You Can't Calculate My Divorce Using Someone Else's Marriage

There is something people keep forgetting about my situation.

And honestly? It explains a lot.

People hear that I'm getting divorced and immediately start doing mathematics that have absolutely nothing to do with my actual marriage.

“But I know someone whose husband gave her this.” “My friend's husband did that.”

“If he has money, why doesn't he just give more?” “A husband should provide this.”

Okay. Sure.

But here's the part everyone seems to forget: You cannot calculate my divorce using someone else's marriage.

You can't take another woman's husband, another woman's relationship,

another woman's financial situation, another woman's emotional connection,

put all of it into a blender, and somehow produce the answer to my divorce.

That's not how this works.

Because there is one very uncomfortable reality sitting in the middle of all of this: 

you cannot keep expecting generosity from a man who no longer has an emotional connection to his wife.

That's the part people keep missing. They see: husband + money + divorce

and think: Well, surely he can just give more.

But I see something completely different. 

I see a marriage that has been emotionally over for a long time.

I see a man who has already detached himself from the relationship.

I see two people who are no longer functioning like a husband and wife.

And when the emotional connection is gone, you cannot simply assume the generosity of the man who once loved you is still sitting there waiting to be accessed.

That's not how human beings work. 

Money is one thing. Legal responsibility is another. Generosity is something else entirely.

And apparently those three things have been thrown into the same fucking soup. 😂

There is a huge difference between: “He has the ability to give.”

and “He wants to give.” And another difference between: “He wants to give.”

and “He is legally or morally obligated to give.”

Those are three completely different conversations.

Yet somehow people love collapsing them into one sentence: “If he can afford it, why doesn't he just give it to you?”

Because maybe he doesn't want to.

Maybe the emotional relationship that once made generosity feel natural is gone.

Maybe the man who once looked at me as his wife now looks at me as someone he is trying to separate his life from.

That's painful. But it's reality.

And I would rather deal with reality than build my expectations around an imaginary version of my husband who suddenly wakes up one morning, experiences a dramatic emotional transformation, and decides: “You know what? Let me make this divorce financially wonderful for everyone.” 😂

Please. That sounds like a Netflix ending. Not my life.

And I don't need to pretend otherwise. 

I also don't want people comparing my situation to another woman's marriage.

Because maybe her husband loved her differently. Maybe their marriage was different.

Maybe they had children. Maybe they had different agreements.

Maybe he wanted to provide voluntarily. Maybe they were still emotionally connected.

Maybe he simply chose to give her more. Good for her.

Honestly. I'm not bitter about another woman receiving something good.

But her marriage is not my marriage. Her husband is not my husband.

Her relationship is not my relationship And her divorce is not my divorce.

So please stop using someone else's husband as a calculator for mine. 😂

And here's another thing I've learned: I don't want to ask for something ridiculous simply because somebody else received it.

I don't want to turn divorce into an auction. Who knows someone whose husband gave more? Anybody have a higher bid? Going once... going twice...

Astagfirullah. I'm getting divorced, not selling a fucking antique vase.

I want what is reasonable. What is defensible. What can actually be negotiated.

What my lawyer believes makes sense. I want to walk away knowing I protected myself.

Not knowing I made an outrageous demand because somebody else's marriage looked financially better from the outside.

That's not strength. That's desperation wearing expensive clothes.

And I'm trying very hard not to make decisions from desperation anymore.

Because I've already lived enough of that. I have my own financial mess to deal with.

I need work. I need stability. I need to rebuild my savings.

I need to figure out how to stand independently again.

I need to make sure that when this marriage finally ends, I don't collapse financially along with it. 

So yes, I will ask for what is reasonable.

I will negotiate. I will listen to my lawyer. I will protect my interests.

And I will let the actual circumstances of my marriage determine what happens.

Not somebody else's husband. Not somebody else's story.

Not somebody else's fantasy. 

Because there is another uncomfortable truth: You cannot negotiate emotional generosity out of someone who has already emotionally left.

You can negotiate terms. You can negotiate money. You can negotiate responsibilities.

You can negotiate agreements. But you cannot negotiate someone's heart back into the room.

And I'm finally done pretending that I can. 

