The Woman Standing Just Beyond Me

It's weird living in this limbo. A limbo where everything feels off.

Not wrong.

But off.

Where your happiness depends on the next step, but that next step is so unclear, you don't want to take it.

You question your thoughts.

You question your feelings.

You question where you are in life and wonder if this is the best it is going to get.

You re-examine your dreams and know there is more, but this limbo keeps you stuck in a place and time. A place and time that keeps you safe, keeps you protected, but also makes you feel small, unworthy, and like you are never going to be good enough.

And so you stick around. Hoping that this limbo becomes the reality that you were hoping for. That you have been dreaming of.

There is this version of me that I can see. She is standing beside me, but not next to me. I can't reach out and touch her because she is too far away, but I can feel her.

Her presence.

Her power.

Her confidence.

Her sensuality.

I dream of being her. I dream of touching her. A moment in time where our body morphs into one, and I become her.

I used to think she was ahead of me. That she had figured something out that I hadn’t yet. 

That there was a missing piece.

A moment.

A breakthrough.

Something that would finally let me step into her life. But the longer I stayed here, in this in-between, the more I’m starting to realize…

She isn’t ahead of me.

She’s waiting for me.

Not in some distant future.

Not in a life I haven’t built yet. 

But here. In the choices, I keep avoiding. In the risks, I keep softening. In the truth, I keep diluting to make it easier to carry.

Because this limbo isn’t something that’s happening to me. It’s something I’m choosing. 

Not consciously.

Not intentionally.

But every time I silence the part of me that wants more, I stay. Every time, I convince myself to wait until I’m ready, I stay. Every time I shrink just enough to feel safe, I stay.

And she doesn’t. 

She moves.

Even when it’s messy.

Even when it’s uncertain.

Even when it feels like everything could fall apart. 

She moves anyway.

And maybe that’s the difference. 

Not confidence.

Not perfection.

Not having it all figured out. 

Just movement. Just a willingness to step forward before everything makes sense. So maybe I don’t need to become her. Maybe I just need to start choosing as she would. 

She isn’t out of reach. She’s on the other side of a decision I have yet to make.