The days pass by endlessly dragging broken pieces of the person I once was.
I am broken, as we all are, but my wounds have yet to heal. I reach for a hug to find myself alone. I sit on the edge of my bed knowing that I’ve put myself in this place. This has been my decision, a decision made out of logic, not anger or hurt. The pieces fell into place and I knew I needed to make this change, but I’m still hurt.
I feel as if my heart will never stop bleeding, especially as my boys tell me their own perspectives and feelings. There are moments when I worry that I’m being too selfish, but I know giving up who I am will not help them grow into the healthy adults I want to see them as.
I want them to strive for something more, something better. I want them to love and be loved, admired, respected, and accepted. I want happiness to be more easily attainable for them.
There’s so much I wish for when it comes to my boys and then I realize it shouldn’t be just for them. These ideas, hopes, and dream should be for myself as well… these are things my parents probably hoped for me and here I am.
A mess of a girl with a broken heart… a heart that spent too long begging to be seen and accepted, wanting to be loved not for the possible future person I can be, but for who I am right now. I deserve everything I wish for my children.
So here I am… tears falling like rain, alone, trying to make sense of the choices I’ve made. Working to mend my broken pieces so that I can love and accept who I am once again because the best way to teach my boys is by example.
Until next time.