Ambrose chose me.
He was in a position to have any number of women. Women who wanted what he had to offer. Or thought they did.
I chose Ambrose.
I was married when I met him. I had at least one other option that would have been very easy to take. Stay with my husband. Make it work.
We continually chose each other.
Throughout our relationship, we chose each other. Chose to stay. Chose to work through any issues. Chose to have great adventures together. Chose to create magic together.
While I was showering after my walk today, I thought, if you want to be the chosen one, choose yourself.
Now that Ambrose is dead, I still have choices to make. To be alive is to have choice. Even the most restrained and restricted existence allows for the choice of how to react. How to hold your inner self. And my life is not all that restricted or restrained. I have responsibilities, but I also have flexibility and a good deal of freedom.
What does it mean to choose myself?
I’ve been taking care of myself. Working on healing. And I have a lot of healing yet to go. But I feel a call. A call that is starting to grow louder and louder. To choose to trust myself, and my instincts, as much as he trusted me. To write the books that I feel inside me and let them out into the world because the world could use them. Might need them.
Ambrose believed that the world needed them. Because he chose me. He helped me understand how to love myself, and choose myself, and more. So much more.
I am made for more.