I was born in this house.
I left it once.
Or so I thought.
I moved to another house,
I built a life,
but I’m back now —
not just physically.
Energetically.
And I see it now.
I never really left.
Not on the inside.
I’ve lived an entire life digging deep.
Digging through feelings.
Digging through memories.
Digging through other people.
Digging through trauma.
Digging through silence.
Because the tracks I left open for myself were so narrow,
digging became the only way to survive with any color.
And so I became a diver.
A searcher.
A truth-mole.
A master of depth.
And it saved me.
But now,
I want to walk.
I want to move.
And my system doesn’t know how.
Because forward… is new.
Not dangerous, not wrong.
Just new.
So I find myself back at the same patterns:
Pause. Dig. Spiral. Ache.
Talk to myself. Circle again.
Loop.
But here’s what I know now:
This loop isn’t stuckness.
It’s a signal.
A signal that I don’t need to dig anymore —
not in that way.
Not as survival.
What I need… is movement.
Not frantic, not forced.
But forward.
With her.
The girl who cried in the bedroom.
The girl who held it all in.
The girl who stopped herself from dreaming
because dreaming was dangerous.
I am learning to walk now. By recognition, by acknowledging, by accepting the forty years lived. By accepting my life. All the loops. All the digging.
One step at a time.
And I want this post to mark the first.
Not a perfect step.
Not a flashy one.
Just the first real one.
From inside the body.