Still here

Walking home with my head a little higher.

This week I realised something uncomfortable.

I have been halfway gone for a long time.

Not physically, no. Not even dramatically.

But internally.

Half-invested.

Half-resigned.

Half dreaming of something else.

I don’t really hate my life. That would be almost too easy, right?

I love my husband in so many ways. We have thirty years of shared history. He is stitched into my youth and the larger part of my adulthoood.

And yet, the older I get, the more I feel a quiet widening between us.

There is no fight.

There is no betrayal.

There is just ……space.

And I’ve been asking myself questions I don’t yet know how to answer.

Am I staying for dignity?

Am I staying for my daughter?

Out of fear?

Maybe financial safety?

Or habit?

This week, something small happened.

In class, instead of raising my voice over my students like I usually would, I explained the rules once. Then, stood still. Waited. I calmly insisted.

And, they complied.

It was nothing dramatic or cinematic. They were not transformed. I wasn’t transformed either.

But I walked home that day with my head held high.

I didn’t feel proud in a loud way.

I wasn’t triumphant.

Just….for once, not depleted.

And that felt new.

It startled me how quickly it worked. As if that steadier version of me had been there all along, waiting to be given permission.

Nothing else has changed.

My marriage is still complicated.

My body is still not where I want it to be.

My finances are still in desperate need of structure.

I still overthink, I still doubt myself, I still fell guilty for wanting more.

Some days I am clear.

Some days I am confused.

I am not reinventing myself.

I am by no means staging a dramatic exit.

I am not becoming a heroine.

I am just trying to become steadier than I was last week.

Maybe change is smaller than we think it is.

Maybe it begins with not yelling.

With standing still.

With walking home with your head held slightly higher.

I don’t have any answers.

I am still here.

But I am paying attention now.

And for the first time in a while, that feels like it might be enough.

Thank you for reading…✨

If this little reflection brought you a tiny moment of stillness or introspection, I’m glad.
I believe silence is a kind of grace, and that stories and poems, too, can offer us rest.

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You make this quiet corner of the internet feel like home.

With ink and light and, maybe an essence of vanilla,

Lia