Dear me,
Another week.
A few bottles of wine.
A few girly lunches.
A few online purchases.
Different days.
Different nothing.
I was noticeably quiet this week.
I’m stepping back because a giant step forward is coming —
not known even to myself.
I was observing my girls.
It made me think:
“I never met a woman
who didn’t become a better version of herself
after her heart was broken.
Maybe not immediately,
but eventually.”
My heart was broken a long time ago.
Seven years, I think.
It doesn’t matter.
What matters is this:
if I never stood up to it,
never healed from it,
does that mean my heart is still broken?
And can I be broken-hearted
for someone I don’t even love anymore?
Could that be the reason
I keep arriving at the same station?
The past few years feel like
copy–paste,
copy–paste.I know I’m not the woman I was seven years ago.
Not negotiable.
So why does my life still feel circular —
like I move, but don’t go anywhere?
Even my overthinking has a pattern.
Same questions.
Better wording.
More acceptable excuses.
But you know what always helps?
Getting myself done up.
Oh — my black leather boots
and that oversized t-shirt.
Power equals comfort.
No, I’m not going out.
For me.
For my reflection in the mirror.
For the sound on the floor.
For the glass of wine on Sunday.
For the internal feeling
that I am worth showing up for —
in my best armour.
And yes,
on the list of what I’m packing
for this trip of becoming,
my love for looking my best
just because,
just for me,
is definitely coming with me.
This is what’s next —
filling my suitcase with the best of me,
and leaving the rest
where it’s way overdue:
in the past.