Your Visits

You returned to my room—your room—for years after you left. I heard your heavy breathing from behind the door. Every time, I waited for you to let yourself in, but you never did. You were too afraid. And yet, you kept coming back.
The cruelest truth was that this room—the one you hated most—was the safest place in our home.

Even through the closed door, I felt your warmth and heard your heartbeat racing. You came to check on me, to remind me that I was not forgotten. But I knew the truth: it was never about me. I was here for you.
You, my wiser self, had been worn down by experience. I, inside this room, was still strong, still untouched by what awaited us. I was full of hope.

Hope. Do you even remember what it feels like? The way it pulses in your veins, the way it lifts you when everything else drags you down? You lost that. And when you realized hope was no longer something you could rely on, you panicked. You thought that if you returned to me and stood before the child you once were, you could teach me to be more realistic. You wanted to protect me from disappointment. You tried to save yourself from future pain.

But how many times did you come and fail to face me? How often did you stand on the other side of that door, unable to strip me of my dreams? Every time you left without doing what you came to do, you felt like a failure. And that only deepened your sorrow.

But don’t you see? You were wise all along.

You didn’t take my hope away. You didn’t shatter my innocence. And that is what saved us.
If I had given up my dreams and let go of the wild, untamed belief in something better, we would never have left that room. We would have remained trapped—our soul caged inside a body too weary to move. We might have chosen to disappear entirely, to fade into nothingness.

But we didn’t.

Because of my hope, we walked forward. Because of my innocence, we allowed life to shape us rather than destroy us. And because of you—the love you left behind, the care you never abandoned—we became the woman we are today.

So now, my wiser self, it’s time for you to understand: the place you hated most is the place that saved us.
Growth is inevitable. But those who survive pain do more than grow—they learn to live. And those who have known suffering count every breath as a blessing.

Now, Live.

Dana Obeid