Today, something felt different. Not perfect. Not magical. Just… different.
I woke up, tired — but not defeated. And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t drag myself through the day with a heaviness I couldn’t name. I didn’t need to collapse back into bed or silence the voice in my head that says, “You can’t do this.”
Today, I just did.
I worked. I focused. I stayed present. No panic. No spiral. No emotional hangover.
I felt like me. Just me.
Not a version performing for approval.
Not a mother trying to prove she’s enough.
Not a daughter swallowing her rage.
Not a woman trying to outrun shame.
Just… me. Showing up. Living. Healing.
In therapy, I talked about the things I used to love. I smiled — genuinely smiled — at the memory of joy. It felt distant, but not unreachable. I remembered her… the girl I used to be before the world told me to shrink. The girl who danced in the kitchen. The girl who dreamed loud and gave generously. She’s still here. I felt her today.
And when my mum complained — when she threw her storm toward me — I didn’t fold. I didn’t over-function. I didn’t become a sponge for her stress.
I said no.
I said enough.
I said, “I don’t want this energy. I’m done with this cycle.”
And the most shocking part? I didn’t replay it in my head. I didn’t shrink in guilt. I didn’t apologise for protecting my peace.
I just… let it go.
I think I’m finally understanding that healing isn’t about becoming someone else. It’s about remembering who I was before the world told me I wasn’t enough.
Today, I chose me.
And maybe tomorrow I’ll be tired again, or doubt might creep back in. But today? Today I saw the woman I’m becoming — and I loved her.
I’m proud of me.
Adulting & Motherhood 