I Choose Me

I Choose Me

I have felt the change coming on slowly, but surely, over the last few months. I wasn't quite sure what to make of it. It was scary but exhilarating, overwhelming but calming, all at the same time.

All of my life, I have been the peacekeeper—the one who adapts to accommodate others, the one who is the calm in the face of most storms. Here's the problem with that: at some point, the dam bursts.

It can explode and shock everyone in its wake with the sheer power of the eruption. Or, it can start as a trickle that becomes a leak that erodes the dam fortifications and then the manifesting as a subtle changes until—oh, look! There's a stream where there used to be land.

The Second Evolution

In my case, the second evolution is what I find myself going through.

No theatrics. One day, I sorted through all the papers that had piled up. Another day, I cleaned out my closet. I even went through all the pens on my desk (what can I say—nurses and pens are attracted to each other) with every cleaning.

I felt a little more at peace. With every cleared space, my mind felt a little less cluttered.

But here's what I realized: the real clutter wasn't in my drawers or on my desk.

The Truth About Clutter

The clutter was in my calendar. In my commitments. In the endless list of things I said yes to because someone needed me, someone asked me, someone expected me to show up.

The clutter was in my mind—replaying conversations, managing everyone else's emotions, anticipating needs before they were even spoken, keeping the peace at the expense of my own.

The clutter was in my heart—carrying guilt for boundaries I was afraid to set, shame for wanting more, exhaustion from always being "on."

What Choosing Me Looks Like

So I started small. I cleared physical space first because that's what I could control. But with each drawer organized, each paper filed or tossed, something shifted.

I began to see that I could clear space in other areas too.

I could clear space in my schedule by saying no to things that drained me.

I could clear space in my relationships by speaking up when something didn't feel right instead of smoothing it over.

I could clear space in my life by stopping the constant accommodation, the perpetual peacekeeping, the reflexive self-sacrifice.

The Dam Doesn't Have to Burst

Here's what I'm learning: you don't have to wait for the dam to burst. You don't have to explode or erode. You can choose—actively, intentionally, repeatedly—to release the pressure valve.

You can choose you.

Not in a dramatic, burn-it-all-down way (though sometimes that's necessary too). But in the quiet, steady way of a woman who finally understands that she deserves the same care she's been giving everyone else.

This Is My Declaration

I'm clearing space for myself now. In my home, yes. But more importantly, in my life.

I'm clearing space for rest without guilt.
I'm clearing space for dreams I've deferred.
I'm clearing space for joy that isn't contingent on everyone else being okay first.
I'm clearing space for the woman I am becoming—the one who doesn't explode or erode, but evolves.

I choose me.

Not because I don't care about others. But because I finally understand that choosing me doesn't mean abandoning them. It means showing up as someone who isn't running on empty, isn't one crisis away from collapse, isn't slowly disappearing beneath the weight of everyone else's needs.

It means showing up whole.

An Invitation

If you've been the peacekeeper, the accommodator, the calm in everyone else's storm—this is your permission slip.

You don't have to wait for the dam to burst.

You can start with the pens on your desk. The papers piled up. The closet that needs clearing.

And then, when you're ready, you can start clearing space for the most important thing of all:

You.

Because choosing yourself isn't selfish. It's survival. It's wisdom. It's the second evolution.

And it starts with three simple words:

I choose me.

What space will you clear today?