Oct 20 • BOOK COVERS & IMAGES
Threshold
I’m realizing as I stand at the doorway of this project, of my book coming into the world, it’s a threshold I’ve met before but never crossed quite like this. It’s familiar and foreign at the same time. What’s different now is that I can see how many times I’ve stood here before and turned back, not because I wasn’t ready, but because love was on the line.
I learned early that love could be taken away when I didn’t meet expectations. When I didn’t make the right choice, the approved choice. So I kept choosing in ways that felt safe to others, even when they didn’t feel true to me. It was how I kept connection, even if it cost me myself. And that pattern didn’t stop in childhood. It followed me into adulthood, repeating in subtle ways with friends, mentors, and relationships where approval stood in for affection.
I think my first big threshold was choosing to marry my husband. That decision marked the moment I began choosing for myself rather than through the lens of others’ expectations. And that choice, along with the later decision to relocate to Panama and do the work of remembering who I am, has cost me friendships and, for now, a relationship with one of my kids. It’s the kind of loss that still echoes quietly, even in the moments of deep peace.
But this time, the doorway feels different. I’m not crossing it to prove anything or to earn belonging. I’m crossing it because I’ve finally made peace with the truth that love given conditionally isn’t love; it’s approval dressed up as care.
Even now, I can feel the old threads tugging. The quiet whispers of abandonment, shame, and betrayal, still faint but familiar. They don’t scream like they used to, but they’re still there. And it matters that I notice them.
There’s a wisdom in recognizing that. I don’t need to silence those parts or fix them anymore. I just need to listen to them differently. Because maybe crossing this threshold isn’t about being free from the old stories. It’s about rewriting them, letting them tell a new truth, one that doesn’t end in loss but in remembering.
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Threshold
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