This Version Of Me Isn’t Polished.

I’m not going to act like I’m perfect. Not for a second. And I’m not going to pretend that healing is pretty or easy. It’s not.

It’s rugged. You lose people. You lose yourself, even.

I never really knew who I was to begin with, so losing myself wasn’t the hardest part. But losing people, that hurts.

I don’t like being left. And I don’t like leaving those who once claimed to love me. But at some point, my growth, my happiness, my well-being had to matter more than preserving someone else’s comfort.

Some call that selfish. Rude. Disrespectful.

I call it healing. I call it me.

This version of me isn’t polished. She’s soft in some places, sharp in others. She’s learning to speak without shrinking, to rest without guilt, to love without losing herself.

She’s not perfect. But she’s present. And that’s more than enough.