Maybe I Should Start Looking Up

Maybe I can finally start looking at my future.  

Not that future I've been afraid of. Not the one where I'm still sitting here, stuck in the same place, replaying the same conversations, dissecting the same memories like there's some hidden answer buried somewhere between “what happened?” and “why?”

I've spent enough time looking backward.

And honestly? My neck hurts. 😂

Maybe it's time to look up. Not because everything is suddenly okay. It isn't. 

My life is still a little bit of a disaster. Actually, calling it a little bit of a disaster is generous.

There are moments when I look at everything I need to fix and think “Wow. Whoever is in charge of this life needs to be fired.”

Unfortunately, that person is me. So here we are. 😂

But maybe I can stop looking at the ruins for a moment. Maybe I can look beyond them. 

Past the heartbreak. Past the betrayal. Past the financial mess. Past the silence. 

Past the loneliness. Past all the things that didn't turn out the way I thought they would.

Past the version of me who has been hiding behind everything that fell apart.

I want to see her. The woman on the other side. 

I don't know exactly what she looks like yet. 

But I think she's stronger.  No. Let's stop saying maybe.

She is stronger. And probably a little meaner.

Honestly? Good.

Not cruel. Not bitter. Just less available for bullshit.

She's learned. She knows that being kind doesn't mean being stupid.

That forgiveness doesn't mean handing someone the keys to your house and hoping they don't burn it down again.

That loving someone doesn't mean disappearing inside their life.

That being someone's home doesn't mean becoming homeless within yourself.

She learned those lessons the expensive way. 

Apparently, life doesn't believe in free lessons. 😂

But she's still here. And when I imagine her, she's laughing. 

That's the first thing I see. She's laughing.

Not that polite little laugh you give people when you're trying to convince them you're okay.

A real laugh. The ugly one. The one where you can't breathe. 

The one where your stomach hurts.  

The one that makes everyone around you wonder what the hell is so funny.

She's social again. She's surrounded by people. She's making plans. She's going places.

She's calling her friends. She's showing up for family.

She's saying yes to invitations instead of inventing excuses because she doesn't have the emotional energy to be around humans.

She's taking too many pictures. She's talking too much.

She's probably still overthinking.  Let's not expect divine intervention. 😂

But she's living. Really living. And I think I miss that woman.

I miss the version of me who had plans beyond simply getting through the day.

The woman who could look at the future and feel excited instead of exhausted.

The woman who had dreams that weren't just about surviving.

Maybe she'll come back. Or maybe she won't.

Maybe someone new will come out of all of this.

Someone who knows what she knows now. 

Someone who doesn't confuse suffering with strength.

Someone who understands that peace is not boring. That stability is sexy. 

That consistency is underrated. That being loved shouldn't feel like winning the lottery.

Because I've already done enough gambling with my heart.

I'm not interested in buying another ticket. 😂

I want her to have her life together. Not perfectly.

I'm not asking for some impossible Instagram version of happiness where everything is beige, organized, and nobody has emotional problems.

That's not life. I just want enough together.

A career that's moving. Financial stability. Independence. 

A home. A place where she can breathe.

A place where she can close the door at night and think: “Nobody can take this peace away from me.”

I want her to have people. Her besties. Her friends. Her family. The people who stayed. 

The people who came back. The people who don't require her to perform happiness before they're willing to sit beside her.

I want her life to be loud again. Messy. Chaotic. Ridiculous. Full of conversations.

Full of laughter. Full of people dropping by unexpectedly.

Full of someone saying, “Come on, let's go.”  And her actually going.

I want her to have stories that have nothing to do with heartbreak. Imagine that.😂

And maybe she finds love again. Maybe.  But if she does, I hope it's different.

I hope it's the kind of love that stays. 

The kind that doesn't make her question whether she's wanted.

The kind that doesn't make her feel like she's asking for too much when she asks for communication, affection, presence, reassurance.

The kind where she doesn't have to decode silence like she's solving an international crime.

I hope she finds someone who makes her feel safe enough to put her guard down. Someone who chooses her. Not once. Every day.

And maybe one day there will be little feet running around that home.

A mini-me. Maybe a mini-him. Maybe both. Who knows?

Maybe I'll have one tiny human with my stubbornness and his personality.

God help the world. 😂

Maybe there will be toys every where. Tiny shoes by the door. 

Laughter in the kitchen. Arguments about bedtime.

Someone calling me from another room every thirty seconds.

And me standing there thinking: “How did this become my life?” Hopefully in the good way.

But maybe none of that happens. And that's okay too.  

Because that's the terrifying thing about the future.

