Where I chose to plant, I rose.

I am going to miss this place.

I broke here.

I healed here.

I loved and lost here.

I fought battles no one could see—physically and mentally.

Truthfully…

there were nights I thought I would die here.

—

It was never fully mine—

not in the way that matters.

And I couldn’t have anticipated

how much that detail would matter…

until everything started falling apart.

—

This is where I put myself back together.

This is where I learned how to stand again—

on legs that had quit working

the month I moved in…

and my healing journey began.

—

While I was inside these walls…

putting myself back together piece by piece…

I knew there was a storm

I had avoided for years.

One I had convinced myself

I had some control over.

So I tucked it away.

Neatly in a box in the back of my mind.

Did what I could to keep things steady.

—

But I knew…

it was growing.

Year after year.

—

I had known this storm for fifteen years.

I didn’t stand up to it.

I learned how to navigate it.

I adapted to it.

I people-pleased.

I minimized.

I kept things calm on the surface

while everything underneath felt anything but.

I tried to manage something

that was never mine to control.

—

It took years—

therapy, trial and error,

and someone finally helping me understand

what I had been living inside of—

before I could even begin

to see it clearly.

—

I wasn’t doing it

out of love—

I was doing it

out of fear.

—

I didn’t do it because I didn’t know better.

I did it because I was trying to protect my child

in ways no one could see.

—

And by the time I realized

the storm wasn’t going to pass…

it had already taken shape

in ways I couldn’t control.

—

then one hot summer day

I got the news—

it had taken form.

Fast.

—

Loud.

Disruptive.

Unrelenting.

Arrogant

My miracle baby

already caught in the middle of it.

—

ready or not

it was here.

Disrespectful

Bigger.

Stronger.

Louder.

More chaotic than I recall

—

But,

For the first time…

I wasn’t running.

I did not brace.

I stood at the door.

I was ready

—

Or at least…

I thought I was.

—

Because the truth is…

there are parts of my story

being rewritten in real time.

There are parts of my son’s story

being shaped in ways I don’t fully recognize right now…

and that’s a kind of helpless

I don’t have words for yet.

—

watching the storm

Engulf someone I love

Watching that person

try to make sense of it

from the inside of it.

—

So I stay steady.

I stay here.

I stay his mother…

whether he can see it clearly right now or not.

—

The hardest part?

Not having my older babies here to see this.

To see me come back to life in real time.

To see the woman I fought so hard to become

finally stand up in her own strength.

That kind of grief…

I haven’t figured out how to articulate yet.

—

I am going to miss this place.

Because it held every version of me—

the broken one,

the healing one,

and the one who finally stood up.

—

This house didn’t save me.

But it held what I couldn’t carry

while I learned how to heal.

—

I poured my love, sweat, tears, and blood into these walls.

Leaving it is not a decision

I’m making lightly—

and if I’m honest…

not one I’ve fully made peace with.

—

This isn’t just a goodbye to a house.

It’s a goodbye to a place

that held me together…

while I became someone new.

—

I didn’t get to heal

and then face the storm.

I healed in it.

And now…

we are old friends.

—

Send them all.

I’ll open the door

and offer them a seat.—

These walls were temporary—

but the woman I became is not.

—

And I am ready, willing, and able

to keep dancing in whatever storm comes next.

Come on in, pull up a chair—

my favorite thing to do

is sit here with an old friend

while a southern storm rolls in.

Let me show you

just how beautiful they can be.