Hey Peanut

Hey Peanut,

I’ve said many times, “I retired insert nickname.”

I meant it every time.

And every time, a new, slightly more sophisticated, professional, grown-up version emerged. Most recently: “C Mom” and “Momma C.”

In the beginning months of 2026, I went through a massive transformation as I finally let go of a situation I had been white-knuckling for years.

It was soul-crushing to walk away, hand in hand with my youngest son, while missing the hand of my firstborn, from a life I had worked so hard to build since I was eighteen despite everything life threw our way.

It was the fiercest storm I’ve ever willingly walked into.

Self-care, self-love, and self-respect became non-negotiable. Not just for me, but for my eight-year-old son. Because I never want him to find himself in a situation like that.

Relearning yourself. Reparenting yourself. Training your brain to quiet its own dysregulated alarms after years of surviving what you never deserved.

There is guilt.

Shame.

Embarrassment.

Anger.

Resentment.

Confusion.

Grief.

And then there’s the pain that steals your breath.

There’s withdrawal from connections that were never healthy.

There’s an urgency in your nervous system to cling to attention because, underneath it all, there’s a little girl begging to be seen, heard, loved, and valued simply for who she is.

There’s rage for the time you lost.

Grief for the version of yourself you became to survive.

Grief for moments you can never get back.

Grief for dreams you carried since childhood.

Ask yourself the hard questions.

What did those dreams cost you?

Then comes healing.

Hearing your own laugh again after so long that it startles you.

Learning to say, “That’s a trigger.”

Count.

Where are your hands?

Focus.

Breathe.

Hug yourself.

Start chasing the dreams you had before fear, society, opinions, and self-doubt entered the chat.

The ones you locked away for so long that some days you still whisper, “It’s never going to work. What the hell were you thinking?”

And then there’s an eight-year-old crossing the street with his hand in yours to get ice cream on a Sunday evening.

Instead of mourning everything he missed, you become grateful he still gives you the chance to keep trying.

So keep choosing you.

Know your worth.

Know that choosing yourself is not selfish.

Tell yourself, “I love you,” in the mirror every day.

And when the triggers come, step outside barefoot and remind yourself:

Not today.

Today, I’m grateful for my youngest son.

Today, I’m grateful to be alive.

Today, I love me.

And what other people think of me is none of my damn business.

Love,

Peanut 🤍