#overgrownlullaby

[overgrown-lullaby]

🌿✨ gentle reminder:

you’re not “behind.”

you’re growing at your own pace.

some flowers bloom at night. some take a whole season.

you’re still a garden worth tending to. 🌱🦋

[overgrown-lullaby]

There’s a version of me I’ve had to grieve.

The one who didn’t know any better.

The one who clung to what she thought was love, who stayed too long, who apologized for existing.

The one who thought survival was the same as living.

She did the best she could with what she had—

no map, no guide, just a trembling heart and a hope that maybe, just maybe, it would be enough.

I look back at her now with soft eyes.

She wasn’t weak—she was exhausted.

She wasn’t naive—she was hopeful.

And even though I’ve outgrown her pain, I carry her lessons.

So today, I grieve her.

Not in shame, but in honor.

She walked through the fire so I could find the light.

And I will never forget her.

[overgrown-lullaby]

Some days, I'm proud of how far I've come.

And some days,

I still feel like I’m standing in the rubble,

pretending not to notice the dust on my skin.

Some days, I feel completely healed.

Other days, I feel overgrown—

thoughts like vines creeping up my spine.

Not choking the life out of me like they used to,

but still wrapping tight,

making it just a little harder to move.

Some days,

I just want to lay in bed all day.

But now—

I can force myself up.

I used to waste away in bed,

swallowed whole by shame.

Calling myself lazy.

Feeling disgusting.

Now, I get up.

Now, I shower.

It’s not easy.

But it no longer feels

like an impossible task

And that matters.

God, does it matter.

[overgrown-lullaby]

[overgrown-lullaby]

I gave you TIME—

when I had NONE to give.

Let that sink in.

I gave you TIME…

when I was barely allowed to live.

Minutes slipping,

coins through a ripped pocket.

‘I gotta get up at six,’ I’d whisper.

‘No, no, PLEASE—stay,’ you’d lock it.

FOUR hours left,

and still—I stayed.

‘How can I help?’ I asked,

while our midnight walls got sprayed

with dreams we scrawled in secret ink,

graffiti futures no one else would ever think.

THREE hours left.

We swore on heartbreak’s ash.

Pinky-promised the cosmos

we’d never relapse,

never collapse

into another disaster’s grasp.

TWO hours left.

We dreamed of dirt under nails,

a love that prevails,

a life off the land,

just us—no demands,

no one else in the plans.

ONE hour left.

And your voice turned lock,

your questions sharp,

like chains that shock.

‘Where you going? WHO you with?’

Handcuff questions, ownership myths.

And then—

I woke up.

I gave you TIME—when I had NONE to give.

But you never needed ME.

You needed my hours to stitch up your pride.

You needed my money to cover your lies.

You needed my roof till you found someplace new—

and when you did, suddenly I was the villain to you.

I gave you TIME—when I had NONE to give.

And you SPENT it.

BURNED it.

Left me empty-handed,

while you landed

in somebody else’s life.

Like I was just practice.

A placeholder.

A sacrifice.

But LISTEN—

I’m no one’s villain.

I’m no one’s ghost.

I’m more than the body

you drained the most.

I’m reclaiming my pulse,

my power, my skin.

I will NOT bleed—

for you—

AGAIN.

[overgrown-lullaby]

You can’t love anyone unless you love yourself."

I’ve heard that my whole life, and I never understood it. Because I’ve proven it wrong — again and again. I’ve never loved myself, yet I’ve fallen in love plenty of times.

The truth is… you can love others without loving yourself. In fact, it’s the easiest thing to do. When you don’t love yourself, you’ll love anyone who gives you any attention. You’ll settle for less than you deserve. You’ll stay, no matter how much it hurts, because their love feels like proof that you matter.

But here’s the difference: when you love yourself, your standards rise. You stop accepting scraps. You stop putting yourself in situations where pain is the price of connection. You wouldn’t hurt someone you love, yet without self-love, you’ll let them hurt you if it means they stay.

When you finally love yourself, your definition of love changes. You show others how to treat you by the way you treat yourself. And that’s why the saying should be rewritten. Not “You can’t love someone until you love yourself.” But —

“Don’t love anyone until you love yourself

[overgrown-lullaby]

When I finally left him, I was called heartless,

Told I was a whore.

A terrible mother.

A family wrecker

But nobody seen my pain.

Nobody seen me crying at night until my throat felt like I swallowed razor blades

Until my eye lids felt like sand paper scrapping my eyes with every blink

No one felt the hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach from going days without eating. 

How could I? 

After all,

                      I was a terrible mother... 

So I ran. 

I ran away from my decision.

I ran away from my pain

I knew the feeling all too well 

I survived being told I was too much, 

That I needed to be quiet. 

For far, far too long.

Maybe I wasn’t perfect—

God knows I wasn’t.

But I was trying to survive

in a place that wanted me quiet and small.

But I came back.

 To face my decision.

To live a life I knew was going to be hard 

And now?

Now I carry guilt like a second spine,

but I’m still walking.

Still choosing life.

Still hoping one day my truth

won’t sound like betrayal

when it leaves my lips.