maybe.
I recently met someone.
I don’t know much about her yet — how could I?
We only just met.
But there’s something about her…
Her vision. Her aura. The way she carries herself with confidence, grace, and unwavering self-worth.
She invests in herself — not just financially, but spiritually, emotionally, energetically.
I’ve never encountered a woman who pours into herself so intentionally. It’s mesmerizing.
The breeze is soft today.
I’m outside, soaking up the sun, watching palm leaves dance in the wind.
It feels like something is coming.
Or maybe it’s something leaving.
Lately, I’ve been growing attached to that feeling — the unraveling.
It’s strange, isn’t it? How we become loyal to our pain.
Call it Stockholm syndrome, maybe.
We cling to what hurt us the most, start to love it even.
But the truth is, trauma hoards our energy. And we keep feeding it.
This woman I met — she told me something.
As she described it, I realized I’d been doing it too, slowly, consistently:
Detachment.
Not coldness. Not avoidance.
True detachment — the kind that honors what is, without clinging to what was.
And finally, I feel it:
I am learning to accept.
Not as a form of denial.
Not as an excuse.
But as a quiet, courageous choice to keep going anyway.
Even if I have to stand alone —
We will keep going.
And we won’t stop.
This isn’t just a monologue.
This is a dialogue —
Between me,
And the woman I’ve just met.
The one staring back at me from the mirror.
Dear Diary, 