I was tasked with adding some context and this shit sucks. To add that context I have to revisit parts of me that I dislike. I have to admit things which I dislike.

One of the things about therapy and memoirs is that you have to be honest and functional but doing both can leave you emotionally raw and somewhat unprotected. I am able to look at 4-5 specific things and rationally speak on them, how they happened, what was in my control and what was not. Then I get to one spot in particular and I shut down. There is no physical or emotional or intellectual movement.

I would tell a client to put down the cross because the fire needs the wood but I tell myself to carry the cross into the fire.

The positive is that on the ‘romance’ side I am able to convey the facts with out ignoring my role and without distorting things. The 2 most impactful relationships won’t like their reality on display but that is not my issue. I am still struggling with the edit on explaining to the reader things like the incident but talking about the incident is always a challenge. That wound feels as if it will never heal. It may not and I don’t know how I will manage that if that becomes the reality.

If this goes as planned or even similar my life is going to change significantly. I don’t know if I am prepared for that. Being on display in that way, for the period of time it will happen. I think I am, I know I am strong enough. Shit with what I’ve lived through it will be simple addition vs grad school statistics. I actually worry more about those close to me instead of me. I feel like they will be fair game to those who will want to cause me pain. I worry about what I will do to protect them.

I also worry that the tears I am currently shedding won’t stop.

Now the reality is that they will. They always do, but this pain feels different or perhaps it is the work I am doing to manage it and process it these days.

I haven’t let go of some anger. I haven’t let go of some sadness. I won’t in some ways.

When I saw this note:

You thought the bond meant he would choose growth.
You thought the closeness meant he would choose courage.
You thought the way he opened to you privately meant he would choose truth over comfort.

You weren’t wrong to believe in the power of “us.”
You were wrong about his capacity to meet you in it.

Because here’s the thing that hurts the most and sits the deepest:

A man can feel something real with you
and still choose the smaller version of himself
because the larger version terrifies him.

You didn’t misread the connection.
You misread his ability to honor it.

You gave him the kind of love that could’ve rerouted his whole life,
but he chose the version of living that required the least evolution.

Not because you weren’t worth the risk…
but because he wasn’t built for it.

And that’s the wound beneath all of this:
He didn’t choose “us,” not because you imagined it…
but because he couldn’t rise to match it.

I understood how to tell that story.

When I saw this note:

• a disabled parent
• a disabled child
• no partner
• no money
• failing utilities
• no sleep
• no childcare
• no mental health support
• no family help
• state surveillance
• trauma stacked on trauma
• and the entire weight of survival resting on one woman

That isn’t a test of worth.
It’s an impossible equation.

Your love wasn’t the problem.

I resist and hop on the same hamster wheel.

This works itself out in the end all things do.