I wish I stood tall, steady, and whole. But the truth is, each time I wasn’t considered, I saw it as a chance. I took that as an opportunity to prove my worth to you.
One day at a time 