Maybe

There’s a strange comfort in staying too long where you know you don’t belong. The edges are worn, familiar. Like a pair of shoes that pinch a little but have softened in all the right places—easy to slip on, hard to throw away. You tell yourself it’s not that bad. Not great either, but manageable. At least here you know the rules. At least here you don’t have to start over.

Change sounds good in theory—a fresh start, a clean slate. But who actually talks about how heavy that kind of freedom feels? When you’ve been in one place for so long, it becomes a sort of home…even if it hurts. The ache is predictable, the routines second nature. The thought of stepping into the unknown is exciting for a moment, but it wilts under the weight of “what if.” What if you leave, and it’s worse? What if you leap, and nothing catches you?

It’s easy to tell yourself you’ll leave eventually. Someday, when the timing is better and things are clearer. There’s always a reason to wait—until after the holidays, after the next project, after you’re less tired. But "someday" is a slippery thing, always just out of reach. Days pass, seasons change, and still, you stay.

Sometimes you wonder if staying too long is rewriting you in subtle ways. You find yourself settling in other places, making small compromises because it’s easier than starting the conversation. You say you’ll deal with it later, but later never feels like the right time. And you keep waiting…for the right signal, for clarity, for a version of yourself who is braver and knows exactly what to do.

What if that version never comes? What if this—this restless in-between—is all there is? The thought makes your chest tighten, but still, you stay. Not because it’s good for you, but because it fits. Because it’s familiar. Because being in the wrong place feels safer than being nowhere at all.

You know there’s a world outside of this one. You can picture yourself in it sometimes, lighter and unburdened. But she feels like a stranger—a different person who made different choices, someone you almost were but never quite became. If you leave, you might find her. Or you might not. And the uncertainty is enough to make you pause, to nestle deeper into what you know.

So you wait. Maybe things will shift on their own, maybe you’ll wake up one day and it will feel easier. Or maybe you’ll stay until the fit becomes unbearable, and the cracks will finally show you the way out. Until then, you linger—not happy, not sad, just here, balanced on the edge of what is and what could be.