The Fog

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.

This isn’t about rehashing the past. It’s about understanding the pattern clearly.

This was unfamiliar terrain for my heart.

What lingers isn’t love—it’s the realization of how much I was lied to.

Leadership teaches us to start with “why.” But what about the whys we whisper in the aftermath of someone’s choices?

A bittersweet memory hit me tonight. It was a good hike.

I didn't expect to be hit so hard in the middle of absurdity.

I thought I would be ok. What is 90 minutes? It turns out it is an eternity.

What do you do when no one is coming to save you?

It turns out he wasn’t the only one who betrayed me.