I keep finding myself
in rooms I never meant to live in.
The hallway between
who I was
and who I’m becoming
has started collecting my things.
There’s a blanket on the floor,
a cup of coffee gone cold,
old versions of me
tucked into the corners
because I didn’t know where else
to put them.
I think the hardest part
about healing
is that no one tells you
how lonely the middle is.
Everyone celebrates
the leaving.
The choosing yourself.
The brave goodbye.
Everyone cheers
when the door finally closes.
But no one talks about
standing there after
hand still on the knob,
heart still facing backwards,
whispering,
\"But I loved what was in there.\"
No one talks about grieving
things you chose to outgrow.
Or missing places
you begged yourself to escape from.
Or looking in the mirror
and realizing
you don\'t hate yourself anymore…
but you haven\'t quite met
who you\'re becoming either.
So I sit here.
In the space between.
Not broken.
Not whole.
Just unfinished.
Learning that maybe
the hallway was never a punishment.
Maybe it was the first place
quiet enough
for me to hear myself.
Maybe this was the place
where I finally set down
everything I carried
from room to room.
The apologies.
The proving.
The fear of being too much.
All the things I packed
for places
that were never built
for me to stay.
Maybe becoming
has always looked a lot like
standing empty-handed
for the first time
and realizing
I was never losing everything.
I was just making room.