In memory of myself.

I sat in the middle with myself,

split clean in two

for longer than I’d like to admit.

-

One half reaching back

screaming, pleading

to fix a mess I never made.

-

The other,

unclenching my jaw,

loosening the grip on my chest,

gently guiding me toward a door.

-

A door marked in fading letters,

leaving is not the same as failing.

-

Still, I hesitated

because guilt will always find a way

to speak over the top of truth.

-

It comes and goes in waves,

vibrant and convincing,

dressed as responsibility,

disguised as commitment.

-

But like light

breaking through stubborn clouds

or a seedling forcing itself

out of sterile soil,

something inside me kept reaching

for a version of freedom

I wasn’t even sure existed.

-

This decision

didn’t feel light or soft,

and it certainly did not feel anything

close to freedom.

-

It felt dense and disorienting,

like I had done something unforgivable.

Like I had broken a rule that

no one ever told me to follow

but had followed

meticulously regardless.

-

Grief came too.

-

Not for what I left behind

but for the version of myself

who believed

staying was the same

as doing the right thing.

-

A girl with a painted smile,

neatly pinned up hair,

convincing herself she could endure anything.

Mistaking her silence for stability,

compliance for peace.

-

Choosing myself meant

leaving her behind

and for a moment,

it felt like self-abandonment.

-

I almost turned back,

more than once.

-

Not because it was right

or because it made me happy

but because she was familiar.

-

What I know now is this,

-

the hardest part is not the leaving

or the deafening silence that follows.

-

The hardest part is the decision itself.

-

The realisation that doing what’s right for you

might never actually feel right at all.

-

In a world that measures right from wrong

based on how well you belong,

choosing yourself

will always feel like rebellion.

-

But I choose me now.

-

For that girl that didn’t know how to,

for the woman who is still learning to

and for a life

that won’t ask me

leave myself behind again.

-

Unlearning

and relearning my worth

has been messy,

uncomfortable

and loud with guilt.

-

But still, it is

without question

a grief I would choose

again and again.

-

Because sometimes

you have to lose everything

you knew you were,

to finally meet

who you've been

all along.