Woodland tricks and glimpses

I am truly sorry for anything I said or did that made you uncomfortable. It was never my intention to cast a shadow over our conversations or to make you feel uneasy. When I brought up Lekja and my relationship with him, it was an attempt to shed light on my feelings of failure in keeping him happy and navigating the turbulent waters of our differences. It often felt like I was wandering through a dark forest, where every misstep threatened to pull me deeper into a thicket of confusion. I was trying to articulate my struggles, but the words got tangled like vines, choking my sincerity. I think I was also trying to shine a beacon on my own inner turmoil, a reminder that perhaps being single is the best option for me at this stage in my life—an open field where I can breathe freely without the weight of unspoken expectations.

While on my journal entries, I realize they now resemble the beginnings of a sprawling novel, filled with chapters of confusion, heartache, and occasional clarity. Each page is a canvas where I paint my thoughts and feelings, trying to weave reality into a cohesive tapestry that reflects my journey. Writing has always been my refuge, a way to untangle the chaos within and give shape to the nebulous clouds of my emotions.

When I returned to TikTok, my initial purpose was quite simple: I wanted to see if the app had been banned from US servers. To my surprise, it wasn’t, so I decided to check in with my friends. However, I found that most had already moved on, like leaves carried away by the autumn wind, settling into new paths and new lives. That’s when the “creators you may like” list popped up, and I started adding some random accounts, not paying attention to who they were. The only detail that lingered in my mind was that you had a cat in your profile picture—a small, warm reminder of comfort in a sea of unfamiliar faces. I didn’t realize at first that you were a soldier or anything else about you until I went to your profile to follow you out of courtesy. After watching your videos, I hoped you were doing well and safe, like a lighthouse guiding me through the fog of uncertainty. However, I couldn’t be sure if any of those videos featured you, as it’s common for people to post photos of friends, family, or soldiers from their own countries. So, I didn’t think too much of it at that point.

Then we started talking, and to my surprise, I felt genuinely at ease with you. This comfort felt like a warm blanket enveloping me on a cold night, wrapping around my heart and making me feel secure. It was a sensation I hadn’t experienced in a long time, and that’s probably why I shared some of the worst aspects of my personality, thinking that might scare you away. Usually, that tactic works; people tend to disengage or become rude enough for me to block them and move on. But you didn’t go away. Instead, I noticed that I didn’t feel my usual defensive walls rising up, as if they were crumbling like old bricks under the pressure of a gentle breeze. I tried to convince myself that it was just a pleasant conversation and that we could keep it light and short. Despite appearances, I actually don’t venture off-site very often. I’ve had experiences in the past that felt like a waste of time and energy—like trying to grow flowers in barren soil—so I’ve been cautious about engaging deeply unless someone is local.

In recent years, I’ve found it surprisingly easy to remain uninterested in dating. No single guy has sparked my interest enough for a second date, let alone a relationship. I thought I had moved beyond the idea of sharing my life or thoughts with anyone new. I feel too old to consider having children, and my scars—both emotional and physical—often deter men. Even the mere suggestion of my past can be enough to turn them away, especially if they catch a hint of it in my demeanor or appearance, like shadows lurking just out of sight, whispering doubts into the quiet spaces of my mind.

Lately, my focus has shifted toward my own plans regarding work, the time off I’ll need for surgery, and moving forward with my personal goals. I’ve been trying to carve out a future that feels both manageable and hopeful, like planting a garden after a long, harsh winter. I dream of blooming flowers and vibrant colors, a life filled with possibilities and joy.

You may have noticed in some of my videos that I wear a ring on my ring finger. I’ve found that, at least in social and work settings, it helps deter men from approaching me. Those who do pursue a married woman are definitely not the kind of men I want in my life. I’ve grown tired of caring for someone else in that sense, as if I were carrying the weight of their expectations on my shoulders like a boulder rolling down a steep hill. This is yet another reason to remain single, even if I occasionally go on dates to appease my mom, who worries that I’ve given up on life—at least in her eyes.

I’ve shared my experience of accidentally dating a man who was still married as a reminder to myself that I don’t want to get involved with married men. I still respect the institution of marriage, even if it’s not my own, like a sacred garden that deserves care and attention, not to be trampled by careless feet.

