There’s a version of me that everyone sees...

She smiles. She laughs. She cracks jokes like nothing in the world could possibly be wrong.

She shows up. Every single day. Even when she doesn’t want to.
Even when she’s running on fumes and silence and the kind of exhaustion sleep doesn’t fix.

People think that version of me is me.

But she’s not.

She’s the one I built a long time ago…
when I learned that pain makes people uncomfortable, and survival means making sure everyone else is okay… even when you’re not.

And the truth is…I’m tired. Not just “I need a nap” tired. I’m soul tired.

The kind of tired that comes from missing someone so deeply it feels physical.
Like there’s a constant ache sitting in my chest that never lets up.
Like no matter how much I try to distract myself… it’s always there, waiting.

I miss my husband in a way I don’t even know how to explain to people.
There are no words big enough for this kind of missing.

It’s in the quiet moments. It’s in the mornings. It’s in the nights when everything slows down and there’s no noise left to hide behind.

It’s in the empty space beside me. In the conversations I can’t have. In the life we were supposed to be living right now… but aren’t.

And somehow… I still get up. I still smile. I still laugh like everything is okay.

Because that’s what I learned to do a long time ago. I learned how to take pain…and tuck it away so deep that nobody else has to feel it. I learned how to perform “okay” so well that people actually believe it.

And if I’m being honest…sometimes I don’t even know where the real me ends and that version begins.

There are moments I feel completely numb. Like I’m just… existing. Going through the motions. Checking the boxes. Breathing… but not really living.

And then there are moments where it all hits at once. And it’s heavy. So damn heavy.

The loneliness. The sadness. The weight of holding everything together by myself.

And still… I’ll wipe my face, take a breath, and step right back into that version of me the world expects.

Because that’s what I’ve always done.

But here’s the part I don’t say out loud very often-

Just because I’m strong…doesn’t mean I’m not breaking sometimes.

Just because I keep going…doesn’t mean this isn’t hard.

And just because I can carry it…doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

I’m still here. I’m still standing.

But some days…it’s not strength that gets me through.

It’s survival.

And right now…that has to be enough.

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Exposing the Deadly Reality at La Palma Correctional Facility: How Many More Have to Die?

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From Guard to Wife: My Journey in the Shadows of the Justice System

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