Why Is It Her

We don't outgrow every version of ourselves, even when we wish we would.

The version of me that got married at 21 and divorced at 24 is still inside me.

The same version that hurt in silence to keep the peace at 7 years old.



The version that is still scared to say no. Scared to disappoint or to get in trouble.



Why is it...that the part of me that survived...is her?



I wish she would have drowned with everything else I loved about myself.



Of course. I can't even hate her without my heart screaming in her defense.

It rises against the deepest part of my anger. Demands that she be loved.



Hating her is holding a broken heart and begging yourself to love the one that shattered it.



Why am I like this? Where is the version that can stand up for myself?



I don't think she exists. I've never seen her face. We've never crossed paths.



I wouldn't recognize her even if she were the only one in the room.

So I sit with the one that survived and I ask...why is it her?