I want to stop writing about you. Truly. I want my journal to finally become a place for the parts of my life that actually fill me with joy — like this trip. A work trip, of all things, to a pickle factory in Michigan to help treat their wastewater. I should be writing about that. About meeting this incredible new group of people from Mexico, about how warm and welcoming they were, about the way it felt to be brought into their world for a few days — their humor, their culture, their generosity. It felt like a breath of fresh air. Like the version of me that is curious and alive and growing finally had space to exist without being punished for it.
I was excited to write about that. I was excited to finally put something good on these pages. To talk about the sweetness you showed after everything — the version of you that always comes out when the dust settles and you’re trying to be better.
And then God puts something in front of me.
A random movie I pick on the flight home — just a mystery about a woman found in a house in New Hampshire. It sounded innocent, even interesting. And then within minutes, it cuts to her journal: “To whoever finds my body. I was a victim of domestic abuse.”
My whole chest tightened.
As the story went on, they described her: strong. Intelligent. Witty. Beautiful. Social. Loved. Connected to nature. A reader. A lover. Someone full of life and depth.
And I sat there thinking… that’s me.
Why do men like you always go after women like that? Why is it always the bright ones, the loving ones, the ones who give warmth and grace and life?
And the truth is painful, but I feel it settling in my bones:
Men like you choose women like me because we are strong enough to endure. Because we love deeply. Because we forgive. Because we believe in potential. Because we shine in ways you wish you could. Because we make you feel like you matter — even when you don’t treat us like we do.
Men like you pick women like me because my empathy becomes your shelter, my hope becomes your excuse, my softness becomes your safety net.
And I’m left wondering… is this what God is trying to show me?
Is this His way of saying pay attention?
Is this His way of saying this path leads somewhere dark?
The question I don’t want to ask but can’t escape echoes in my mind:
Will this be me?
