The heatwave has finally broken.
The air is cooler, softer. A relief.
And yet, sleep continues to evade me.
Most nights I lie there, eyes closed, mind wide awake.
Perimenopause has me caught in this strange rhythm, drifting off sometime around 3 or 4 am, then waking a few hours later with a body that’s not quite ready to face the day.
The last few days have felt heavy.
Not in any dramatic way, just quietly emotional.
The smallest things tip me into tears. An old song. A memory. A moment of stillness.
My mood has been low. My energy thin.
I’ve been moving through the essentials only, no extra, no sparkle.
But today, for the first time in what feels like forever, I went for a walk.
A slow, steady, soul-clearing walk. Two full hours in the cool breeze and overcast skies.
The kind of weather that feels like a balm for a frayed nervous system.
And somewhere along the path, I started talking to my Future Self.
She didn’t say much.
She just listened.
Held space.
Reminded me that I’ve come so far.
And then, this thought surfaced, one I’ve been circling for a while now:
I didn’t wake up one day suddenly strong.
I became strong the day I stopped waiting.
Stopped hoping someone else would finally choose me, fix me, rescue me.
I became strong when I realised no one was coming to save me, and that maybe, just maybe, I didn’t need them to.
I’ve spent years loving loudly for people who only whispered back.
Poured myself into hands that couldn’t hold me.
Hoped that if I just gave more, forgave more, they’d stay.
They’d finally see me.
But all that did was leave me empty.
Exhausted.
Invisible to myself.
So now, I’m saving myself.
Not out of bitterness. Not out of pride.
But out of a deep, rooted love for the woman I kept abandoning just to be “enough” for others.
I will not beg for presence.
I will not plead for effort.
I will no longer settle for love that only half-shows up.
If solitude is the cost of peace,
I’ll pay it.
Gladly.
Saving myself means walking away from people and patterns that made me feel like love was conditional, like safety was something I had to earn.
It means letting go of doors I kept open too long.
It means holding my own hand.
Grieving the versions of me that kept waiting.
And choosing a future built on self-trust, not self-sacrifice.
I’m not chasing love anymore.
I’m choosing me.
My healing.
My wholeness.
My life.
Because now I finally understand:
Saving myself isn’t selfish.
It’s how I survive.
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