Just For Today

I didn’t grow up knowing who I was.

I learned early how to become —

what you needed,

what would keep you from leaving,

what might earn me love for one more night.

Abandonment taught me survival.

Brokenness taught me silence.

And addiction?

Addiction told me I could disappear

without actually leaving.

For a long time,

today was too loud.

So I ran backward into memory

or forward into fear —

anything but here.

But recovery whispered something different.

Just for today.

Not forever.

Not healed.

Not whole.

Just… today.

Hope showed up before I believed in it.

I borrowed it from rooms full of strangers

who stayed when life got ugly.

People who looked like me,

hurt like me,

and still chose another day clean.

Hope said: