Bruised, But Not Broken

06/06/2025

A woman’s detachment doesn’t always start with distance or silence. Sometimes, it starts in the middle of a conversation—mid-sentence—when she realizes she’s said this exact thing before. Multiple times. In different ways. With different tones. Calmly. Then emotionally. Then quietly. Then in frustration. And still… nothing changed.

Detachment begins when her hope starts to run dry. When she’s no longer angry, just tired. When she stops checking your tone, stops caring about your replies, stops holding on to the idea that maybe this time, you’ll finally understand her. She begged in her own way. Through her loyalty. Through the way she kept choosing you despite how unseen she felt. Through her late-night overthinking sessions where she tried to figure out how to say it better, how to express it softer, how to fix something she didn’t even break.

But after a while, that energy dies out. Because no woman can continue pouring from an empty cup. And when she finally realizes that nothing she says will make a difference, she stops speaking altogether. That’s the moment most men notice. When she’s no longer asking where you’ve been. No longer reminding you what she needs. No longer repeating the same conversations.

That silence? It’s not peace, it’s detachment. It’s the sound of a woman slowly reclaiming her power. By the time you realize she’s “changed,” she’s just finally stopped exhausting herself for someone who made comfort out of her discomfort. So if a woman is still talking to you, still expressing her needs, still repeating herself, it means she still believes in you. Don’t let her go quiet. Don’t let her give up. Because once she detaches, she’s already halfway gone.

06/06/2025

Big shout out to my newest top fans! 💎

Joanne Mcnair, Joerica Robinson, Alfred Vee, Chris Nelson, Mandy Prier, Viktor Di Di, Miri Broussard, Donna H Chapin, Norma Warner, Lisa Wolfe, Candida Gunsolus-Wojcik, Angelia Northington, Amanda Brumley, Yvonne Howell, Vanessa Mccauley, Sharon Green, Annie Elizabeth Hudson, Jill Belfiore, Betsy Franklin Hurley, Cynthia Airington, Kathi Myers

Drop a comment to welcome them to our community,

06/06/2025

She’s not crazy—she was hurt.
She learned silence in places meant to protect her. She survived love that felt like war. Her pain wasn’t irrational—it was ignored, twisted by someone who made her doubt her own mind.

She’s not foolish—she was deceived.
Love-bombed, gaslit, fed lies disguised as affection. She trusted words over actions because she wanted to believe. She stayed, not from weakness, but from hope—hope that was used against her.

She’s not cold—she’s careful.
Her guarded heart isn’t cruel; it’s self-defense. Warmth once burned her, so now she watches, waits, learns who’s safe. Her quiet isn’t shyness—it’s survival.

She’s not bitter—she’s honest.
Naming her pain isn’t resentment; it’s courage. She refuses to soften the truth for those who harmed her. She’s not angry—she’s awake.

She’s not stuck—she’s healing.
Trauma doesn’t expire. Some days, the past crashes in uninvited. She’s not dwelling; she’s rebuilding—piece by fractured piece.

She’s not weak—she was too trusting.
She loved deeply in a world that rewarded her with scars. That’s not naivety—it’s strength.

She’s not broken—she’s becoming.
Stronger. Wiser. More aware. Healing isn’t pretty—it’s messy tears, quiet rage, hard boundaries. But she’s growing.

Don’t mistake her journey for weakness. She’s not who she was—and that’s the point.

06/05/2025

To you who hurt me the most—I told you I was breaking. I showed you my wounds. But instead of healing, you poured salt into every cut.

You saw my weaknesses and wielded them like weapons. You knew where it hurt deepest—so you struck there on purpose.

When I stood on the edge—barely holding on—you didn’t reach out.
You gave me the final push.

And in that moment, I felt it—the silence after the fall. The emptiness left behind when someone chooses to destroy what they couldn’t understand or protect.

Now I sit here, not because I wanted to break—but because you made it impossible to stay whole.

You say I’m too distant now. Too cold.
But no one sees how deeply you shattered me.
No one hears how loud your betrayal still echoes in my chest.

So go ahead. Paint yourself as the victim. Tell your story. Let the world believe your version.

But I know the truth.
I carry it in silence.
I wear it in scars.
And I live it in the quiet strength of surviving what you did.

06/05/2025

When I say I’m tired—it’s not because I’m giving up. It’s because I’ve been carrying everything for far too long.

I wake up again and again, forcing myself to rise—because quitting isn’t an option. But exhaustion doesn’t just live in my body. It lives in my heart. In my soul. In the way I keep failing myself without ever being able to pause long enough to heal.

I look at my life—and feel shame not because I haven’t tried—but because I haven’t moved forward the way I dreamed.

Yes—I want understanding. Appreciation. Recognition that I’m still here, even after all this time of breaking beneath my own weight.

But more than that—I need silence. Space. The right to rest without being questioned. Without having to prove I’m still strong.

Because I am.
Even through failure.
Even through disappointment.
Even through the kind of fatigue no one sees.

So let me be. Let me heal. Let me try again—not for anyone else—but for the woman I still believe I can become.

05/30/2025

When love finds you again, I hope it brings you someone gentle, someone kind. I hope it brings you a human being who introduces you to a softer version of your life — someone who helps you find a way back into your tenderness, someone who helps you find a way back into your heart.

When love finds you again, I hope it chooses you completely. I hope it brings you the kind of person who doesn’t make you perform for their attention, who doesn’t make you beg for their heart. I hope it feels secure, I hope it feels like something you can trust, like something that cannot be threatened or taken from you, like something you can believe in, like something that will stay.

When love finds you again, I hope it magnifies your spirit. I hope it brings the hidden parts of you to the surface, I hope it helps you to expand.

When love finds you again, I hope it brings you the kind of human being who has done the work to heal themselves, so they can love you how you deserve to be loved. I hope it brings you the kind of person who knows that they cannot save you, but who holds your hand while you save yourself — who anchors you and roots you and cracks light into your life.

When love finds you again, I hope it gifts you the kind of human being who is not afraid of being responsible for your heart, who is not afraid of the effort it would require to care for someone with a soul like yours.

When love finds you again, I hope it brings you the kind of human being who sees you clearly. The kind of person who considers you, who borders your solitude; the kind of person who listens, who makes the effort, who connects.

When love finds you again, I hope it enters your life with ease. I hope it feels like peace, like safety, like a return to what is whole. I hope it feels like something certain, like something steady, like a deep exhale, like a homecoming, like an answered prayer — like all of the love you have put into this world coming back to you at last. 🤍

05/14/2025

I wish more people understood that grief isn’t just being sad and crying. Grief is being angry, being numb, being broken, and everything in between. It is different for everyone. You just have to go through the motions, and roll with the punches.

When you’re grieving the loss of someone, you grieve for what was, and what will never be. Grief also takes a big toll on your mental and physical health.

1. Grief is LOVE with nowhere to go.
2. Grief is trying to remind yourself that “this too shall pass”.
3. Grief is forcing yourself out of bed to shower and eat.
4. Grief is isolating yourself
5. Grief is depression.
6. Grief is surrounding yourself with people and things to distract your brain from reality.
7. Grief is UGLY
8. Grief is ROUGH.

If you cannot understand why people grieve so hard, for so long, and so deep. . consider yourself “lucky”.

05/05/2025