Part 1 - The Ones Who Stay
Last night, I sat at the wedding of a dear friend I’ve known for forty years. Kel.
Even writing that feels surreal.
Forty years.
How many people can say they still have friends from kindergarten?
Life has taken me across states, through entire lifetimes it seems — and yet, here we are.
Still connected. Still showing up for each other.
It hasn’t always been simple.
I’ve let people into my life who were toxic.
I’ve made mistakes — some small, some that left scars.
But there’s something healing in telling the truth of it.
It’s human to misstep.
It’s human to crave connection — even when it hurts.
And it’s powerful to realise that every person who’s crossed my path — those who loved me well, and those who didn’t — helped shape the woman I am.
What matters most is the moment you choose yourself.
The moment you whisper:
I deserve peace. I deserve joy. I deserve relationships that feel like sunlight on my skin — not shadows.
Last night, I was surrounded by friends who’ve witnessed so many chapters of my life.
Some I’ve often felt on the outer with — not because of a lack of love, but because time and distance can convince you that you no longer belong.
But in just one night, they made me feel missed. Welcomed. Cherished.
They saw me — not just the me I used to be, but all of me.
For a long time, I’ve pulled back.
It felt safer than explaining what my body can and can’t do.
Safer than holding the guilt of being “the reason plans change.”
But last night, something shifted.
They didn’t pity me.
They didn’t tiptoe around me.
They just included me — in ways that felt warm and real and easy.
Once upon a time, I was the party girl.
The one who danced until dawn.
But last night, I found myself on the sidelines, quietly grieving the pieces I thought I’d lost.
Until my Kel caught my eye.
She walked straight over, hand outstretched — and I honestly thought she was about to say:
“No one puts Baby in the corner.”
That was the moment.
The choice.
Sit there all night, swallowed by grief and fatigue…
Or pour another glass of Sav Blanc (which quickly became a second bottle of Moscato), And remember the sunshine that still burns deep inside me.
The fire that has helped me rise again and again.
The glow that reminds me:
This isn’t the life I planned — But it’s the one I keep fighting for.
And it’s time to get off my butt and live it.
Sure, I knew I wouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow.
But that was tomorrow’s problem.
Because this — this was life.
Messy. Imperfect. Joyful.
And mine.
It’s not about being able to do everything.
It’s about choosing the life you want.
It’s about being surrounded by people who lift you up — and letting yourself be seen exactly as you are.
