The Space After the Storm

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What happens now?

That question used to terrify me. But now… it just is. Like Noel Gallagher sang, “I’m free to be whatever I, whatever I choose.” And for once, I believe it.

The past was packed with obligation—some real, some imagined. The weight of being what others needed, what they expected, what made them comfortable. And now, that weight is gone. The expectations have evaporated. The role-playing has ended. What’s left is something unfamiliar, but somehow—mine.

I’m not here to serve anyone else’s story anymore. Not my mother’s. Not a partner’s. Not a broken culture that thrives on performance and self-denial. The only relationship that remains untouched by obligation is the one with my son. And even that… it isn’t something I have to do. It’s something I get to do. It’s love. Not duty.

Everything else? If it doesn’t align with who I am now, I’m not making space for it. My time is precious. My energy is sacred. And yet, here comes the real question, the one that echoes after the storm:

What now?

Will the uncertainty return? Will fear creep back in through the cracks? Or have I truly met the darkest parts of myself—and made peace?

The truth is, I don’t know.

Maybe this is the space after.
The void that opens once the scaffolding of an old identity has been dismantled.
The quiet field after the fire has burned everything false to the ground.

But freedom isn’t always easy. Sometimes, it’s disorienting. And sometimes, it whispers things I’m not sure I’m ready to hear:
“You’re no longer who you were. So… who are you now?”

Maybe I don’t need to answer that today.
Maybe, for now, it’s enough to just feel this freedom.
To let it settle into my bones, and trust that something new will rise—not from fear or obligation, but from something much deeper.

Love. Truth. Choice.

I’m not free because I’ve escaped something.
I’m free because I’ve finally chosen to stay.

Here.

With myself.