The Fog

This weekend was filled with simple things—family, sunflowers, blueberry buckets— and somewhere in the middle of it, Peace and Joy walked beside me again.

I miss my sweet, grumpy boy.

I loved him and his dogs so deeply. It didn't have to be this way....

It wasn't just me who thought so.

Fully stocked pantry, backups of everything... I didn't know what those things really meant.

What happens when your body still craves the person who hurt you? This raw piece explores the somatic aftermath of a trauma bond and how the body remembers touch, even when the mind knows the truth.

He replaced me before the truth even surfaced. But the pain didn’t mean I wasn’t worthy. It just meant I loved deeply. And now, I choose me.

When his dog died, I didn’t reach out. But I felt it. Grief doesn’t care about no contact. It just arrives. Quiet, uninvited, and honest.

I stayed because hope is a drug and I overdosed on the dream. But one day, the ache was louder than the hope. And I chose breath. I chose self. I chose truth.

Not every part of healing is clear or beautiful. Sometimes it’s foggy. Quiet. Lonely. This is about walking through the void, the weird in-between of grief, growth, and becoming. One breath, one step at a time