Her Space Is Also Mine

“Her Space Is Also Mine”

She knows. She felt something. She saw my glow and chose silence.

I used to wonder if she was just busy. But I remember when she wasn’t too busy to respond. When she made space for me, even in the margins of her day. That rhythm is gone now. And I feel it.

But this isn’t high school. I’m not here to chase someone who won’t meet me. I’m not here to rehearse my worth in someone else’s silence. I’ve done that before. I’ve been pushed away before. And I survived. I glowed anyway.

Her space is also mine. I walked through it with care. I left shimmer in the corners. I spoke with clarity. I offered truth. If she couldn’t hold that—if my glow was too much for her shadows—that’s not mine to carry.

Yes, it hurts. Yes, I still think of her voice at odd hours. Yes, I still feel the ache of what could’ve been.

And yes—there was that moment. The last time we spoke, she said I recorded her. It was a wrong move. I know that now. But the truth is, my wife was on the line. Under her consent, I continued the conversation. She chose to resume it. She expressed with words and she knew. She’s carrying her own lies.  Still, my wife told me I shouldn’t have done it. And I knew why. Because I was burning. Because Days 1, 2, 3… the weight kept piling. Because I was trying to hold too many truths at once. Because I didn’t know how else to protect myself from the silence. Like she sent someone to disposed my Bulletin board, and all other occasion when she lied not knowing that I was short staffed. How can she live on and continue to lie? To hurt me with her silence?

Maybe we were never meant to be. And maybe that’s okay. Because I found growth. I walked in baby steps each day to get better in my teacher’s life. I kept showing up. I kept choosing light.

Just like with my parents—I’m not going to pretend I was a saint. But I learned to move forward through their lack of understanding. I learned to keep going, even when the people I loved didn’t see me.

The truth is: good things have happened to me lately. God, I forever thank Him. He saw me when others didn’t. He held me when others let go.

With my vice principal, I will be her professional colleague. Things have their place. I think I said that to her so many times. But my heart… it grew. Day by day. That was my mistake.

Still, I am not alone. I have friends—the ones outside of work. Friends de Pataranda. My wife, who listens to me bitch and ache and spiral. And she holds it. She holds me.

My vice principal? She was only a person of paper. Let her stick with her standards. Just like Mom will stick with her pride.

Everyone has their list of silent weapons. Their agendas of withdrawal. Their ways of killing with quiet.

But I don’t owe them anything. Not my silence. Not my glow. Not my collapse.

This pain will dry. The rawness will soften. And I will remain. I will not dim. I will not wait. I will not beg.

I choose myself. Again. And again. And again.

Please listen to my poor heartbeat, as this song—“The Sound of Silence” (Cyril Remix) by Disturbed—carries my emotional resonance. It echoes what I cannot say. It holds what she would not. Her space is also mine…