Written in Low Light

Hello.

You can call me Belle.

this blog is a collection of thoughts written in low light — some good nights, some heavy ones, some ordinary enough to almost be forgotten.

i wanted a place to keep the things that felt important for a moment.

-Until the next entry, Belle

I've realized, once again, that I haven't made an update in a few days.

To be fair, there hasn't been much to report, but tonight I've decided to do something for myself. I've been craving one of those evenings where I slow down and actually take care of myself instead of rushing through everything.

The plan is simple enough: a warm shower, lotion afterward, a bit of perfume, and then one of my favorite nightgowns. The nightgown itself is special because it belonged to my grandma. If I'm remembering correctly, I think it's from the 1940s, though I could be mistaken. Either way, I love it.

I've been looking forward to this all day.

What feels strange is that I keep describing this experience as wanting to "be a girl" for a night, which sounds silly considering I already am one. Or perhaps a young woman is the more accurate term these days.

But I don't really mean it in a literal sense.

I think what I'm trying to say is that sometimes I want to feel connected to that part of myself again. The part that enjoys pretty things, soft fabrics, nice scents, and taking the time to feel beautiful simply for my own sake. Not because anyone else will see it. Not because I have somewhere to be. Just because I want to.

Maybe that's what growing up is supposed to feel like—not abandoning femininity, but learning how to appreciate it in your own way.

Tonight feels like one of those nights.

And honestly, I think I deserve it.

I'm not entirely sure what it is, but somewhere deep down I think I know that one day I'll be a mother.

I don't dread that thought. If anything, I hope it comes at a time when my future partner and I have decided we're truly ready for it. Then again, I don't think anyone is ever completely ready for children. They're unpredictable, complicated little people, and life has a habit of throwing surprises at you when you least expect them.

Maybe what's strange is that I'm only seventeen, yet I catch myself imagining those moments more often than I probably should.

I imagine reading bedtime stories until my voice grows tired. I imagine singing softly to a baby in the middle of the night. I imagine holding a small hand while crossing a parking lot or listening to excited stories about a school day that probably wasn't nearly as dramatic as it felt to them.

Whenever people ask, I usually say I don't plan on being a mother because it simply isn't something I'm actively thinking about right now. It's not on my list of immediate goals. I have other things to do first, other places to go, and other versions of myself I still need to become.

Yet somehow, pieces of that future keep finding their way into my life.

I've convinced my stepmom to replace a childhood book I lost because I want to have a copy someday. I joke about buying an old television, a VCR, and shelves full of VHS tapes because I want my children to experience some of the things I loved growing up. I picture movie nights under blankets, afternoons spent playing on the floor, and long conversations around the dinner table.

Not because I think life will be perfect.

Far from it.

I know families argue. I know children get sick. I know there will be exhausting days, sleepless nights, mistakes, and moments where nobody knows what they're doing.

But even with all of that, I find myself longing for the ordinary moments.

The dinners where everyone talks over one another. The school projects spread across the kitchen table. Learning how to bake so I can send treats to school events. Hearing stories about friendships, crushes, bad grades, good grades, and everything in between.

I don't think motherhood is some grand destiny waiting for me. I don't believe every woman is meant to be a mother, and I don't think becoming one would suddenly complete me.

But I do think I've always been drawn to the idea of building a home filled with love, laughter, and people who know they belong there.

Maybe that's what I'm really dreaming about.

Not motherhood itself.

Just family.

And honestly, I'm not entirely sure where that feeling comes from.

It's simply been there for as long as I can remember.

— Belle

Do you ever have that feeling where you don't just want someone to hold you close—you want to be consumed by their embrace?

Not skin against skin, not a passing touch. I mean the kind of closeness that reaches deeper than that. The kind that settles into your bones. The kind where you're wrapped so completely in another person that, for a moment, the rest of the world goes quiet.

Sometimes I find myself imagining it.

A bubble bath. The lights off. Maybe a candle or two. Nothing extravagant, nothing perfect—just romantic. Peaceful. Safe.

I've always loved imagining things like that. Not for now, not even for tomorrow, but for some distant future where I find the one.

And I know that won't happen anytime soon.

It's almost funny, really. I crave so much affection, yet I've never even held hands with a boy. But the truth is, I don't want a boy—I want a man. Someone who knows every part of me and chooses to stay anyway. Someone willing to put in the effort, to learn who I am, and to let me learn who he is in return.

I know I spend a lot of time saying what I want.

I want devotion.

I want effort.

I want understanding.

But what I rarely say is that everything I want is everything I'd willingly give.

