The Diary of Nikki V...

I’m happy.

Genuinely happy.

Not because everything is perfect — it isn’t.

Not because life is suddenly easy — it’s not.

But because I know what I survived to get here.

This time last year, I was broken in ways I didn’t have language for yet.

I felt unworthy.

Unchosen.

Disposable.

Like I was standing one breath away from disappearing altogether.

And now… I’m here.

Whole.

Present.

Alive.

Grateful.

I can finally say that without flinching.

This year required a level of strength, intention, and honesty that I didn’t even know I was capable of accessing, let alone sustaining. I made a conscious decision to release what no longer served me, no matter how long it took, no matter how many setbacks I faced, no matter how painful the detachment became.

I told myself: This ends with me choosing better. This ends with me choosing myself.

The first half of the year was brutal.

Raw.

Relentless.

Humbling.

But the second half, the moment I truly turned the page, changed everything.

I did the 30 days of no contact.

I started a new job.

I adjusted to a new schedule, a new commute, a new team, a new version of myself.

I carried grief from unexpected losses in my family.

I stayed strong for the people who lean on me.

I continued to give, to love, to show up, without abandoning myself in the process.

I traveled.

I stayed open.

I allowed safe, pure, unconditional love to meet me in the form of a friendship. One that feels grounded, respectful, and full of possibility. Something beautiful. Something healthy. Something earned.

And yes, above all else, I detached from the last toxic, dysfunctional, emotionally unsafe relationship of my life.

The narcissist no longer gets access to me.

The chaos no longer lives in my nervous system.

The confusion no longer gets to masquerade as love.

That alone is a victory worth celebrating for the rest of my life.

I am in a beautiful place.

I am deeply thankful to God for carrying me through moments I didn’t think I’d survive.

I am hopeful.

I am excited.

I am ready.

The Year of Detachment — I came. I saw. I conquered.

30 mornings of not reaching for my phone to check if he thought of me.

30 nights of letting my heart ache without running back to the source of the wound.

30 days of choosing my peace over my patterns, my healing over my history.

This is not just a number on a calendar—it’s the evidence of my growth. It’s the proof that my boundaries can now stand taller than my longing, that my self-respect is stronger than my nostalgia.

I know exactly what it took for me to get here. I know the tears, the bargaining, the quiet prayers that maybe this time things would be different. I know the hope I carried into counseling, believing it was our last stitch effort, only to watch him play in my face, take my love for granted, and move as if there would be no consequences.

If I am truly being honest with myself—and this healing journey has required brutal honesty—coming back last summer wasn’t because all the reasons I left were resolved. It was ego. It was fear of being replaced. It was clinging to the idea that he might wake up and choose us. I see that now. And because I see it, I will not repeat it.

The truth is, his version of our story will never paint me in a good light. He will speak about me however he chooses, to whomever he chooses, truth be damned. And I have no control over that. That has been my biggest hurdle—accepting that I cannot control his narrative. But I can control my own. I know my truth. I know my perspective. I know my experience. No one can invalidate that.

This was never a tug-of-war I wanted to win. This was my life, my love, my years, and I refuse to keep pulling on a rope that only burns my hands.

I honor the fact that we had beautiful moments—they were real. But they were not enough to stay. The good did not outweigh the bad. And today, I accept the part I played, release the rest, and keep walking toward a healthy love—the kind I’ve always deserved.

30 days. Something I once couldn’t do for 30 minutes. And now I know—I can keep going.

30 will turn into 60.

60 will turn into forever.

The version of me who begged for scraps is gone. The version of me who confused pain with passion is gone.

Today, I choose me.

I do not beg confusion.

I do not reach for what disrespects me.

I am allowed to miss him and still not go back.

I am allowed to feel and still not fold.

I am allowed to grieve and still grow.

His silence is not my shame.

His choices are not my reflection.

His chaos is no longer my home.

I release the version of me that settled for less.

I honor the version of me who is choosing more.

And I walk forward — even if it hurts — because I finally know what I deserve.

Peace is my birthright.

Respect is my boundary.

Always admired. Always desired.

