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I think one of the hardest places to exist is somewhere between the person you had to become to survive and the person you’re finally choosing to become. That’s where I am right now. I’m not the same woman I was a few years ago, but I’m also nowhere near finished becoming the woman I want to be. I’m standing in this uncomfortable middle where some days I feel incredibly proud of myself, and other days I wonder what the hell I’m doing. I’m going back to school for my Bachelor of Science in Health Administration. I’m raising my daughter. I’m working overnight. I’m trying to build a career and future. I’m learning boundaries. I’m learning accountability. I’m trying to heal from things I rarely have the words to explain. And somewhere in the middle of all of that, I’m finally learning how to choose myself.

People see where you are, but they rarely understand what it took for you to get there. They see the college enrollment, but they don’t see the exhausted woman behind it. They see the goals, but they don’t see the nights spent questioning whether they’re capable of reaching them. They see you becoming stronger, but they don’t know what forced you to become strong in the first place. They see the boundaries and call you different, but they weren’t there for every moment that taught you those boundaries were necessary. They see the version of you standing today without knowing how many versions of yourself you had to bury just to get here.

My life hasn’t exactly followed the pretty little timeline I once imagined for myself. I’ve experienced grief that changed who I am. I’ve lost people I thought I’d have more time with. I’ve experienced the kind of loss where the world somehow keeps moving while yours feels like it has stopped. I’ve had to figure out how to keep functioning while carrying emotions that didn’t disappear simply because there were responsibilities waiting for me. Grief taught me something I wish I never had to learn: life does not wait until you’re ready. Bills still come. Work still expects you to show up. Your child still needs you. Responsibilities don’t disappear because your heart is broken.

I’ve also survived relationships and experiences that made me question parts of myself I should never have had to question. I’ve known what it feels like to love people while slowly losing pieces of myself. I’ve experienced what happens when you spend so much time trying to understand everyone else’s behavior that you stop asking whether anyone is trying to understand yours. I’ve questioned whether I was asking for too much. I’ve wondered whether I was the problem. I’ve replayed conversations in my head wondering what I could have said differently. I’ve apologized for my reactions while other people’s actions were conveniently forgotten. And eventually I had to learn one of the hardest lessons of adulthood: loving someone does not require abandoning yourself.

Then there’s motherhood. My daughter is one of the biggest reasons I keep pushing forward, but motherhood has also forced me to meet versions of myself I didn’t know existed. I’ve learned what exhaustion actually means. I’ve learned what it’s like to be responsible for another human being while sometimes feeling like you’re barely holding yourself together. I’ve learned how easy it is for mothers to become invisible because everyone sees what we do for our children before they see the person doing it. You’re expected to keep showing up, keep giving, keep handling things, keep working, keep cleaning, keep loving, keep functioning – and somehow you’re supposed to remember who you are underneath all of it.

There were moments when I put myself so far down my own priority list that I almost forgot I belonged on it.

And that’s something I’m changing.

Going back to school isn’t just about getting a degree for me. It’s evidence that I haven’t given up on myself. I’m pursuing a Bachelor of Science in Health Administration because I want more for my future. I want to take my experiences in healthcare and build something from them. I want a career that challenges me. I want stability. I want opportunities. I want to look at a degree someday and know that every assignment, every exhausted night, every moment of frustration, and every time I questioned whether I could balance everything was worth it.

But I’m not going to romanticize it.

There are going to be nights when I don’t want to study. There are going to be assignments I hate. There are going to be moments when work drains me, motherhood needs everything from me, life is happening around me, and school still expects something too. There are going to be times when I’m exhausted and wonder why I willingly added another responsibility to an already full life.

And I’m going to have to remember why I started.

Because I’ve spent enough years waiting for the “right time”.

The right time is a lie we sometimes tell ourselves because starting is terrifying.

There will always be another bill. Another responsibility. Another stressful week. Another problem. Another reason to postpone the thing you’ve been telling yourself you’re going to do someday. If I waited until my life was completely peaceful to start building my future, I might spend my entire life waiting.

