Pen and Page Journey

Dear You,

You didn’t leave because you stopped caring.

You left because you were the only one who ever did.

You tried—maybe not in the loud, performative ways some people expect, but in the quiet, exhausting, emotionally costly ways that people like you always do. You twisted yourself into patience. You made space for the things you hoped would shift. You swallowed your hurt. You forgave before being apologized to. You gave them the benefit of the doubt. Again. And again.

And then one day…

You didn’t.

That doesn’t make you weak. It doesn’t make you heartless. It doesn’t make you a quitter.

It makes you honest.

Because love isn’t supposed to feel like self-abandonment.

And staying shouldn’t feel like you’re slowly disappearing.

Still, I know the guilt. I know that ache. You’ve always hated being the one who got left. Who got given up on. And now, you’re sitting in the mirror wondering if you became what broke your own heart.

But here’s the difference:

They gave up to avoid the work.

You walked away after doing it.

You didn’t bail at the first sign of discomfort.

You stayed longer than you should have. You hoped harder than was fair to you.

And when it finally hurt more to hold on than it did to let go…

You let go.

That isn’t giving up.

That’s choosing yourself.

It might not feel brave yet. It might just feel hollow.

But one day you’ll look back and realize:

Leaving wasn’t weakness.

It was an act of deep, quiet strength.

Because no one talks about how hard it is to leave someone you still love—when loving them has started to cost you your peace.

So here’s your permission:

To grieve it.

To miss them.

To miss you.

And still know—

You didn’t give up.

You honored the part of you that could no longer stay unseen.

And that is not something to hate yourself for.

It’s something to come home to.

Love,

The Soft Goodbye