Latest Posts
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This Is How Soft People Protect Themselves
I learned how to pull back without looking like I was retreating. A small shift in energy, a lighter tone, a well-timed smile that says everything’s fine even when I’m already halfway out the door emotionally. It’s subtle. You wouldn’t… Continue reading
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She Unfolds Where She’s Held, Not Watched
There’s a version of me that only comes out when I feel safe. She’s softer. Quieter. Laughs without scanning the room. Speaks without second-guessing. She doesn’t measure her words or shrink her feelings to fit someone else’s comfort. She doesn’t… Continue reading
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Slowness Is How I Know I’m Safe
I don’t play hard to get. That’s never been my game. I don’t need to be chased or proven right. I just move slowly where I’ve learned to be cautious. When you’ve handed your heart to people who held it… Continue reading
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Too Much for the Wrong Hands
He kept calling me complicated, like it was a flaw I hadn’t yet apologized for. He said it in that tone people use when they’re tired but won’t admit they’re out of depth. The thing is, I’ve been called complicated… Continue reading
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The Vows We Don’t Talk About
No one really talks about what happens after the vows. After the dress is packed away, the champagne glasses are cleared, the photos are posted. We’re sold this picture – glowing rings, perfect captions, the dream of finally being chosen.… Continue reading
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The Softest Revenge Is Becoming Untouchable
He always made sure I knew I didn’t belong. Every dinner with his friends was a reminder. Every joke that landed at my family’s expense, every time he corrected how I spoke or looked at me sideways when I mentioned… Continue reading
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A Version of Me He’ll Never Touch Again
She used to cry in silence, then wipe her face before anyone saw. Now she doesn’t need to hide. The tears taught her things no comfort ever could. She learned how to grieve without breaking, how to burn without turning… Continue reading
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Mercy, Even When You Could Burn It All Down
I remember the rage. How it sat in the corners of the room after he mocked the way my father spoke. How it built in my chest every time he introduced me to his colleagues with that tone that made… Continue reading
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When the Goalpost Keeps Moving
I didn’t recognize it as abuse at first. There were no bruises, no screaming matches, nothing you could point to and say, this is what’s wrong. What there was, instead, was me – exhausted, constantly second-guessing myself, walking on eggshells… Continue reading
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Parenting Through the Pain You Inherited
My father has never talked about what happened to him. Not really. We grew up knowing something was broken but not allowed to name it. The silence around his pain was louder than anything he ever said. It shaped our… Continue reading
Light Calls To Light 