destinylaharris

Tag: love

  • If you had a time machine and could send just one message to your past self, what would it say?

    If I had a time machine and could send one message to my past self, I think I’d tell her:

    You make it.

    I know you don’t believe me.

    Actually, I know you’re probably rolling your eyes at me right now because you’ve already decided you won’t.

    You’ve spent so much of your life fighting with yourself. With food. With your body. With your own reflection. You’ve hurt yourself because sometimes physical pain felt easier to understand than whatever was happening inside your head.

    And there will come a point when you don’t just think about dying.

    You’ll make a plan.

    You’ll decide you’re not going to make it to 30.

    But you do.

    You’re 33 now.

    And, because apparently we like to overachieve, you’re about to spend the next several months in medically induced menopause. 😂☠️

    I know. I KNOW.

    Thirty-three and menopause was definitely not on the bingo card.

    But here’s the part I really wish you could see:

    You’re doing it because you’re trying to give yourself a better chance at having a baby.

    You.

    The girl who couldn’t picture herself making it to 30 is 33 years old and planning for a child.

    You’re planning a future.

    And there’s something else you’re definitely not going to believe.

    Remember that 18-year-old who walked out in the middle of his shift on a busy night?

    The one who, for some reason, you just knew was going to leave an impression on your life?

    Yeah.

    Him. 😂

    You’re both living completely different lives right now. You’re married. He’s engaged. And no, before your brain goes there, absolutely nothing is happening between the two of you.

    But you were right about one thing.

    He does leave an impression on your life.

    You just have absolutely no idea how big of one yet.

    Years from now, he’ll come back into your life permanently.

    He’ll become your best friend.

    And somewhere along the way, without either of you really realizing when it happened, that friendship will turn into something neither of you saw coming.

    And this is the part you’re really going to have trouble believing:

    You’re going to fall completely in love with him.

    Yes.

    A man. 😂

    I know.

    You’re still bisexual. You’re still ridiculously attracted to women. Apparently men, on the other hand, are going to have exactly one exception.

    Him.

    Turns out, you don’t fall in love with him because he’s a man.

    You fall in love with him because he’s him.

    And one day, that 18-year-old who walked out in the middle of his shift on a busy night—the one you somehow knew you weren’t going to forget—is going to be sitting beside you while you plan a life together.

    A home.

    A family.

    Even a child.

    And the craziest part?

    He’ll change your life without ever setting out to.

    He won’t rescue you.

    I need you to understand that part.

    Nobody swoops in and magically fixes everything that happened to you. The things you’ve survived don’t disappear. Some of them will follow you longer than you think they should.

    Even years later, you’ll occasionally see a woman in public who looks just enough like someone from your past that your body reacts before your brain can remind it that you’re safe.

    Healing doesn’t erase the past.

    But your life gets bigger than it.

    And that boy won’t save you.

    He’ll just be there.

    He’ll become your best friend. Your safe place. The person you laugh with, annoy, cuddle, build ridiculous little memories with, and eventually start imagining an entire future beside.

    And somewhere along the way, without either of you realizing it was happening, you’ll stop counting down the years you have left.

    You’ll start thinking about all the years you still want.

    You’ll start thinking about a baby.

    You’ll start thinking about growing older.

    You’ll start making plans that stretch years into the future.

    And someday you’re going to realize something that would probably make you cry if I told you right now:

    You didn’t just make it past 30.

    You built a life you actually want to stay for.

    So if I could tell you only one thing, I guess it wouldn’t actually be some profound piece of advice.

    I’d just tell you to stick around.

    Because I know you can’t see her yet—

    but 33-year-old you is waiting.

    And she has plans.

  • Learning to Look Closer #3

    Some people will look at this photo and see a little boy playing with a hat that’s much too big for him.

    I see something else.

    For as long as I can remember, I’ve had this silly habit of balancing random things on my head and dramatically “sneezing” them off just to make him laugh.

    The other day, he crawled up beside me, grabbed my hat, pulled it over his face, and started trying to “sneeze” it off himself.

    Nobody taught him to do that.

    He was watching.

    It’s funny how children are paying attention long before we realize they are. They notice our words, our habits, our routines, and even the little things we do without thinking.

    Sometimes, they love us by becoming a little bit like us.

    That realization stopped me in my tracks.

    This picture isn’t just of my nephew wearing a hat that’s too big for him.

    It’s a reminder that someone I love is learning from me every single day.

    And if I’m being honest…

    That melts my whole heart.

    I wouldn’t picture my life being any better without him.

    Until next time,

    -Destiny

    P.S.-What’s something you’ve caught a child doing that made you stop and think, “Yep… they definitely got that from me.” 😂

  • Between the Lines #1

    I wrote this before this blog ever existed.

    It was tucked away in one of my notebooks, waiting for the right place to live.

    I think it found that place here.

    Scars

    The gods always asked

    for sacrifices.

    Some were given lambs.

    Some were given daughters.

    I was given myself.

    No temple stood above me,

    no choir sang my name,

    yet something holy

    was taken all the same.

    Every pale line

    is another language

    my body learned

    instead of peace.

    The ones across my legs

    look like rivers

    on an old map—

    proof that even broken things

    search for somewhere

    to belong.

    People ask

    if I regret them.

    As if regret

    could erase history.

    As if skin

    ever forgets

    the knife,

    the fingernails,

    the hands that held too tightly,

    the nights that stole

    more than sleep.

    My skin is carved with scars

    that someone else earned.

    Not mine.

    Mine was only the body

    left behind

    after their hands,

    their words,

    their silence

    had already decided

    what would become of it.

    My skin was never sacred.

    It was only the altar.

    They called it survival.

    The gods

    would have called it

    an offering.

    Maybe that’s why

    I no longer pray

    for smooth skin.

    I pray instead

    for gentler hands,

    for quieter nights,

    for a body

    that no longer mistakes

    silence

    for safety.

    If the gods ever come looking

    for the pieces

    they abandoned,

    they’ll find them here—

    written beneath my skin,

    where every scar

    became a sentence,

    every sentence

    became a story,

    and somewhere along the way,

    I stopped being

    the sacrifice.

    I became

    the monument.

    Until next time,

    — Destiny

    P.S. Which line stayed with you the longest?