A letter to the version of me who hasn't left her marriage yet

It doesn't have to get worse for you to have a reason to leave. I know you're not ready, but you already have reason enough if you even feel like you should. You don't have to prove anything to anyone.

There will always be people who say you could have done more to fix your marriage. But they did not sit with you on the bathroom floor. They did not see the hardest days up close. They did not go to that doctor's appointment with you. So their opinion really doesn't matter.

It has been on your mind. You have seen and experienced so much that has felt off or wrong. I know you've been trying to push through and ignore the pit in your stomach. Hold on to the good days, even though they're few and far between.

But you know what you deserve. Truly ask yourself: Are your needs being met? Are you safe? Are you happy?

Right now, every day feels like a battle you never signed up for, but it's predictable. And that predictability feels safer than changing plans. If you just keep walking on eggshells. If you just keep making yourself small and managing everyone else's emotions. If you just keep silencing your own conscience when something stings. Then you'll be okay. It's a precise art of mental and emotional gymnastics, and it's exhausting, but it's been fine for the last two years.

Please believe me when I say that life will be so good and just better on the other side. You don't have to keep living as a side character. It is all in your hands right now. And it's okay if you can't leave today, next week, or even this year. But make plans for when you do.

Pack an emergency bag. Get your essential documents, clothes, and some cash. Just in case. Build your financial independence. Save your money like crazy and put as much of it away as you can without drawing too much attention.

I know it is so scary. The hardest parts are still around the corner. This feels like a leap into the abyss and that free fall feels so overwhelming. It is too much for you. I know. But there are safe and loving arms that will catch you on the way down.

You're going to call your mom on a Saturday at 5 am in a McDonald's parking lot. You're going to word vomit everything that has happened over the last two years. She's going to tell you that she will take care of it. And she does. Within one week, you'll be gone. Your stuff will be packed up, and your portion of the apartment will be in boxes. You'll be on a plane frantically trying to stifle every emotion threatening to come to the surface.

You'll spend three months in bed at your parents' house. You'll sleep until 2 pm every day and wake up just long enough to make breakfast (*ahem* lunch). And at night you'll load up on melatonin so the memories of the day you left don't keep you up all night again.

But then you'll go to therapy. And you'll start making friends. You'll still cry every day, but you'll also smile and laugh without feeling guilty (most of the time). You'll spend time with your family and new friends and they'll heal something in you that you honestly forgot existed, but desperately need.

And one day you'll wake up and feel it again. That little spark of joy. It's been so long that it will make you cry. Again. But for a good reason this time.

Slowly, so very slowly, that spark will turn into a flame. And with time and a ton of TLC, it will turn into a burning fire within you. And your family and close friends will tell you, "You look so different... in a good way!" They'll stare for a little while before being able to put it to words, "You look happy."

And then, you'll know it was all worth it.