“This Time, I Chose Me”

I believe in free choice. But I also believe that my choices haven’t always been made from freedom—they’ve often been shaped by my past, by the people who came before me, and by wounds I didn’t even know I had.

Unlearning is part of this journey. So is forgiving myself.

I’ve followed my intuition even when it led to pain. And in the pain, I found reflection. I grew. I healed.

I’ve had affairs. I’ve been cheated on. I’ve been emotionally abandoned and ghosted more times than I can count. Relationships with men often felt more like chasing than resting, more like forcing than flowing. Inconsistent reciprocity and deep emptiness.

I know those choices came from longing, low self-worth, and the belief that if I loved hard enough, it would eventually be returned. When I didn’t receive what I longed for, I was forced to ask myself hard questions:

I feel abandoned—where am I abandoning myself?

I feel like I’m not chosen—where am I not choosing myself?

That’s when the real work began: closing the gap between what I needed from others and what I could give to myself.

I also have to admit—I didn’t always walk away because I had the clarity or the strength. Sometimes it was fear. Sometimes I stayed until I was pushed out or cut off. I wasn’t always the one who initiated the ending for the “right” reasons. But I still accepted the endings. I still grew. I still learned.

And that’s okay.

I can’t deny that those experiences cracked me open. They made me look inward. They became part of my healing.

And just like in my relationships, I stayed too long in careers that didn’t see my worth, hoping they’d change. Hoping it would feel like alignment if I just worked harder.

In truth, it wasn’t only the jobs that kept me stuck—it was me. My fear of leaping out on faith. My attachment to clarity before movement. My belief that unless I was certain, I shouldn’t leap.

That’s a subtle form of self-abandonment: ignoring your intuition because you’re afraid to bet on yourself.

Now I see that freedom isn’t always loud or magical. Sometimes, it’s quiet. It’s a series of soft, steady yeses to your soul—even when you’re scared.

I am no longer here to shame my past.

I am here to honor how far I’ve come—and how deeply I’ve learned to listen to myself.

I trust that if love or purpose is meant to return, it will meet me where I am: whole, rooted, and free.

I close the doors that no longer protect me.

I open the ones that lead me home to myself.

Have you ever realized your choices weren’t fully your own—shaped by wounds, patterns, or survival?

Did they still teach you something? Did they help you grow?