For a long time, I thought maybe if I explained enough, waited enough, understood enough, adjusted enough, the emotional connection would come back.

It didn't. So I'm not going to make the same mistake with money.

I'm not going to imagine that because he once loved me, he will automatically want to financially take care of me now.

Those are different chapters. And pretending they're the same chapter will only hurt me more.

So, dear well-meaning people who have opinions about what my husband should give me:

Thank you. Really. I appreciate the concern. 

But unless you are willing to sit inside this marriage, inside the years of distance,

inside the conversations, inside the silence, inside the emotional separation,

inside the actual legal process, please don't calculate my future using someone else's husband.

Because you are looking at the balance sheet. I'm looking at the wreckage.

And those are not the same thing. 

I don't need a fantasy husband. I need a realistic settlement.

I don't need revenge. I need stability. I don't need to prove that he can afford something.

I need to know what I can reasonably secure and rebuild my life from there.

And perhaps that's the most grown-up thing I've learned from this whole fucking disaster: Sometimes protecting yourself means accepting reality instead of negotiating with the version of someone you wish still existed.

The marriage is ending. The emotional connection is gone.

That's painful enough. I don't need to make it more painful by expecting generosity from a place where there is no longer any emotional attachment.

I'll let my lawyer handle the numbers.

I'll handle rebuilding myself. And everyone else can kindly stop using other people's husbands as the measuring tape.

Because this is my divorce.

Not theirs. And apparently, that's one calculation I'm finally getting right.

You can't ask generosity from a man who doesn't have emotional connection

And there is one thing people seem to be forgetting.

You cannot keep calculating a man's generosity based on the marriage he used to have when that man has already emotionally left the marriage.

That's the part everyone seems to miss. 

 

They look at what other husbands have given their wives.

They compare. They calculate.

They say, “But if he has money, why doesn't he just give more?”

Because apparently everyone forgot one tiny detail: money may follow obligation, but generosity usually follows emotional connection.

And when the emotional connection is gone? 

You cannot simply walk into the man's wallet and expect the version of him who used to love you to still be standing there.

That man is gone. The marriage is ending. The emotional attachment is gone.

The relationship is being reduced to paperwork, responsibilities, negotiations, and whatever the law says each person is entitled to.

That's reality.

Not: “But someone's husband gave her this.”

Not: “I know a woman whose husband did that.”

Not: “If he really cared, he'd give her everything.”

That's not how this particular story works.

You can't use somebody else's marriage as the financial blueprint for mine.

And honestly? If generosity could be summoned by family gossip, every divorce lawyer would be unemployed. 😂

 

What I can ask for is what is reasonable. 

What I can negotiate is what is defensible.

What I can pursue is what my lawyer believes I have a legitimate basis to pursue.

But I am not going to build my expectations around somebody else's husband, somebody else's marriage, or somebody else's fantasy of what a wealthy man should voluntarily hand over to his estranged wife.

Because estranged is the important word everyone keeps skipping.

They see the husband. I see the distance.

They see the money. I see the emotional connection that no longer exists.

They see what he could give. 

I have to deal with what he is actually willing to give.

And those are two very fucking different things. 

 

So no. I'm not waiting for some magical burst of generosity from a man who has already emotionally checked out of the marriage.

I'm dealing with reality. And reality, unfortunately, doesn't come with a rich-husband comparison chart.

It comes with a lawyer, paperwork, negotiations, and a woman trying to make sure she doesn't walk away from four years of marriage with nothing but emotional damage and a fucking folder of documents.

And frankly? 

That's enough administrative trauma for one lifetime.

Dear Younger Sis In Law

Today I realized something. 

For years, I somehow became the emergency fund of the family.

When someone had a problem, Dika will find a way.

When someone needed money, Dika will figure it out.

When life became difficult, Dika will manage somehow.

And yes, I did. Not because I am rich.

Not because I have a secret money tree behind my house.

Not because money comes out of my ass whenever someone calls me with a problem.

I just kept scraping whatever I had. Again. And again. And again.

Until there was almost nothing left. But maybe that was not obvious enough.

Because today I was listening to someone talking about debts, children, household expenses, and money.

Meanwhile, my own life is currently standing in the middle of a fucking divorce.

I am unemployed. I am trying to rebuild my finances.

