It has been exactly five years since I’ve been thrown out the window and watched myself break into a million pieces. I didn’t realize it then, but that is the best thing that happened to me because that forced me to slowly rebuild myself.

It took a while before I found myself. It took me years before I can finally tell myself, this is me.

Have I forgiven the person? No, not necessarily. It’s just after five years, I no longer cared whether I have forgiven him or not for treating me badly, for treating me like a human appliance. Like it no longer matters whether he’s alive or not. 🤷🏻‍♀️ It’s not true that you need to forgive someone to move on. Time does that for you. In the end, forgiveness doesn’t matter anymore when you’re free. Because forgiveness is for the person who needs to forgive, and not for the person who should be forgiven.

So if it doesn’t matter, why do I still remember the exact time I got broken? It’s because it’s the start of my journey to myself. It’s like doing a deep dive into myself and now that I’ve found that little girl lurking underneath all that mess I had become, I’ve come to celebrate.

No one knew the struggles I had to go through. I was directing my energy at the wrong things. I remember the exact moment that a voice in my ear told me this: focus on your children. Look at them closely. The exact moment was when I saw this sunset.

And a week later, Twin A was sent to the hospital to fight for her life. I didn’t see that she was sick. I was so wrapped up in myself that I didn’t see she was wasting right before my eyes.

All of it was part of my five-year journey into myself.

I needed to love myself so as not to be self-absorbed and see the world through a different lens. I needed to become me so I can give myself grace and other people that same grace.

I needed to love myself so I can let go and be kind to myself when I finally admitted that I am not happy managing people and I’m bad at it. The younger me would have berated myself and be ashamed that I quit because that meant that I am a failure. The more mature me has recognized that stepping back and down meant that I am recognizing that my strengths lay in journalism and not in management. That it’s ok to step back and I’m not lesser for it.

Five years I’ve learned to be alone and be happy about it.