Room to Room in

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.