I am trying to figure out how to stand on my own feet again.

I am trying to recover from years of emotional exhaustion.

And somehow, I am still expected to listen to everybody else's financial emergency.

Amazing. My life is already  an administrative horror movie, and apparently the universe decided to add another subplot. 😂

Dear younger sis-in-law, I don't blame you for having problems.

Everyone has problems. 

Children need money. Marriage needs money. Life needs money. 

Being an adult is basically an expensive subscription that nobody remembers signing up for.

I understand that. 

What I don't understand is how people can forget that the person they are talking to might also be drowning.

Just because I don't announce every wave doesn't mean I am standing on dry land.

I have been quiet about my own problems for a long time. Maybe too quiet.

Since 2018, after my father left, I have been scraping myself together to support Ibu Suri.

I did it without complaining. I borrowed.I went without.

I looked at bills and decided which problem could wait another week.

I smiled when I wanted to scream. 

I said, “I'll figure it out.”

So many times that everyone started believing it was some kind of superpower.

It is not. It is just exhaustion with good public relations.

And today I suddenly thought, when did my ability to survive become everybody else's assumption that I will always have something left to give?

Because sometimes there is nothing left. Sometimes the cupboard is empty.

Sometimes the bank account looks like it has personally declared war on me.

Sometimes the person everyone thinks is strong is quietly wondering how the hell she is going to survive the next month.

And somehow, she is still expected to understand.

Still expected to reassure everyone. 

Still expected to say,“It's okay.”

No. Maybe it is not okay. 

Maybe I am tired. Maybe I don't have another hidden reserve.

Maybe my emergency fund is currently just my nervous system.

And that account is already overdrawn. 😂

I also need to say something to myself. 

I have spent too many years thinking that if I don't help, I am selfish.

If someone is struggling and I have even a little capacity, I should give it away.

As if being useful is the only proof that I am a good person.

But there is a difference between being generous and slowly turning yourself into a public utility.

I am not a fucking water company. You cannot keep opening the tap because you assume there will always be water.

Eventually, someone has to notice that the reservoir is empty.

And mine is. Or at least, dangerously close.

So, dear younger sis-in-law, I hope things get better for you. 

I hope your debts become manageable. I hope your children are healthy.

I hope your household becomes lighter. 

I hope you don't have to keep wondering where the next payment will come from.

I mean that.

But I also need to learn something I should have learned a long time ago: Your emergency is not automatically my responsibility.

And my exhaustion does not become less real just because someone else's problem sounds louder.

That is not cruelty. That is a boundary. 

Apparently, boundaries are the new luxury item in this family.

Very expensive. Very difficult to find. Limited stock. 😂

And maybe this will sound savage.

Fine. Let it. 

I have spent enough time making everybody comfortable while I was uncomfortable.

I have spent enough time shrinking my own needs because someone else had bigger ones.

I have spent enough time saying, “Maybe next month.”

Maybe next month I will worry about myself. Maybe next month I will save something.

Maybe next month I will buy what I need. Maybe next month I will breathe.

But somehow, next month kept becoming another year.

And I am done donating my future to everybody else's present.

I need my life back. I need money. I need work. I need stability. I need my own savings.

I need to stop living like one unexpected expense can destroy everything.

I need to rebuild something that belongs to me. Not because I suddenly became selfish.

Because I finally understand that I cannot rescue people from a sinking boat while I am quietly making holes in my own.

And yes, I know what people might say. “Family should help family.”

Yes. Family should help family.

But family should also understand when another family member is barely keeping herself afloat.

Love is not supposed to mean, “How much more can we take from the person who has always given?”

That is not family. That is an unpaid position with unlimited responsibilities and no retirement plan. 😂

And here is the truth. I am not financially okay. I am not emotionally okay.

I am not magically fine just because I managed to smile.

I am rebuilding. From fucking rubble. I don't know how long it will take.

Maybe that is embarrassing. Maybe it is not.

But it is the truth. So if I become quieter about money, if I stop offering,

if I stop rescuing, if I start calculating every rupiah before I spend it,

please don't mistake that for me becoming cold.

I am trying to survive. There is a difference.

I spent years being the person who found another solution. 

Now I need to become the person who finds one for herself.

