I traded chaos for silence, and some days the quiet is deafening. But in this stillness, I’m learning to hear myself again.
My comfort is flowers. Outside my apartment, I tend to beautiful planters, planting and pruning with care. I buy myself bouquets now, something I never received before. The few I did get were from my ex — gas station flowers, a single stem meant to be charming. I questioned his intentions, especially the time he unknowingly gave me a fake rose. He said he hadn’t realized, just thought it was cheaper. Months later, he did it again.
Now, fresh flowers fill my space with fragrance and meaning. They lift my spirits and remind me that I deserve beauty. My kitchen table — something we never had before — always holds a bouquet, welcoming family to gather. But despite finally having the six-seater farmhouse table I dreamed of, I still eat every meal on the couch, just like before.
We never had a table, but that’s no longer the problem. Now, it’s the loneliness. Why sit at a table set for one?
I wanted so badly to raise my boys with table manners, like I was raised. My oldest used a napkin at age two, and people were amazed. He learned that from daycare and time with grandma. But at home, traditions faded. Meals became rushed. Clean hands were optional. And don’t even think about a nice family conversation — interrupting Big Bang Theory meant trouble.
So I ask myself:
Was everyone piled on the couch, learning “bad manners,” better than sitting alone at a table set for one?
My dream of family meals around a beautiful table seems to have had an expiration date — as short-lived as the jug of milk in the fridge.
Posted: 8/11/2025
Mom in the Middle: The Cost of Leaving 
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