“Last year, I started realizing that I can’t please others for the benefit of their comfort and at the expense of my discomfort.” -Meghan Quinn (So This Is War)  

(My interpretation: I stayed quiet for years. Not because I had nothing to say; but because it was safer than being dismissed or being made the butt end of the joke. Turns out – the joke is not funny.)

I used to believe that if I explained myself perfectly, someone would finally understand me.
That if I said it softly enough, no one would get angry. That if I stayed quiet, I would not get hurt.

I was wrong.

So here I am. Writing what I never said aloud – but not all at once.
This blog post is not a full confession. It is a slow burn.
A breadcrumb trail for anyone else who had to become their own parent. Their own therapist. Their own safe place. I could start with the childhood trauma. The grief. The relationship that chipped away at my voice until I forgot I had one.
But I would rather start here – now – because this version of me is the one clawing her way back.

Some stories are not told start-to-finish. Some are unpacked in fragments, in triggers, in trembling hands holding a pen/fidgeting with a mouse/typing this into word at midnight. That is what this is.
If you are here, reading this; you do not need the whole history to know that it was heavy.
Just know that I am still carrying some of it.
But I am walking anyway.

This is the part where I stop pretending it did not happen.
This is the part where I begin to voice it aloud to help others whom might not be able to verbalize theirs; whom might need a chuckle, whom might need to be able to say “I have been through worse” or “it can get worse”. Either way, you are not alone. We do not have to lose our voices anymore.

Xoxo ♡