A Breath Above the Surface

Head above water

I'm getting to the top, finally able to see the forest through the trees. I feel hopeful and inspired.

I recently left a 20-year relationship that began in my teens. I left after realizing I was being emotionally controlled and neglected. I left after years of trying—of hoping my ex-husband would meet me halfway, would work with me. I left after realizing that I was fading, that I had faded, so much that I could no longer breathe, no longer see or hear myself. I had stopped believing I could make art, stopped believing I had a say in how I moved through the world. I left when I understood that I was in a cage—one no one else could see but me. And I realized that my partner, whether unable or unwilling, refused to see that he had built it for me and was keeping me inside it.

It's only been a month since I made the choice to leave. It’s not over—I’m not free of it yet. I’m not out of the hole or at full strength. But I am starting to feel hope and inspiration again.

What I’ve been realizing is that I’ve been on hold for a long time—years. I spent so much time waiting, hoping things would change. It wasn’t until I let myself grieve the truth—that change wasn’t coming—that I allowed myself to step out of the cage.

I’ve never been good at feeling my anger or distress. Childhood trauma made sure of that. So I’ve been researching, trying to find the words to explain my experience and I found them. My experience isn’t singular. I have never been alone despite feeling that way. The realization that its ok and normal to feel this scared and unsure—Its part of the journey. Its fucking scary to realise that I have never been in a position to be an adult on my own. This entire situation has been triggering my trauma around my parents' breakup, which was filled with pain, instability, and a complete lack of self-care and mental health awareness. As a child, it felt volatile and unsafe and didn’t end until I left as a young adult..

I realized that I am not them—my ex is not them and despite the years I spent shrinking myself, I am powerful and this will not be a repeat of the past. I am clever. I am capable of learning whatever I need to learn. I am tenacious. I am full of hope and light if only I remember to focus energy on those skills. I deserve to be seen and appreciated by myself and the people I share myself with.

What’s pulling me out of the hole is focusing on being unapologetically myself. Creating a home—my home—that is full of color, weird stuff, and DIY joy. A space that is unapologetically autistic, designed for the way my son and I live best. A space that feels good, that accommodates us and allows us to build the best life we can.

There is hope in remembering what once brought you joy and being brave enough to engage with it again. There is courage in shedding the layers that no longer serve you in pursuit of being yourself—however that looks, however it feels best.

It’s okay to feel sad, to feel angry, to feel everything. But never let it consume you. Never let the gloom cover all the light.