Lately, I haven’t felt like I’m breaking apart.

It feels more like the structures that used to hold me together are dissolving from the inside out. The beliefs, patterns, and identities that once gave shape to my humanity are melting—and what’s left doesn’t quite have form yet.

Metaphorically speaking… I’m in the “pile of goo” stage.

And it’s strange.

A few days ago, during a healing session, two things surfaced that I’ve been sitting with ever since.

The first was an invitation—one that I didn’t exactly welcome with open arms. I was asked to get fully okay with the idea that I might never be in a relationship again, and to know, deeply, that I could still have an exceptional life.

Not exactly a comforting thought at first.

But underneath that, something else revealed itself. A belief I hadn’t fully seen before:

That being in a relationship is the only way to truly be loved. That every other form of love is somehow lesser. That it doesn’t count.

Seeing that clearly felt… confronting.

Around the same time, I noticed another pattern showing up—this recurring feeling of being unimportant. So I chose to go deeper and dissolve the original emotional loop behind it.

What surfaced was another belief:

If I’m not considered and treated as important, I will be discarded.

Sitting with that was heavy.

And somewhere in all of this, apathy started to appear.

Not a dramatic breakdown. Not overwhelming emotion. Just a kind of quiet numbness.

But I don’t think the apathy is the problem.

I think it’s covering something deeper—something that’s getting ready to move. A kind of grief that hasn’t fully surfaced yet.

Grief around what I’ve been taught to believe.

Grief around the idea that love has to look a certain way to count.

Grief around the traditional relationship model that I once thought I needed, but now see is built on distorted expectations—like one person being responsible for your entire sense of well-being, and without that, you’re somehow less. Incomplete. Only half.

Letting that go feels like a loss, even if it’s also a liberation.

And being in this version of myself—this in-between space—is unfamiliar.

I don’t feel the way I used to, but I’m not entirely sure how I feel now.

Things that used to register don’t always land the same way.

I’ll see the dishes, and they don’t create urgency.

I’ll feel that familiar pressure—“I should be working, I have things to do”—and I just… set it aside.

Because what I actually want, right now, is something different.

I want to be soft with myself.

I want to sit. To stare. To feel whatever is there—even if what’s there feels like nothing at all.

There’s something about allowing that space that feels important. Not productive in the traditional sense, but necessary.

This phase isn’t about forcing clarity or rushing back into structure.

It’s about being with what is, even when it’s undefined.

And underneath it all, there’s a quiet knowing:

I’m okay.

And so are you.

If any of this resonates—if you’ve found yourself in a space where things feel uncertain, unformed, or strangely still—maybe you don’t need to fix it today.

Maybe you don’t need to push through it or make sense of it right away.

Maybe, just for today, you can put down the to-do list, pick up a pillow, and allow yourself to be soft.

Even here.

Especially here.

Abi💜