05/28/2026
I’m no longer ashamed of surviving things that were designed to break me.
I’m no longer ashamed of being a domestic violence survivor.
I’m no longer ashamed of losing everything. Twice.
I’m no longer ashamed of being divorced.
I’m no longer ashamed of the seasons where I neglected myself while trying to save everybody else.
I’m no longer ashamed of surviving su***de attempts and having to rebuild from places people never even knew I was drowning in.
I’m no longer ashamed of losing my teeth, my confidence, my direction, or pieces of myself along the way.
Life humbled me in public more than once. Human beings love to act like struggle is a character flaw instead of proof somebody kept going. Strange little species.
But one thing I am proud of?
I learned how to love myself again.
Slowly. Honestly. Without pretending.
Not the polished version.
Not the strong version everybody claps for.
Me.
The woman who survived.
The woman still healing.
The woman still becoming.
This is a safe place here.
No masks required.
No perfection needed.
Welcome in.