It's completely unwritten. I don't know where I'll live. 

I don't know what I'll do. I don't know who I'll meet.

I don't know whether I'll fall in love again. I don't know whether I'll have children.

I don't know what my home will look like. 

Hell, I don't even know what I'm having for dinner tomorrow.

Yet somehow I've been demanding that myself have a five-year plan for my entire existence.

Maybe that's a little unreasonable. Maybe the future doesn't need to be figured out.

Maybe it just needs to be allowed to exist.

Because right now, sometimes it still feels like I'm inside a black hole. And not the cute little metaphorical kind.

The proper kind. Dark. Heavy. No map. No exit sign.

No helpful employee standing nearby saying “The way out is just over there.”

Wouldn't that be convenient? 😂

Sometimes I don't even know how I'm supposed to climb out when I barely have the energy to stand.

But here's the thing. I'm still here. That's not nothing.

I'm still dreaming. I'm still imagining a different life.

I'm still wondering what happens next.

And maybe that means there's still something alive inside me.

Something stubborn. Something angry. Something hopeful.

Something that refuses to stay buried. Maybe that's enough.

Maybe I don't need to climb the entire mountain today. 

Maybe I just need to move one inch. 

One application. One opportunity. One phone call.  One decision. One good day. 

Then another. Then another.  

Until eventually, I look around and realize: I'm not in the hole anymore.

And maybe someday I'll look back at this version of me and almost feel sorry for her.

I'll want to reach through time and tell her: You have absolutely no idea what's coming.

You'll have a life again. You'll laugh again. You'll love again.

You'll have people around you again. You'll have a home.

You'll have money in the bank. You'll have plans. 

You'll have stories that aren't about surviving. You'll become stronger. Wiser.

Maybe slightly terrifying 😂

You'll stop explaining yourself to people who already decided not to understand you.

You'll stop begging people to see your worth.

You'll stop waiting for someone else to give you permission to be happy.

And you'll realize that the woman you thought was broken was actually being rebuilt. 

Piece by piece. Painfully. Slowly. But beautifully.

Maybe she will have everything she once thought she lost. Maybe she won't.  

Maybe she'll have things she never even imagined.  That's the part I like.

I don't know. 

For once, I don't want to know Because the future hasn't happened yet. 

Which means it hasn't disappointed me yet either.

And that's strangely comforting. So maybe I'll start looking forward.

Not because I'm healed. I'm not. Not because everything is fixed. Far from it. 

Not because I've suddenly become some wise, emotionally evolved woman who drinks green juice at sunrise and has her life perfectly organized. Let's be realistic. 😂

I'm still me. But I'm tired of surviving. 

I want to live.  I want to build. I want to laugh. I want to work.

I want to travel. I want to love my friends. I want to be around my family. 

I want to create something that belongs to me.

I want to wake up one morning and realize that my life is no longer something I'm trying to escape from. 

It's something I'm grateful to wake up to. Maybe that's my future. 

Maybe that's my fairytale. Maybe there will be love. Maybe there will be children.

Maybe there will be a soulmate. Maybe there will be an empire.

Maybe there will just be me, living a ridiculously good life with people I love.

I don't know. And that's okay. Because I don't need the whole map.

I just need to believe there is somewhere worth going.

So, Future Me… I hope you're happy.

I hope you're loud. I hope you're surrounded by people.

I hope you're loved. I hope your home feels warm. 

I hope you have someone beside you who stays. I hope your heart feels safe.

I hope you've built a life that makes the woman writing this cry—not from pain this time, but from disbelief.

And if you ever forget how you got there…

Remember me. Remember this woman. The one sitting in the dark.

The one who didn't know how she was going to fix everything.

The one who was overwhelmed. The one who was tired.

The one who was scared. But still… looked up.

Because maybe that's where it starts. 

Not with having everything figured out. Not with knowing exactly where you're going.

Just with looking up from the bottom of the hole and realizing there is still a sky above you.

And maybe someday… I'll reach it.

Maybe someday I'll stand in the middle of a life I built with my own hands and finally understand: I wasn't buried here.

I was planting something.  And it grew.  So yes. I'm going to look at my future now.

Even if it's blurry. Even if I don't recognize it yet.  Even if I'm terrified.  

Because I have spent enough time staring at what I lost.

Now I want to see what I can still become. And whatever happens next— I'll meet it.

I'll fight for it. I'll build it. I'll live it. 

And if life wants to throw another plot twist at me? Fine.

But this time, I'd like the writers to at least give me a decent budget.

I've suffered enough on a low production budget. 😂

I'm still here.

And apparently… that's not the ending.

That's the beginning.