This Time, I Choose Me!!!
I still remember the first time I saw you.
There wasn’t much of an interaction.
Nothing dramatic.
Nothing that should have changed the course of my life.
And yet… there was something.
Something I cannot explain even today.
Looking back now, I sometimes call myself stupid.
Because the red flags were there.
Not hidden.
Not subtle.
They were right in front of me.
And every time one appeared,
I found a way to explain it away.
Maybe I misunderstood.
Maybe things will change.
Maybe I am expecting too much.
Maybe this is just a phase.
I kept pacifying myself
until ignoring the truth became a habit.
I was foolish.
Time passed.
And I am a Taurean—
stubborn, they say.
Apparently, even God knew that.
Perhaps He looked at me and said,
“Ye manne wali nahi hai.
Toh theek hai… iske hisaab se chalne do.”
And somehow,
you and I became us.
Many, many years ago,
I chose you.
Above everything.
Above everyone.
I chose you even when choosing you
meant disappointing people who loved me.
I chose you even when somewhere, deep inside,
a voice was trying to tell me not to.
I even failed God.
And maybe He was right.
Because I was a big-time fool.
People told me I was crazy.
I didn’t listen.
I thought love meant standing by someone.
I thought marriage meant adjusting.
I thought patience could fix things.
I thought if I gave enough of myself,
one day you would finally choose me too.
Twelve years.
Two children.
And today, after all these years,
the hardest truth I have had to accept is this—
Maybe we were never meant to be together.
Because I have been alone
for most of this relationship.
Not physically.
But in every way that truly matters.
You chose everyone else before me.
Not once.
Not twice.
Every single time.
And I was alone when I needed you the most.
I was alone when I was pregnant.
I was alone while trying to find my place
in a family that never truly accepted me.
And what hurt more than their rejection
was your silence.
You never really stood between us and said,
“Enough. She is my wife.
She deserves respect too.”
Instead, somehow,
they were always right.
And I was always the problem.
The difficult one.
The angry one.
The unreasonable one.
The one who needed fixing.
I was even called mentally unwell.
The irony of it all
still makes me wonder
how easily people throw words at others
without looking into their own homes.
There was a police complaint
because I lost my temper with my daughter—
because she wasn’t studying,
because she was spending hours on a screen,
because I was trying to be the parent
who was actually there to supervise.
I was living like a single mother
for nearly a year.
Two children.
Two tiny lives depending on me.
And there wasn’t even a call asking,
“How are you managing?”
My parents stepped in.
They took my son
because managing two children alone
was simply not feasible.
They helped me when I needed help.
And instead of gratitude,
there were more accusations.
More blame.
More ways to make me feel
that somehow, even in my helplessness,
I was wrong.
Then my parents met with an accident.
And all I remember hearing was concern
about their son.
Their grandson.
“Thank God the child is safe.”
Yes.
Thank God he was safe.
But what about my parents?
What about the people
who had stood beside me
when nobody else did?
Was no one worried about them?
And then there was the time
I met with an accident
with my son in the car.
I was frightened.
A mother.
A human being.
And the response I received was,
“He is a pro.”
What the hell, man?
Was that supposed to make me feel better?
Was I supposed to laugh?
Was I supposed to be grateful
that my fear had been dismissed so casually?
How many times
am I expected to swallow my feelings?
How many times
am I supposed to compromise?
How many times
must I make myself smaller
so everyone else can remain comfortable?
And somehow, through all of this,
you continue to live like a king.
You get to be Daddy Dearest.
The fun parent.
The one who fulfills their wishes.
The one they run to.
And I?
I am the monster.
Because I don’t have enough time.
Because I say no.
Because someone has to make sure they study.
Someone has to cook.
Someone has to clean.
Someone has to plan.
Someone has to remember.
Someone has to worry.
Someone has to carry
the invisible thousand things
that keep a family running.
And that someone
has almost always been me.
You get to be the father.
I have had to be the parent.
And maybe that’s why
the children see us differently.
But I know what I have carried.
I know how many nights
I have gone to sleep exhausted,
with tears somewhere behind my eyes,
wondering why I was still fighting
for something that was never fighting for me.
And with every passing day,
something inside me is changing.
The woman who once chose you
above everything
is finally learning to choose herself.
Not because she stopped caring.
Not because the years meant nothing.
Not because the children don’t matter.
But because she matters too.
For years, I thought choosing myself
would make me selfish.
Now I understand—
sometimes choosing yourself
is the only way to save yourself.
I chose you once.
I chose you over everything.
And that decision
turned into a nightmare I never imagined.
But maybe there is one thing
I should thank you for.
You made me stronger.
Every time you failed to stand beside me,
I learned to stand on my own.
Every time you chose someone else,
I learned to stop waiting to be chosen.
Every time you made me feel alone,
I discovered that I could survive alone.
Every time you broke something inside me,
I somehow rebuilt it stronger.
So yes—
this time there is a choice again.
Between you and me.
And for the first time,
I am not afraid of the answer.
I don’t need to convince anyone.
I don’t need permission.
I don’t need to explain
why I am tired.
I don’t need to prove
that I have tried enough.
I don’t need to beg someone
to see my worth.
Because I finally see it myself.
So this time,
I choose me.
Not because I hate you.
Not because I want revenge.
But because I have spent twelve years
choosing everyone else
and leaving myself behind.
And I refuse to do that anymore.
You were once the person
I chose above everything.
Now,
after everything,
I choose myself above you.
And maybe,
just maybe,
this is not the end of my story.
Maybe this is the first chapter
where I finally become
the woman I was always supposed to be.
The woman who doesn’t chase.
Doesn’t beg.
Doesn’t constantly compromise.
Doesn’t apologise for existing.
The woman who finally looks in the mirror
and says—
“I should have chosen you sooner.”
And this time,
I am listening.
This time, I choose me....
