The Fog

Sometimes you revisit something from your past and see it completely differently.

The past year has forced me to ask a question I never expected to wrestle with so deeply.

After writing about appreciation, I realized there is a part of my story I almost never talk about.

Calling it ‘single’ doesn’t make you available; unresolved attachment turns every new relationship into a hidden triangle

Sometimes the most powerful thing you can learn is the right word for what happened.

Some harm isn’t a mistake. It’s a pattern.

I didn’t expect lunch to become an anniversary.

I didn’t realize how much it hurt until I watched other women be celebrated out loud.

I watched a meeting a couple weeks ago and it got me thinking.

Some days I drown. No warning. No dramatic event. Just the weight of being human.

What if I wasn’t the only one who lost something?

Words don’t just communicate. They condition.

I didn’t ignore my instincts. I explained them away.

Some things don’t fit back into small talk.

He didn’t hide his phone. That’s what made it confusing.

It's been one year.

In between love and harm I found the gray.

I’ve written a lot about what happened in the relationship I was in—the one that exploded into a web of lies, manipulation, and psychological and emotional abuse six days after my dad died. I’ve written about the war I didn’t know I was fighting. The poison he brought to the party. How much I loved him and his dogs. The pain of being replaced so quickly. The expensive gifts. The moment of discovery. All of that writing helped me process the what the fuck happened and how will

Everyone trusted him. That was the point.

Sometimes the hardest thing to grieve isn’t the person—it’s the future you were quietly invited to believe in.