I still revisit the version of me who accepted less than she needed

Dear Delyara, It’s not the event I replay most often. It’s the self. The self who stayed. The self who explained away. The self who thought confusion counted as love and endurance counted as safety. I know I need compassion for that version of me, and sometimes I can offer it. Other times I mostly feel grief. Grief that she did not know better. Grief that she thought less was all she could ask for. Grief that she lived there as long as she did. That grief still returns at night sometimes.