Somewhere in the Middle

Yesterday was the longest day.

I spent it staring at the last two and a half years of my life on paper — every incident, every boundary I set and reset, every way I shrank and conceded and let myself be treated like a doormat and a punching bag. When you’re a person who believes in owning your part, that paper is a mirror. And I won’t lie to you: I felt defeated. Anything that could go wrong felt like it was going to. I wanted to hide from how I felt. Run from the emotions I couldn’t control. Push everyone away. Give up.

Last night I laid in bed for an hour, tears streaming down my face, telling myself it’s never going to end. That the perfect day I dream about doesn’t exist.

And you know what? That’s okay. Because most moments, I love my life, and I wouldn’t change it for a thing.

If life has taught me anything, it’s this: misery can always be refunded. But joy — joy is earned. And if you just hold on, the sun comes back around.

I don’t want to live on defense anymore. I’ve been on defense my entire life. I don’t want to embrace the darkness, but I can’t unsee it either — and honestly, seeing it clearly is what got me and my kids out.

So I’m aiming for somewhere in the middle.

See the darkness. Don’t live in it. Notice the beauty on purpose — coffee before words, heart-shaped sunglasses, trail dirt under my shoes, salt air at the beach, my babies flying on a swing. Not because I’m naive. Because my attention belongs to me now.