Then vs. Now

 It’s amazing how much better I feel when I journal. It’s like I’m finally giving my heart a voice—like I’m actually hearing myself for the first time. I’ve spent so long holding things in, trying to make everything look okay on the outside, but now… I’m slowly starting to feel okay on the inside too.


I’ve been craving love, to be needed, to be seen. But I’m also realizing that if I want something different—something real, something healing—I can’t keep walking the same path hoping it’ll magically lead somewhere new. I have to do the work. I have to face the hard truths. I have demons I haven’t dealt with. Some still whisper in the background, especially when I look at old pictures or get hit with unexpected memories.


Like today—a memory popped up from seven years ago. My sister’s high school graduation party. It should’ve been a joyful day, but I remember standing there feeling completely hollow. I had to go alone with my two small kids. My parents wouldn’t let my husband come because of what had happened. We were trying—counseling, forgiveness—but to them, the door was shut. They didn’t see how hard it was for me to be stuck in the middle. To be healing a relationship while also hiding it.


I remember my oldest dropping his plate. Just a little plate of food, but it felt like the last straw. I nearly lost it right there. Tears welled up in my eyes, not just for the mess, but for all the invisible weight I was carrying. I lied when people asked where my husband was—said he was sick. I wanted to disappear. I wanted to crawl into bed and never come out. But I didn’t. I stayed. Because it was my sister’s day. Because that’s what I do—I show up. Even when I’m breaking.


But here I am now, seven years later, still standing. Still showing up—but this time, I’m starting to show up for myself, too. My husband—though not perfect—is supporting my healing, and that matters. It gives me hope that maybe one day, even the hardest memories won’t feel so sharp. Maybe they’ll just be proof of how far I’ve come.


I have a long way to go, but I’m finally walking it. And I’m not walking it alone.

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