Today I read this sentence on Instagram, and it pushed me to write down a few things.
There's that moment - and it actually always comes in silence - when a man finally adds it all up. When he calls you, when he tells you he's finally understood where he went wrong, when he admits what you'd been waiting months to hear.
And me?
I didn't add up the minuses. I didn't count the wounds, I didn't measure the betrayals. I multiplied all the good by ten, because that's how I love - wide open, unconditionally, stupidly according to some, bravely according to me. That's why I'm now further in the plus than I've ever been in my life.
And then they told me to stop crying.
As if tears were something you're allowed by the teaspoon. As if a woman is only strong when she's dry.
Only then did I let my private Niagara loose.
Because when I let go - I let go all the way.
They also told me God doesn't exist.
And right then I prayed for them even harder, because only someone who keeps believing even while their faith is being torn down - truly never goes back to the way things were.
When I ran out of dough, I didn't panic - I tipped bigger.
When I felt I might freeze up, I put my palms on the stove and turned the burner up to six. To feel that I'm alive.
When I saw that my heart could freeze over, I tirelessly imagined love into it, shoving it inside like someone raising a dam against a flood, until the concrete blossomed from the warmth.
When I realized I was afraid, I invited fear to sit across from me.
Direct line, same time, same table.
"Look me in the eye, and let's see who lasts longer."
And I lasted, of course.
When darkness takes over me, I turn on all the lights.
Even that lamp that otherwise just collects dust.
And all the candles.
And the matches.
"Let Ušće burn!" I shout inside myself, because I don't switch off the darkness - I drown it out.
And when I saw the firewood running out, I went to the forest for more.
Carefully choosing what I was allowed to cut.
When it got too bitter, I poured caramels into my mouth.
When they hurt me, I loved them too - but from a safe distance.
Out of sight, just so we're clear.
They told me only fools forgive.
But I knew forgiveness was my ticket to my own peace, the kind that has no price.
Not their peace. Mine.
Only mine.
And then, of course, comes that sentence every strong woman hears at least once:
"You're crazy."
I didn't get angry.
It just finally became clear to me - they never understood the road I'm on.
They didn't understand my math, my tears, my prayers, my caramels, my forest, my light.
They didn't understand how I could doubt myself too, because I wasn't born indestructible - I became that way.
Ironically, I was their best acoustics.
I gave them the space for their voices to echo in my ears.
That's why they were so loud.
That's why they kept talking.
But then, after all that dull mooing from the outside, the voice inside finally spoke up - mine.
"Hey... I'm not crazy.
You just don't have the balls."
And I don't say it with bitterness.
I say it with the smile of a woman who grew up on ashes, shone in the dark, loved even when it hurt, and who now knows exactly who she is -
and doesn't explain herself to anyone anymore.