And maybe that is the most savage thing I can do.

Not scream. Not fight. Not blame. Not explain myself for three hours.

Just quietly stop being everybody's backup plan. Because I finally realized something:

I cannot keep building other people's roofs while standing outside in the rain.

So, dear younger sis-in-law,  I hope things get better.

I really do. But please understand something. I am no longer the emergency fund.

I am the emergency. And this time, I am saving myself.

Maybe one day I will be financially comfortable enough that a mountain-sized problem will not sound like the apocalypse.

But today, I am looking at my own life and thinking, Dika, girl. 

For once, save something for yourself. Save the money. Save the energy. Save the strength.

Save the little piece of yourself that keeps getting handed out because everyone assumes you can make another one tomorrow.

Because maybe the woman who has spent years saying, “Don't worry. I'll figure it out.”  

finally deserves to say, “Actually, I am figuring out my own life first.”

And no, that does not make me heartless. It makes me fucking tired.

There is a difference.

After everything I have survived, I think I am finally allowed to choose myself without writing a seventeen-page apology afterward.

Dear Younger Sis-in-Law,

Today I realized something rather uncomfortable.

Apparently, I have spent years being the emergency generator for everyone else's life.

Whenever somebody's lights went out—“Dika will figure it out.”

Whenever somebody needed help— “Dika will find a way.”

Whenever money disappeared — “Dika will manage somehow.”

Whenever life became inconvenient— “Dika can handle it.”

And you know what?  For a very long time, I did.

Not because I was rich. Not because I had some secret vault underneath my mattress.

Not because money grew from my ass every time somebody called me with a problem.

I just kept scraping. Again. And again. And again.

Until there wasn't much left to scrape. But apparently that wasn't obvious enough.

Because today I found myself listening to conversations about expenses, debts, children, household problems, and money— while my own life is currently standing in the middle of a fucking divorce.

My marriage is ending. I'm trying to find a job. I'm trying to rebuild my finances.

I'm trying to figure out how I'm going to stand on my own two feet again.

I'm trying to recover from years of emotional exhaustion.

And somehow  

I'm still expected to hear about everybody else's financial emergencies.

Amazing. Truly. My life is currently an administrative horror movie,

and apparently the universe thought: **“You know what this needs? A subplot.”** 😂

Dear younger sis-in-law, I don't blame you for having problems.

Everyone has problems. Children cost money.

Marriage costs money. Life costs money.

Being an adult is basically an expensive subscription service nobody remembers signing up for.

I understand that. What I don't understand is how easily people forget that the person they're talking to might also be drowning.

Just because I don't announce every fucking wave doesn't mean I'm standing on dry land.

I've been quiet about my own problems for a long time. Maybe too quiet.

I've carried things privately. I've borrowed.  

I've pawned things. I've gone without. 

I've looked at bills and calculated which problem could wait another week.

I've smiled when I wanted to scream. 

I've said, “I'll figure it out.”

So many times that apparently everyone started believing it was a superpower.

It isn't. It's exhaustion with good PR.

And today, while listening to someone else's financial panic, I had this strange thought: When did being the person who helps become the same thing as being the person everyone assumes will always have something left?

Because here's the truth.

Sometimes there is nothing left. Sometimes the cupboard is empty.

Sometimes the account is terrifying. 

Sometimes the person everyone thinks is strong is quietly wondering how the fuck she's going to survive the next month.

And sometimes she is still expected to be generous. Still expected to understand.

Still expected to reassure everyone else. Still expected to say: “It's okay.”

No. Maybe it's not okay.

Maybe I'm tired. Maybe I don't have another hidden reserve.

Maybe the emergency fund is currently just my nervous system.

And trust me— that account is overdrawn. 😂

 

There is also something I need to say to myself.

I have spent too many years believing that if I don't help, I'm selfish.

That if someone is struggling and I have even a tiny bit of capacity, I should give it away.

That being useful somehow proves I'm a good person.

But there's a difference between generosity and slowly turning yourself into a public utility.

I am not a fucking water company.  You cannot keep turning the tap on because you assume there will always be water.

Eventually somebody has to notice the reservoir is empty. And mine is.

Or at least, it's dangerously close.

 

So, dear younger sis-in-law, I genuinely hope things get better for you.