Pretty to look at — that’s never been the problem.

My body, my energy, my heart…

Worshipped in flashes. Praised in pieces.

But when it comes to treating me well —

consistently, thoughtfully, deservingly —

that’s where it all falls apart.

That’s when I realize, again,

I’m just a pretty face. A body to hold.

Not a soul to honor. Not a woman to truly see.

Because not every man is built to cherish.

To stay. To choose love over lust.

But sex? They’ve got time for that.

Their convenience, my compromise.

And then there’s her.

The one who doesn’t move him the way I do.

Doesn’t excite him. Doesn’t pull him in.

But she’s safe. Predictable.

So he keeps her —

while I’m used to fill the void she can’t.

Craved in private. Hidden in public.

Good enough to touch, not good enough to choose.

Not good enough to claim.

They deal with me when they feel like it.

And when they don’t? Silence.

Like I don’t exist. Like I don’t matter.

Then they ask why I’m guarded.

Why I’m angry. Bitter. Jaded.

Maybe it’s because I’ve spent years chasing what I thought was love.

Maybe it’s because I believed you were different.

But this…

This feels all too familiar.

So yeah — I’m used to this.

You weren’t “crazy.” You were being conditioned. To accept breadcrumbs. To doubt your intuition. To silence your discomfort so he could stay comfortable.

He didn’t love you. He studied you. Learned your wounds. Then used them as weapons.

That wasn’t love. That was possession. That was fear disguised as “I just care so much.” That was manipulation dressed as “you complete me.” That was control.

And the most dangerous part? He made you believe it was all your fault.

Let me be clear: Real love doesn’t confuse you. It doesn’t isolate you. It doesn’t drain your spirit or make you feel like you’re walking on glass.

You didn’t lose love. You escaped a performance.

Sometimes we choose partners, not because they’re necessarily great, but because we see their potential in being capable of collaborating on making a relationship good. Sometimes we even project our own abilities on to a person we like and the longer we stay, the more we invest, the more our love for them grows in a way that isn’t fully based on what is happening, it’s rooted in the ideas, the fantasies, the dreams in which we hold at the center of our mind. We ignore the journey, the turbulent ride…. We focus so much of our energy on the perceived destination. Where we wish to be or who we wish them to become overshadows the person who is standing in front of us, and sometimes that person is actually standing in the way.

I know breakups hurt, but the moment you practice acceptance is the moment that you discover that what might have appeared to be abandonment is actually a blessing that kinda stings a bit.

Sometimes I look back on some of my relationships that didn’t take…the ways in which I viewed an ex-partner’s actions as a weapon formed against me, but with the clarity of acceptance, that weapon was really a key that went on to unlock the invisible cage I’d been sitting in. There’s a sort of isolation that happens when you’re with the wrong person and there’s a moment where you even begin to view the mistreatment as a challenge to try harder, fight harder, stay longer but if you get to the end and you survive the breakup, you figure out that there is a world, a great big world outside of those unhealthy interactions that we sometimes call relationships.

I remember looking into the eyes of an ex and silently thinking to myself… “ oh… you didn’t do this to me…you actually did this for me….” and somehow the person who treated you like a prisoner has granted you freedom by doing enough shit that would eventually wake you up to a truth that unknowingly had been abandoned for fantasy filled lies.

I look back and think of the pain as a necessary evil. I look back, no longer with disgust or anger but relief. And while it doesn’t feel good to get hurt, IT FEELS SO DAMN GREAT TO BE FREE.

Acceptance is the most direct path to inner peace and to the unfolding of new wisdom. Even though it is the simplest answer to relaxing our being and seeing things more clearly, acceptance is ignored because it is challenging to practice. Applying acceptance means you have to let go of what could be and finally embrace what is.

There is a common misconception that inner peace is a state of bliss, where you are coated in the sensation of pleasure and you never experience any troubles or hard feelings. This is far from the truth because the vast majority of life is a long series of uncontrollable events, which means that things will eventually happen that are not to your liking. Even though difficult times come in waves, you can prepare your mind to better handle the ups and downs by cultivating inner balance through acceptance.