So I’m starting in the middle of chaos.

I’m building while I’m healing.

I’m studying while I’m working.

I’m dreaming while I’m mothering.

I’m figuring myself out while creating a future for the little girl watching me do it.

And I think that’s something I’m finally beginning to understand: sometimes you don’t heal first and then start living. Sometimes living is part of how you heal.

There have been times when my faith felt incredibly strong, and there have also been times when I’ve questioned everything. I’ve prayed and felt comforted, and I’ve prayed and wondered whether anyone was listening. I’ve experienced losses and situations that made me question why certain things were allowed to happen at all. I’ve been angry. I’ve been confused. I’ve been afraid. I’ve felt shame about things I couldn’t change and guilt over things I probably carried for far too long. I’ve had moments when I didn’t recognize the person looking back at me.

But I’m still here.

And I don’t say that lightly anymore.

I’m still here.

After grief.

After heartbreak.

After surviving things that changed me.

After questioning myself.

After losing pieces of who I thought I was.

After nights of exhaustion.

After motherhood changed everything.

After working while trying to hold the rest of my life together.

After doubting whether I could actually create something different for myself.

I’m still here – and now I’m doing something more than surviving.

I’m building.

Maybe one day I’ll walk across a stage and receive the degree I’m working toward now. Maybe I’ll look down at my name and remember the version of myself who wondered whether she could actually do it. I’ll remember working overnight and still having responsibilities waiting when the shift ended. I’ll remember being a mother while being a student. I’ll remember the assignments completed while exhausted, the moments I doubted myself, and the times life tried to convince me I had too much going on to keep pursuing my goals.

And I hope I remember her.

Because she deserves credit too.

Not just the woman who eventually succeeds.

The woman who started when success wasn’t guaranteed.

I hope my daughter grows up knowing that her mother didn’t have everything figured out. I don’t need her to believe I was perfect because I won’t be. I want her to know I struggled. I want her to know there were days I was exhausted, confused, afraid, and unsure of myself – and I kept going anyway. I want her to understand that becoming her mother didn’t erase my identity. It gave me another reason to discover it.

I want her to know that women are allowed to choose themselves.

That motherhood doesn’t cancel your dreams.

That leaving something unhealthy doesn’t make you a failure.

That starting over isn’t embarrassing.

That asking for respect isn’t asking for too much.

That boundaries don’t make you cruel.

That being alone is sometimes healthier than being surrounded by people who make you feel alone.

And most importantly, I want her to know that you never need permission to build a life you’re proud of.

Because here’s the harsh truth I’ve had to learn, and maybe somebody reading this needs to hear it too:

Nobody is coming to build your life for you.

People can love you. People can support you. People can encourage you. But nobody can want your future badly enough on your behalf.

Nobody is going to magically hand you the confidence you’ve been waiting for.

Nobody is going to appear and heal every wound before you’re allowed to move forward.

Nobody is going to make you apply for school.

Nobody is going to create your boundaries.

Nobody is going to force you to leave situations that continuously destroy your peace.

Nobody is going to stop you from returning to people who have already shown you who they are.

Nobody is going to wake up one morning and decide that you’ve sacrificed enough and now it’s finally your turn.

You have to decide that.

And yes, that truth can hurt because sometimes we spend years waiting for people to change so we can finally be happy. We wait for the apology. We wait for them to recognize our worth. We wait for them to become the person they promised they would be. We wait for someone to finally notice how exhausted we are. We wait for someone to choose us.

Meanwhile, our lives keep moving.

Read that again.

While you’re waiting for someone else to become who you need them to be, your life is still passing.

At some point, you have to stop asking, “Why are they doing this to me?” and start asking, “Why am I continuing to give people access to me?” At some point, you have to stop confusing potential with reality. Stop falling in love with who somebody could become while ignoring who they repeatedly choose to be. Stop accepting apologies that come with identical behavior. Stop begging people to understand your worth when their actions have already shown you how much they’re willing to invest.

