Healing doesn’t always look like closure—it sometimes looks like glancing at the door even when you know no one’s coming. This piece is about the quiet kind of grief, the stubborn hope that lingers, and learning to love yourself through the parts of you that still wait.

Some people leave your life, and it’s like a window finally opened. Others leave, and it’s like the whole house collapsed—even when they were the ones leaking in the mold to begin with. This is for the messy breakups, the situationships that never even started, and the toxic bonds you still secretly mourn. I’m not here to judge you for struggling. I’m here to walk you through how to finally let that shit go—one petty, painful, healing step at a time.

You didn’t just steal a photo. You stole my image, my autonomy, and the right to control my story. I hope the $9.99 was worth it—because you lit a fire under the wrong woman.

This isn’t just about “nice guys.”

It’s about the men who perform empathy, hide behind politeness, and use their image to gain your trust—only to do quiet, calculated harm. This is what happens when you stop believing in the illusion of safety and start trusting your own patterns.

Healing isn’t always a glow-up. Sometimes it’s a breakdown. This post is for the days when you feel stuck, numb, or like you’re doing everything right and still getting nowhere. I’m sharing the truth about what healing actually looks like—messy, nonlinear, and quiet as hell. If you’re deep in the in-between, this one’s for you.

This isn’t about wanting to die. It’s about wanting control in a world that’s tried to take it from me too many times. These thoughts don’t come from weakness—they come from fear, rage, and the deep knowing that if anything ever happened to me, I’d want to be the one who decided how it ended. Not him. Not the system. Me.