I hope your debts become manageable. I hope your children are healthy.

I hope your household becomes lighter. 

I hope you don't have to live with that constant pressure of wondering where the next payment is coming from.

I mean that. 

 

But I also need to learn something I should have learned much earlier: Your emergency is not automatically my responsibility.

And my exhaustion doesn't become less real because somebody else's problem sounds louder.

That's not cruelty. That's a boundary.

Apparently boundaries are the new luxury item in this family.

Very expensive. Very difficult to obtain. Limited stock. 😂

 

And maybe this is the part that will sound savage. Fine. Let it.

Because I've spent enough time trying to make everybody comfortable while I was uncomfortable.

I've spent enough time shrinking my own needs because someone else had bigger ones.

I've spent enough time thinking: “Maybe next month.”

Maybe next month I'll worry about myself. Maybe next month I'll save something.

Maybe next month I'll buy what I need. Maybe next month I'll breathe.

Except somehow, next month kept becoming another year.

And I am done donating my future to everybody else's present.

I need my life back. I need money. I need work. I need stability.

I need my own savings. 

I need to stop living like one unexpected expense could push the entire structure over.

I need to rebuild something that belongs to me. 

Not because I suddenly became selfish.

Because I finally understand that I cannot rescue people from a sinking boat while I'm quietly drilling holes into my own. 

And yes, I know what people might say. “But family should help family.”

Absolutely. Family should help family.

But family should also understand when another family member is barely keeping herself afloat.

Love isn't supposed to mean: “How much more can we take from the person who has always given?”

That's not family. That's an unpaid position with unlimited responsibilities and absolutely no retirement plan. 😂

 

And here's the part nobody wants to hear: I am not financially okay.

I am not emotionally okay. I am not magically fine because I managed to smile.

I'm rebuilding. 

 

From fucking rubble.  And I don't know exactly how long it's going to take.

Maybe that's embarrassing. Maybe it isn't. But it's the truth.

So if I seem quieter about money lately, if I stop offering, if I stop rescuing,

if I start calculating every rupiah before I spend it,

please don't mistake that for me becoming cold. I'm trying to survive.

There is a difference. 

I spent years being the person who found another solution.

Now I need to become the person who finds one for herself.

And maybe that's the most savage thing I can do.

 

Not scream. Not fight. Not blame. Not explain myself for three hours.

Just quietly stop being everybody's backup plan.

Because I have finally realized something: I cannot keep building other people's roofs while standing outside in the rain.

So, dear younger sis-in-law, I hope you understand.

I am not angry that you have problems. I'm angry that somewhere along the way,

my ability to survive became everybody else's assumption that I would always have something left to give.

I don't. Not right now. Maybe someday I will.

Maybe someday I'll be financially comfortable enough that a five-hundred-million-rupiah-sized problem won't sound like the apocalypse. 😂

But today? 

 

Today I'm looking at my own life and thinking: Dika, girl. For once, save something for yourself.

Save the money. Save the energy. Save the strength.

Save the little piece of yourself that keeps getting handed out because everyone assumes you'll make another one tomorrow.

Because maybe the woman who has spent years saying, “Don't worry. I'll figure it out.”

finally deserves to say: “Actually, I'm figuring out my own life first.”

And no, that doesn't make me heartless. It makes me fucking tired.

There's a difference. And after everything I've survived,

I think I'm finally allowed to choose myself without writing a seventeen-page apology afterward.

So yes.

Dear younger sis-in-law, I hope things get better. I really do.

But please understand something: I am no longer the emergency fund.

I am the emergency. 

 

And this time, I'm saving myself.

I Am So Fucking Tired of Being Strong

I think I'm tired. Not the kind of tired that a good night's sleep fixes.

Not the kind of tired where you take a shower, drink some coffee, eat something, and suddenly everything feels manageable again.

I'm tired in the way that makes you stare at the ceiling and wonder how many more times a human being is supposed to put herself back together.

Because apparently I have been doing that for a while now.

Breaking. Collecting the pieces.

Putting them back. Breaking again.

And then somehow being expected to continue functioning like a perfectly normal adult.

Pay bills. Answer messages. Talk to lawyers. Prepare documents.

Think about work. Think about money. Think about divorce.

