Writing The Day I Lost My Safe Space broke me open. I sobbed uncontrollably. The memory is still so clear and so fresh that simply revisiting it shattered my heart almost as fiercely as the day it happened.

[If you have not read this entry, go back a couple of entries prior]

At the end of writing the blog, I snapped a picture of myself. Not for vanity, but as a reminder to keep going. My eyes were bloodshot, my hands shaking. I’ve hidden that photo in my phone, and I’ve thought about deleting it more times than I can count. But this project is meant for healing, not hiding. It seeks truth in the dark. Like family secrets tucked away in drawers, I believe we should reach a place where we can comfortably pull them out and share, so we can become a stronger voice for others. For my younger self.

I don’t know if I’ll ever share that picture, but if I do, please know it’s far from glamorous. This blog has forced me to confront things I’ve never spoken aloud… not even to my husband or children.
That, perhaps, is a story for another day.

I think about that acquaintance from time to time. I hope she got away. I hope she found a place filled with peace.

When I finally clicked “post,” anxiety hit me instantly: tight chest, racing thoughts. Her story was never mine to tell. I was only one of many people who failed her in moments when she needed someone to step forward. In a way, writing this was my apology letter.

My dear reader, I’ll leave you with this:
I hope you are not in a violent situation. But if you are, there is help.
You can contact the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-7233 or text “Start” to 88788.

Don’t live with the regret that I carry.
Be the voice; for yourself, and for others.

Uplifted,

Sis