Still rising (personal note)

There’s a version of me the world thinks it knows—smiling, coping, managing. But here’s the truth: I’ve become a master at holding it together on the outside while quietly trying to heal what’s breaking on the inside.

I’ve been through storms that should’ve taken me out. I’ve lived through heartbreaks that left marks on my soul. And I’ve still managed to show up—for my kids, for the people I love, for the world—even when I’ve felt like I had nothing left in me.

I’ve chosen peace when I had every right to choose rage. I’ve broken cycles I didn’t create, carrying wounds I didn’t cause. But I’ve also made mistakes. I’ve hurt people. I’ve passed on pain I didn’t know how to process. And yes—my kids have carried some of that. That truth breaks me open, but I sit with it. I own it. I won’t run from it.

Because healing isn’t just about what was done to me—it’s also about what I’ve done, and choosing to be better.

I love my children more than life itself, and every day I fight to be the version of me they deserve. Some days I get it right. Other days I don’t. But I never stop trying.

People rarely see the emotional labour behind the scenes. The late-night tears. The strength it takes to keep showing up. The quiet decisions I make every single day that say: I will not give up on myself.

And I won’t.

So, let me say this for myself—and maybe for you, if you need it too:

I’m not broken. I’m rebuilding.
I’m not behind. I’m on my own timeline.
I’m not invisible. I’m phenomenal.
I am soft, sacred strength in motion.

I am still rising. Still blooming. Still dangerous in the most beautiful way.

And this—this—is just the beginning.

With fire and grace,
MissT
Divorced. Damaged. And unapologetically becoming.