Think about what happens next. Think about where I'll live.

Think about how I'll survive. 

Think about what I'm supposed to become after a marriage that was supposed to be part of my future suddenly became something I have to legally dismantle.

Very relaxing. Highly recommended. 

Five stars. Would absolutely not do again. 😂

And everyone keeps talking about the future.

You'll be okay. You'll move on. You'll find yourself again. 

You'll get through this. Maybe. 

I probably will. But can I be honest?

I don't fucking feel okay right now.

I don't want to turn every painful thing that happens to me into a lesson.

Sometimes something just hurts. Sometimes something is just cruel.

Sometimes something is just fucking unfair.

And sometimes I don't want to be the woman standing at the end of the disaster saying: “But look how much I've grown.”

Sometimes I want to say: “This was horrible.”

Because it was.

I lost a marriage. I lost a version of my future.

I lost pieces of myself trying to make that marriage work.

I lost people I loved who were never even the problem.

And now I'm sitting here trying to figure out what exactly I'm supposed to keep.

My dignity? My sanity? My sense of humor?

Apparently those are the three things currently preventing a complete system failure. 😂

And then there is the divorce itself.

People hear the word divorce and imagine two adults sitting across a table having a mature conversation.

Discussing assets. Discussing responsibilities. 

Discussing closure. Nodding thoughtfully.

Maybe drinking tea. Please.

My divorce feels more like an administrative horror movie.

Documents. Questions. Waiting. Phone calls.

Lawyers. Deadlines. More documents.

And somewhere in the middle of all of it, there is a woman quietly wondering: “How the hell did my life become this?”

I didn't wake up one morning and decide: You know what sounds fun? 

Let's dismantle my marriage. Let's lose sleep.

Let's cry in cafés. Let's worry about money.

Let's question my entire identity. Let's have nightmares about being chased and killed.

Let's rebuild my life while simultaneously trying to remember where I put the emotional duct tape.

Nobody orders this package. It just arrives.

No tracking number. No return policy.

Apparently life enjoys surprise deliveries. 😂

And I'm angry. 

There I said it. I'm angry.

I'm angry that I tried so hard. I'm angry that I changed myself.

I'm angry that I thought compromise meant continuously becoming smaller.

I'm angry that I spent so much time wondering what I could do differently.

I'm angry that I spent nights replaying conversations.

I'm angry that I kept searching for explanations.

I'm angry that I cared so much about something that eventually became so easy for someone else to walk away from.

And yes sometimes I'm angry at him. Not because I want him back. I don't.

That's the part people might misunderstand.

You can be angry at someone without wanting them.

You can grieve something without wanting it resurrected.

You can love what something once was and still know you cannot live inside it anymore.

I don't want the marriage back. 

I want myself back. That's different.

I want the woman who laughed without checking whether someone approved.

I want the woman who wore jeans. Who wore perfume.

Who liked makeup. Who talked too much. Who laughed too loudly.

Who didn't constantly monitor her face, her voice, her clothes, her personality.

I want the woman who could walk into a room without first asking herself: “How much of me am I allowed to be here?”

I want all of me. 

Not the edited version. Not the quieter version. 

Not the more convenient version. Not the version that learned how to disappear gracefully.

Me. 

And maybe that's why this hurts so much.

Because divorce isn't just removing another person from your life.

Sometimes it's confronting all the versions of yourself you abandoned while trying to keep that person in it.

That's a brutal inventory. 

And I'm taking stock of everything. The laughter.

The clothes. The confidence. The independence.

The ridiculousness. The opinions. The voice.

The fucking personality.

Somewhere along the way, I became so busy trying to be enough for someone else that I forgot I was supposed to be enough for myself.

And now I have to learn that again.

While tired. While broke. While scared. 

While crying. While filling out paperwork.

Because apparently personal growth has terrible timing. 😂

And then there are the people I miss. 

His family.  People who never hurt me. People I genuinely loved.

People who became part of my life simply because I married someone.

And now I'm supposed to accept that I might never see them the same way again.

How exactly am I supposed to file that emotionally?

“Marriage terminated. Please remove sister, niece, father, aunt, cousins and associated memories from your heart.”

Sorry. My heart appears to have rejected the software update. 😂

I don't know what happens next. 

