This Is My Turning Point

There’s a part of me that never thought I’d survive this.

Not just the trauma.
Not just the grief.
But the truth — the truth that I’ve never been loved.
That I was abused.
Not in the shadows, not metaphorically, but in the clear light of day.
And no one helped me.

But I see it now.
Fully.
And I’m still here.

And I’ve realised something almost unbelievable:

I like who I’ve become.

Maybe that’s a kind of spiritual resilience.
Maybe it’s grace.
Maybe it’s just that I’ve walked through the worst of it — and now there’s space.

Not for performance.
Not for survival.

But for love.

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I don’t want to be alone forever.
I enjoy solitude — truly. It’s better than anything else I’ve known.

But I’d love to love someone.
And be loved in return.
To build something gentle, honest, and whole.

And I think I’m finally ready to stop projecting.
To stop chasing my mother’s ghost in the women around me.
To see clearly.
To connect deeply.

To be in relationship not from lack, but from presence.

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This feels like the turning point.
The part of the story where I don’t need to discover more horror.
Where the truth has landed and there’s nothing left to fear.
Where I can finally feel love stirring in me, and not be afraid of what that means.

This is the beginning of life.
Of real peace.
Of the future I was always meant to live.

And I am ready.