Maybe I Was Meant to Leave

I used to believe that if I tried hard enough, loved deeply enough, endured quietly enough, I would finally be seen. I showed up every time. I carried more than I should have. I gave without asking. But somehow, after all the effort, I was still unappreciated. Still unheard. Still not enough. It hurts to admit that no matter how much I poured out, it never filled the space I hoped it would.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve carried a quiet vision in my heart. I always felt like I would end up overseas, somewhere with real winter — the kind where the air is cold and honest, where I would curl up under a thick blanket and watch movies. I could see it so clearly: a single-storey house, an island kitchen filled with warm light, laughter echoing through the hallway, a son running past me and twin girls cuddling up to her daddy's chest. A happy family that feels safe. A home that feels chosen.

Maybe that’s why staying where I am feels heavier each year. Maybe that’s why something inside me keeps whispering, “There’s more than this.” It’s not just about running away. It’s about moving toward the life I’ve always quietly believed was meant for me. After all the trying, all the waiting, all the hoping to be acknowledged — maybe the real awakening is this: I don’t have to stay where I am unseen. I can choose a different horizon. I can choose a life that feels like mine.