My journey has taken me from never really believing in love as a necessity for a relationship to a deeper understanding of its complexities. My first marriage wasn’t built on love; rather, it was a partnership that had its roots in respect. My first husband and I were falling in love with each other over time, but initially, it worked because we respected one another. Looking back, I realize I was much too young to step into that role, but he gave me the space to grow and heal, even amidst the responsibilities of children and the challenges of being a wife. Those early days felt like a delicate dance, where each step needed to be carefully choreographed to avoid stepping on each other’s toes.

You mentioned how I’m an adult and that my mom didn’t have a say in my life choices, but it wasn’t that straightforward for many years. I went through therapy, working hard to interact with healthy people to learn what a healthy relationship looks like. For years, it felt like I was in a constant battle with my past, like trying to swim against a strong current with no shore in sight. I still felt a need to prove to my mother that I could be a good person, even if it wasn’t always obvious. I lost my entire family when I turned 11. I lost my friends, my school, my pets, and, most importantly, my sense of freedom and safety. I learned quickly that if I was going to be beaten, it was better not to defend myself or strike back, as that only made things worse. This mindset carried through into my adult relationships, where I often defaulted to not defending myself—neither through words nor actions. I learned to simply accept what others deemed appropriate, like a chameleon blending into its surroundings, adapting but never truly belonging.

As I went through my divorce, I began to confront the painful reality of what had transpired. My marriage had always felt like an uphill battle, a constant struggle against the tide. There was never a true sense of love or mutual respect between us; it often felt like we were two ships passing in the night, each navigating our own storms without ever truly connecting. We were both trapped in a cycle of trying to make everyone else happy—family, friends, society—while neglecting the very foundation of our own relationship. It was as if I was donning a mask, smiling on the outside while inside I felt like I was drowning in a sea of unmet needs and unspoken resentments.

The events that had led me into that marriage cast long shadows over our life together. I entered that union carrying the weight of my past, desperately trying to recover from the traumas that had shaped me. Instead of finding solace and healing in my partner, I found myself trapped in a web of expectations and obligations. I poured my energy into pleasing others, believing that if I could just make everyone else happy, I would somehow find my own peace. But that never happened. Each day felt like a relentless cycle of disappointment, a reminder that I was trying to construct a life on a shaky foundation that had been built on the quicksand of obligation rather than genuine connection.

As the reality of my failed marriage sank in, I grappled with feelings of inadequacy and failure. I felt as though I had let everyone down, including myself. The dreams I once held of a loving partnership had been reduced to mere ashes, leaving behind only the bitter taste of regret. I was left with the haunting question of what went wrong—why could I not make it work? It was as if I was chasing an illusion, desperately trying to grasp something that was never truly there. The experience taught me that sometimes, the hardest lesson is recognizing when to let go, even when it feels like a defeat.

Emerging from that chapter of my life, I began to understand the importance of self-worth and the necessity of building a future rooted in authenticity. I began to improve my understanding of boundaries and how to avoid repeating the mistakes of my past relationships. I became more aware of what I wanted and needed, both from myself and from others. I  realized that I needed to shed the expectations that had bound me for so long and learn to navigate life on my own terms. It was a painful but necessary awakening, one that ultimately led me to seek healthier relationships and a renewed sense of the person I truly wanted be. 

When we had that first argument and you sent that hug sticker, it genuinely moved me. It made me cry a little, touched by your kindness. If that moment had occurred in person, I probably would have melted entirely at such a sweet gesture, like ice in the warmth of the sun, feeling a rush of warmth and relief.

I don’t want just any relationship; I want one that gives me a reason to pull away from my friends and focus on building a life with someone special. I want a partner who is willing to share our lives—through good times and bad. I envision a relationship where love and care remain intact, even on the toughest days, ready to soothe and help us find our way back to a better place, like a compass guiding us home through the stormy seas of life.

And here I am, grappling with feelings for a literal stranger who still has a wife and daughters. I know that should have been enough to keep my distance and maintain a pleasant, surface-level conversation. I truly wasn’t even considering anything like this right now. So, I’m finding myself jumping back and forth, trying to untangle my emotions in light of this unexpected development. It feels like a whirlwind, sweeping me off my feet and leaving me in a state of confusion, yet also igniting a spark of curiosity that maybe there’s more to explore without violations to the marriage.