And before somebody misunderstands me, accountability goes both ways. You have to look at yourself too. You have to acknowledge your own unhealthy behaviors. You have to apologize when you’re wrong. You have to recognize when your trauma is causing you to hurt people who didn’t cause it. You have to stop using everything you’ve been through as permission to remain exactly the same.

Your trauma may explain certain behaviors.

It doesn’t excuse you from healing them.

Your past can explain why you struggle with trust.

It doesn’t give you permission to destroy every relationship that asks you to trust.

Your pain deserves compassion.

But eventually, your healing becomes your responsibility.

That’s the truth nobody wants because accountability is uncomfortable.

Sometimes the person holding you back isn’t your ex.

It isn’t your family.

It isn’t your circumstances.

It isn’t the people who doubted you.

Sometimes it’s you.

Sometimes it’s the excuses you’ve become comfortable making. Sometimes it’s returning to what keeps hurting you because starting over scares you more than staying miserable. Sometimes it’s spending so much energy proving someone else wrong that you aren’t doing anything to make your own life better. Sometimes it’s saying you want peace while continuing to entertain chaos. Sometimes it’s saying you want to change while making the same choices and expecting a different outcome.

And believe me, I’m not writing that from some imaginary pedestal.

I’m writing it because I’ve had to tell myself the exact same thing.

I can’t change what happened to me.

I can’t bring back the people I’ve lost.

I can’t rewrite every painful chapter.

I can’t force anyone to take accountability.

I can’t make somebody love me correctly.

I can’t force someone to see my worth.

I can’t control what people say about me.

I can’t go backward and give younger versions of myself the knowledge I have now.

But I can decide what happens next.

And so can you.

Maybe one day everything I’m doing right now will make sense. Maybe I’ll look around at the life I’ve built and finally understand why I had to become so uncomfortable before I changed. Maybe I’ll understand why certain doors closed, why certain relationships ended, why certain versions of myself had to disappear, and why I had to finally stop putting myself last.

But until then, I’m done waiting for proof that choosing myself was the right decision.

I’m going to become the proof.

And if you’re sitting there miserable, waiting for your life to change while refusing to change anything about how you’re living it, here’s the part you probably don’t want to hear:

A different life requires different decisions.

You can’t keep choosing the same people, accepting the same treatment, repeating the same habits, ignoring the same red flags, making the same excuses, abandoning the same dreams, and then wonder why you keep waking up inside the same life.

Eventually, you have to choose.

Stay comfortable and keep wondering what if.

Or get uncomfortable and find out.

There is no perfect time coming.

There is no magical version of you who suddenly stops being afraid.

There is no guarantee that everything will work out exactly how you planned.

There is only today, the choices you make with it, and the person those choices are slowly turning you into.

So apply for the school.

Walk away from what keeps destroying you.

Set the boundary.

Admit when you’re wrong.

Stop chasing the apology.

Forgive yourself.

Take the chance.

Start over.

Choose yourself.

And if people don’t understand the person you’re becoming, let them misunderstand you.

You are the one who has to live with the consequences of staying exactly where you are.

One day, everything I’m doing right now might finally make sense.

But even if I can’t see the entire picture yet, I know one thing for certain:

I refuse to spend another chapter of my life waiting for someone else to pick up the pen.

This is my life.

My daughter is watching.

My future is waiting.

And I’ve already survived too much to get this far just to become comfortable with a life I know I’m capable of outgrowing.

So no, I’m not waiting anymore.

I’m choosing myself.

I’m choosing my education.

I’m choosing my daughter.

I’m choosing healing.

I’m choosing accountability.

I’m choosing peace.

I’m choosing the future.

And this time, when life asks me whether I’m willing to fight for the woman I keep saying I want to become –

My answer is yes.

Until next time,

Between the Words