When The Past Comes Knocking

It was as though my subconscious kept waking me up.

Last night, I went to bed with the intention of sharing more of my relationship evolution on the podcast—the phases of my growth and healing, from my heartbreak era to my hot mess era, to my self-love era, and to where I am today.

I knew I wanted to go deeper. To start sharing the moments I’ve avoided—the heartbreak era in its rawest form. The lying, the cheating, the gaslighting. The micro-moments that happened and how they unfolded. How they affected me.

And there was a part of me that was scared.

So I set the intention before bed: tomorrow, I start.

And then, as I lay there, the flashbacks wouldn’t stop coming. Over and over, in my dreams and in the moments I woke up gasping for air. The painful moments when I discovered the infidelity. The moments I denied it was happening. The moments it was unfolding right in front of me, and I didn’t even see the signs. The slow, excruciating unraveling of everything I had believed to be true for so long.

To this day, nothing has hurt more than trusting someone so deeply—feeling safe enough to put my heart, my love, my life in their hands—only to have that same person betray me in ways I never imagined. To question everything I believed about love, trust, and whether it was even safe to trust again.

Because if I couldn’t trust him, who could I trust?

Last night, I relived so many moments from that relationship. So much of the pain. The nights I cried on the floor, wondering if he would ever come home. Wondering what I had done wrong to push him into someone else’s arms. What parts of me weren’t enough to keep him happy, to keep him in the relationship, to make him choose me.

The nights I felt so rejected and alone while he was out until three in the morning with someone else. And I lay in bed, pretending everything was okay, while simultaneously trying to ward off the mental images I had in my mind of the two of them together, while I lay there alone.

It was as if my soul was begging me to finally share the stories I had been avoiding for so long.

So I did.

I just recorded three episodes.

And honestly? It still feels gross. It feels raw.

I feel a little naked. A little vulnerable.

And I haven’t even begun to scratch the surface.

That’s the scary part.

But I know I need to keep going.