The Return to Self

I used to think coming home to myself would feel like a celebration.

But it doesn’t.

It feels quiet.

Like an exhale after holding my breath for years.

Like warmth returning to the skin after the longest winter.

Rebirth doesn’t always begin with light —
sometimes it starts in the quiet,
in the stillness that feels like dying and coming alive in the same breath.

I live for this moment now.
For me.
Not the versions I created to be loved,
but the one that learned to love without condition.

There were days I couldn’t.
Days I doubted.
Nights I tried to outrun myself,
and mornings I wondered if I ever would.
But through every unraveling, something sacred remained —
the quiet faith that I would find my way back.

And I did.

The outlook here isn’t a place.
It’s where I am within myself —
in my mind, my body, my heart.
The scene is love.
The scene is peace.
It’s the understanding that I don’t have to be perfect,
or even okay all the time
to love every part of who I am.

Maybe what I thought was loss was really a blessing.
Maybe letting go was the beginning of growth.
The fruits of the tree I’ve been tending within me
are plump and ripe now —
sweet with the patience it took to get here.
Ready to be enjoyed.
Ready to be shared.

In The Space Between, I learned to just exist —
to trust what I couldn’t see,
to stop chasing clarity and start trusting myself.
And in that stillness,
I discovered that nothing external can truly be taken from me —
not when I know who I am,
when I value myself,
when I trust myself.

Faith is what anchors me now.
Faith in my own rhythm.
Faith in my becoming.
Maybe that’s why the people who love me never doubt I’ll be okay —
they’ve always seen in me what I was still learning to see in myself.

Self-trust has taught me peace.
It’s taught me how to let things go,
how to let things be.
Stillness taught me boundaries.
Faith taught me freedom.

And peace —
peace is being in perfect rhythm with myself.
It’s waking up inside my own body
and realizing I’m finally home.

This peace feels like sunlight after a long, hard day —
the kind I thought i wouldn’t survive,
and yet here i am,
soaking in its warmth,
grateful for the light that stayed.

It’s my gift.
I deserve it.
Now —
it is time I enjoy it.

And this time,
I’m staying.