For a long time, I lived in the “why.”
Why did it happen this way?
Why didn’t they understand me?
Why did I lose so much?
The questions felt endless. They echoed through courtrooms, conversations, and sleepless nights. I thought if I could just make sense of it all, I’d find peace. But the “why” kept me circling the wound. It became a trap—one that blurred truth and delayed healing.
Then I wrote.
Not to explain, not to justify—just to tell the truth.
And in the writing, something shifted.
I saw my part.
Not with shame, but with clarity.
Not to excuse anyone else, but to free myself.
Because here’s what I know now:
If it was wrong, it was wrong.
And if I did it, it’s mine to own.
Not because I’m unworthy, but because I’m growing.
Because I want to walk in truth, not blame.
What belongs to someone else—their choices, their silence, their harm—is not mine to carry.
That’s their work. Their weight.
And I release it.
I carry what’s mine.
Not as punishment, but as a path.
A path to peace.
A path to becoming.
Reflection Prompt:
What are you still carrying that doesn’t belong to you?
What’s yours to own—and what’s theirs to release?