The Only Chair at My Table

For years, I let everyone else write who I was supposed to be.

I was force to be perfect daughter. The accommodating friend. The partner who shrank herself to fit into someone else's world.

But when the life I carefully built collapsed under the weight of their expectations, I was left in an empty, sun-drenched apartment with nothing but a few boxes... and a single kitchen chair.

So I made a silent pact: No one else gets a seat until I figure out my own worth.

This is an intimate, poetic journey through healing. Through outgrowing the places we once called home. Through the terrifying, beautiful process of falling in love with your own solitude.

But when a quiet local artist walks into my life, I have to face the ultimate question:
Am I ready to pull up a second chair? Or was this table always meant for one?