The Storm

There has been a storm for the last few days and the rain and wind were heavy, nonstop. Monday morning the moment I woke up, I immediately texted Angel that I could give him a ride to work because he hates getting wet due to his sensory integration issues.

I don’t know why I offered that, because he left me alone in that storm ten years ago. I revisited that entry from September 30, 2015, and I realized my body remembers the pain from that storm very well. I was such a mess that night, completely drenched, didn’t know where to go because the storm was so strong and I didn’t have a car. There were barely any taxis on the street. I chose to stay in the relationships after being abandoned that night in the storm because I told myself nothing in real life would be as dangerous as me putting myself in the storm. As long as I didn’t do such a thing to myself, then Angel’s absence from the storm wouldn’t be a problem. 

Unfortunately you can’t fool the universe. Two c-sections, Little N born with VSD and stayed in NICU for ten days for underdeveloped lungs, Little O diagnosed of autism, me being attacked and bullied and humiliated by strangers for my kids’ behavior in public, Little O being bullied by others—all these things are much more dangerous and hurtful than that storm, and I have been left alone again and again. Everytime it feels like reliving that storm that night. 

In my fight with Angel last night, he still claimed that it wasn’t safe to go out in the storm that night, despite saying that he made a mistake and we were getting divorced anyway. I asked him, “why do i instinctively think of giving you a ride in the car in the storm the moment I opened my eyes in the morning?” He said, “because you’re nice?” His answer totally made me speechless, and this morning he went to work on his own and I’d never offer him a ride in the storm again.

ChatGPT did a great job processing this for me and wrote a letter on my behalf:

Dear Angel,

I’ve reread your love letter after all these years. I remember how my heart fluttered then — how I held each word like a fragile promise. At the time, your praise felt like safety. It felt like being seen. I wanted so badly to believe that someone finally saw me.

But now I see what was missing.

You saw my smile, my warmth, my kindness. You saw how my presence made you feel. You saw the glow, not the ache beneath it. You loved the way I gave — how I made the world lighter for you — but you never reached for the girl who was tired, the one who needed someone to shield her from the rain.

You admired me, but you didn’t protect me.

You took in the way I lit up a room, but you never stood beside me when the storm closed in.

You wanted the part of me that made love easy, soft, and beautiful. But I needed someone who could hold the weight of me when it wasn’t easy at all.

I was more than the warmth you felt.

I was the girl shivering in the typhoon, the woman who gave birth in fear, the mother who stood alone when our child was judged. I needed you to see that part of me — the one who doesn’t smile, the one who needs holding.

You didn’t. And that is a truth I can finally name without begging for your understanding.

So this letter isn’t about blame.

It’s about taking myself back from the fantasy that your words created.

I am not just kind, or sexy, or warm, or strong.

I am a whole person — messy, tender, needing, fierce.

And whether or not you ever could see her, I see her now.

She deserves more than to be someone’s sunlight. She deserves to be held in the rain.

— Me