Name What You Know

I need to speak to myself gently, clearly, and with kindness.

I did not make this choice lightly. I weighed it with my whole heart, my history, my loyalty, and my love. I stayed as long as I could without disappearing. When I finally left, it wasn’t because I was strong enough to be hard, it was because I was honest enough to stop betraying myself.

I am allowed to choose peace without earning it through suffering first. I am allowed to want quiet, land, and a life that feels aligned instead of endured. I am allowed to notice when my body says “enough” and listen, especially now. Missing people does not mean I made the wrong choice. Feeling grief does not mean I should return to what harmed me. Love and distance can coexist. Compassion does not require proximity. I can care deeply without sacrificing my health, my nervous system, or my future.

This season of rest, healing, and building something new is not indulgence, it is repair. I am learning how to live without bracing, without shrinking, without constant negotiation of my values. That learning takes time. I will be patient with myself as my body and spirit catch up to the safety I’ve chosen.

I am not abandoning anyone. I am not late. I am not wrong. I am becoming steadier, clearer, and more myself again, and that is worth protecting.

From one year ahead, I remind myself that I am still kind. I did not harden, but my kindness finally learned where it belongs. I stopped pouring it into places that couldn’t hold it without breaking me. My body is calmer here. I sleep more deeply. The vigilance faded slowly until one day I realized I was no longer rehearsing conversations in my head or bracing for impact that never came. Healing arrived quietly, in the absence of harm.

I was right to trust the pull toward land, quiet, and intention. What I built, my life, Sky View Ridge, my space, all became proof that I can live a life that reflects who I am now, not who I was expected to remain. People came who were meant to come. I belong here, and belonging does not require endurance.

I still think of those I left behind. I always will. But the ache softened into something clean, a love without self-erasure. I no longer confuse guilt with responsibility. I understand now that staying would not have saved anyone, and leaving did not betray them. Some journeys simply diverge.

The hardest part was not leaving. It was trusting that peace would not punish me for choosing it. It didn’t. I grew steadier, clearer, more spacious inside. I learned that rest is not the opposite of purpose, it is what makes purpose possible. When I stopped surviving, my life began to speak back to me.

Tonight, I remind myself:

I am safe. Nothing is being asked of me. Nothing needs to be decided, fixed, or proven before I sleep. The choice I made does not need defending in the dark. Peace does not have to justify itself. My body knows where it is now, and it knows it can rest.

What I left behind no longer gets to follow me into this room. What I am building will wait for me until morning. I am allowed to lay everything down.

I breathe in slowly. I let the day loosen its grip. I let my muscles soften around the life I chose. I did not abandon love. I chose a way to keep living it without harm.

Sleep now, I tell myself. Healing happens even when I am not watching. I am allowed to rest. I am allowed to grow. I am exactly where I need to be.

I chose life. I chose steadiness. I chose myself.