I found this on Facebook. That is so true. I am still on my own and struggle, but I try to survive as well as I can.
I’M NO LONGER INVITED EVERYWHERE… BUT I INVITE MYSELF INTO MY OWN LIFE
Before, I was at every table.
Meals, parties, raised voices over wine.
They called me, they wanted me.
My laughter had its place,
my hands were useful,
my story mattered.
And then slowly…
the invitations slowed down.
Not all at once,
no.
It’s more discreet than that, the distance.
People think of you,
but afterward.
They talk to you,
but too late.
We love you, of course…
but from afar.
So I stopped waiting for someone to make room for me.
I started making my own.
I set the table for myself,
with a cloth napkin.
I give myself flowers,
not to decorate,
but to thank myself for still being there.
I walk slowly through the market aisles,
I choose my vegetables like one chooses jewelry.
I invite myself into the day,
into the air,
into the light that streams through the window.
I’m no longer invited everywhere.
But I’m at home in my silence.
I’m comfortable in my armchair.
I’m awaited by my tea.
I invite myself into my own life.
And I’m good there.
Really good.