Burn the Map!

Ah! A new year…

12 new chapters…
365 new chances… (I saw that on NYE… Totally stolen goods.)

Burn the map.
Life isn’t what you thought it was.

Yet here I am… spiraling in my past, examining every detail, trying to unearth the one answer that explains why I’m sitting here, where I am, and not where I thought I’d be. I thought I took all the correct steps. I thought I took all the right turns.

Instead, I kept adding more grief and shame to my bullshit sandwich with each discovery.

I’ve decided that this is the year I cut that out of my life.

Maybe I wasn’t made for straight lines.

It started with a handful of memories. Moments where my ex would casually bring up my “faults.” The ones I was already hypersensitive about. Dropped at random times, almost as if to remind me that I was damaged goods. Not quite right. Not perfect.

I learned to operate from that sense of self he so graciously handed to me.

Oh, I couldn’t possibly do that.
Be that.
Enjoy that.

Because I had extra hair on my body. Or a flat ass. Or “mosquito bumps” for breasts. Too many children. A faulty communication style. I did everything wrong.

My mind spiraled, briefly brushing up against all the things I could have criticized about him but never would. Because that would have been cruel. Hateful. Pointless.

So why did I accept it from him?
Why did I believe it was okay?

I did everything in my power to change myself to make him happy… and caught myself, just last week, still doing it. Still trying to be acceptable. To him.

I changed my clothes four times in a row, making sure every perceived flaw was hidden from the world. And in the end, what stared back at me in the mirror wasn’t really me at all.

What he did wasn’t accidental. It was a control tactic… one designed to keep me small, self-loathing, and disconnected from who I truly am. I think he believed that if he could dim my light, I might stay in the ditch with him. That way, he wouldn’t have to be alone.

Misery loves company.

I started noticing it in my daydreams. Those little glimpses of a future life. Every possibility bumped into his imagined disapproval.

He wouldn’t want me to do that.
He’d start an argument over that.
He’d make me feel terrible for wearing something like that.

As if his opinion of me still mattered.

What is this even about?

I thought I was healing. Letting go. Moving forward.

So where was this coming from?

And then it hit me like a ton of bricks.

Yes, I am healing.
Yes, I am letting go.

But for twenty-seven years, my identity was intertwined with this man. He was my mirror. My witness. My measuring stick.

And my brain… my subconscious… is still running old programs in a brand-new life.

It’s like trying to tighten a screw with a wrench. When you’ve been programmed the same way for nearly three decades, it takes time to learn new tools. To exchange how you see, how you move, how you operate.

Subconscious reprogramming starts with nervous system regulation. I need to feel safe in this new life. I need new patterns. New thoughts. A new mirror… one that belongs to me.

A new witness.
Maybe that witness is only myself.
And the Universe.

A new measuring stick that says, Baby, you’ve always been enough. Always.

I have to stop choking down that old sandwich… the self-blame, the belief that I must keep carrying the burden of fault… when there are clearly patterns of manipulation woven into this story.

Now, when these old thought patterns surface, I meet them differently.

Ah, I say. This is a reorientation moment.

Because the question underneath it all keeps circling back to one thing:

If he didn’t exist at all…
what would this moment be about?

What would I say to myself?

So I wear the dress that shows off my curves… because I like it.
I skip leg and butt day because I’d rather watch a movie with my kids.
I don’t shave my legs every day because it gives me more time in my life.
I do what will bring me joy, right now, this moment without thinking for one second if he would approve.

And my peace is now intentional… not something I maintain for survival.

I get to be the cartographer now.

I don’t have to follow societal expectations or inherited ones passed down through generations. The roadmap is aflame, and I’m warming my hands by the fire.

I am being witnessed by life itself.

And I know it delights in me.