You want a meal at five in the morning? Anything for you, my love.

You need a few hours alone because the day has been cruel to you? I'll be in the other room whenever you're ready.

Those are simple examples, maybe even silly ones, but the meaning remains the same.

I love deeply.

I always have.

And sometimes it aches because I have no one to pour that love into.

Maybe that sounds hopeless. Maybe it sounds dramatic.

But I'd be lying if I pretended otherwise.

I cannot make these feelings up on the spot. They live in me every day. I have a heart I'd be willing to tear out and hand over—figuratively, of course—to the person I love. When I care for someone, I give them my mind, my body, my soul. Every part of me wants to love wholeheartedly.

Perhaps that sounds selfish when I read it back. Maybe expecting that same devotion in return is asking too much.

But I don't want perfection.

I don't expect perfection.

I simply don't want to settle for the bare minimum.

And lately, it feels as though the bare minimum is praised as if it were extraordinary.

I know real love takes time. I know trust is built slowly, piece by piece.

Yet I think that's what makes it beautiful.

The process itself.

Learning someone.

Understanding them.

Watching their walls come down because they trust you enough to let you in.

Maybe this entry is less of an update and more of a confession.

A quiet admission of something I've carried for a long time.

Tonight, I simply found myself needing to say it out loud.

I just realized I haven't made an update in a few days. Silly me.

I've been waiting for a genuinely good day to sit down and write, but it seems like this week has been determined to keep me on my toes. Friday went well enough—I made it safely to my Memaw and Pawpaw's house. Saturday, however, was spent feeling sick. I couldn't keep much food down and mostly just tried to rest through it.

Today was much better.

The morning started with church, and I actually enjoyed the lesson. We talked about accepting God and understanding who the Lord is, which was a bit confusing when it was first explained. It wasn't really about what God is, but who He is. I'm not sure I can summarize it perfectly, but it gave me a lot to think about. The youth group teacher did a great job explaining everything and keeping everyone engaged, so kudos to him.

After church, I finally got to head toward my dad's. The halfway meeting point happened to be an antique shop, which was exciting because I absolutely love antique stores. I ended up finding a necklace for only five dollars, which felt like a little treasure. Since I was feeling better, I treated myself to a coffee and a donut too.

Once I got to my dad's house, I spent some time relaxing. I listened to music, wrote in my journal, ate my leftovers, and later took a shower. I've realized lately how much I enjoy those moments of taking care of myself. I feel very clean and comfortable tonight, which is nice.

The day hasn't been entirely peaceful, though. My dad is upset after an argument with my stepmom, and she still hasn't come home. The tension in the house is hard to ignore. Hearing things slam against walls isn't exactly relaxing, so I've decided to focus on organizing my room and keeping to myself for a while.

Maybe they both just need some space. Everyone does sometimes.

For now, I'm going to put on some music, finish settling in, and hope tomorrow is a quieter day.

— Belle

I’ve always loved warm showers. There’s something strangely comforting about them, especially at the end of a long day. It feels therapeutic in a way I can’t fully explain — like for a little while, everything slows down and I can finally breathe without thinking so much.

I think part of it is the feeling of taking care of yourself. Washing away the day, using soaps that smell nice, putting on lotion afterward and feeling clean and soft and human again. It almost feels like telling yourself you matter, even in small ways. Like treating yourself gently for once instead of rushing through everything.

I wish I could hold onto that feeling every day. That quiet kind of comfort where nothing feels loud or stressful for a little while.

— Belle

Today has been frustrating from the moment it started. I woke up around five in the morning because the dogs needed to be walked, then got woken up again around eight because they started whining. I think they were upset about being back in their kennels, or maybe their stomachs were bothering them again. Either way, after that I gave up on trying to sleep and just stayed awake.

I ate lunch around eleven — leftovers, again, because our fridge is full of them right now. The days lately have felt painfully slow, which is probably why I keep thinking about Friday. I only have two more days until I leave to spend two weeks with my dad’s side of the family, and honestly I can’t wait. I already have plans in mind, so waiting around for the days to pass has been getting on my nerves.

Things at home have also felt tense. Apparently I have a problem with my tone and raising my voice without realizing it. I know I’ve done it a couple times out of frustration, especially last night and again earlier while my grandma was working. She hasn’t said anything about it, but my stepdad definitely notices and makes sure I stay in check before it happens again. I don’t even mean to sound angry half the time, which somehow makes it more frustrating.

At this point I just want the day to be over already and for it to somehow skip straight to Friday.