And honestly? That scares me.

There. Another thing I don't usually say.

I'm scared.

I'm scared of rebuilding financially. I'm scared of finding work. I'm scared of starting over.

I'm scared of waking up one day and realizing that the life I thought I would have is simply never happening.

I'm scared of becoming responsible for everything alone. I'm scared of failing.

I'm scared of succeeding and realizing I don't even know how to be happy anymore.

I'm scared that some parts of me won't come back.

I'm scared that maybe I really did change too much.

And I'm tired of people acting like fear automatically disappears because you are brave.

It doesn't.

Sometimes bravery is literally: “I'm terrified and I'm doing the paperwork anyway.”

That's it. No inspirational soundtrack. No glowing sunrise.

Just a woman with swollen eyes opening another document. Very glamorous.  😂

And maybe I don't need to pretend this is beautiful.

Maybe I don't need to call this my transformation. 

Maybe for now it's enough to call it what it is: Survival.

I'm surviving the ending. I'm surviving the grief. I'm surviving the uncertainty.

I'm surviving the nights when my brain decides 3 a.m. is an excellent time to replay my entire life.

I'm surviving the mornings when I wake up and remember: Oh yeah. I'm getting divorced.

Fantastic. Good morning to me. 😂

And tonight, after the nightmare, my brain apparently decided it wasn't dramatic enough to simply let me sleep.

Someone was chasing me. Someone wanted to kill me.

Even my subconscious has apparently joined the production team.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to tonight's episode of Dika's nervous system: absolutely fucking no chill.” 😂

But maybe that's what my brain is trying to tell me. 

Not that someone is actually coming for me.

Not that the dream means something terrible is going to happen.

Maybe it's just exhausted too.

Maybe it has spent so long living in uncertainty that even sleep doesn't feel completely safe anymore.

Maybe that's what happens when you've been bracing yourself for the next disaster for too long.

Your body forgets how to stand down. 

So I'm trying to teach it. Slowly.  I'm here.

I'm alive. I'm home. The nightmare is over.

The marriage is ending.  And somehow I am still here.

That's the part I keep forgetting. After everything I've lost,

there is still a woman sitting here. Still breathing. Still thinking.

Still laughing occasionally at completely inappropriate things.

Still making stupid jokes. Still wanting coffee. Still wanting pastries.

Still wanting to wear fucking jeans. Still wanting to work.

Still wanting money. Still wanting a life. 

Still wanting to know who she becomes after all of this.

Maybe that's enough for tonight.

I don't need to know the whole future. I don't need to have the perfect plan.

I don't need to be healed. I don't need to be inspirational.

I don't need to forgive anybody. I don't need to prove that I'm stronger than this.

I don't even need to be okay. I just need to stay. 

Stay long enough to see what happens next.

Because maybe the woman I become after this won't be the old Dika.

Maybe she won't be the broken Dika either.

Maybe she'll be someone I haven't met yet.

Someone who knows exactly what she will and will not tolerate.

Someone who doesn't shrink. Someone who doesn't beg.

Someone who doesn't chase. 

Someone who doesn't confuse being wanted with being valued.

Someone who can walk away from a door that refuses to open without spending the rest of her life standing outside it.

I don't know. I'm too tired to know. And that's okay.

Tonight, I'm not rebuilding my entire life.  Tonight, I'm just putting the pieces down.

All of them. The anger. The grief. The fear.

The loneliness. The exhaustion. The fucking absurdity of it all.

I'm putting them here.  On this page.

Because I need somewhere for them to go.

And tomorrow? 

Maybe I'll pick some of them back up.Maybe I won't.

Maybe I'll drink water. Maybe I'll eat.

Maybe I'll download those two stupid AI videos I've already made.

Maybe I'll write another angry post. Maybe I'll laugh at something ridiculous.

Maybe I'll stare at the ceiling again. Maybe I'll cry.

Whatever.

I'll deal with tomorrow when tomorrow gets here.

For tonight I'm tired. Not defeated. Not finished.

Just fucking tired. And after everything I've been carrying…

I think I'm allowed to put it down for a little while.

No lessons. No silver lining. No inspirational ending.

Just this: I survived today.

And tonight, that's enough.