Sometimes I could feel his eyes on me. As cheesy as it sounds, it’s true. He would look at me like he was memorizing more than my face or features. It was like he was carving our life and each memory into his soul.
Steve loved me better than I’d ever known.
From the start of our story until his last breath, he made sure I knew.
- I was seen
- I was beautiful
- I was worthy of love
When his breath grew raspy and labored, he still said, “You’re so beautiful” and “I love you.”
Something happens with trauma. The nervous system takes cherished words and emotions and marries them to bitterness and pain.
- Glances feel unsafe
- Smiles create doubt
- Possibilities become frightening
The brain attaches the wrong sort of “what ifs” to innocent interactions. Instead of, “Huh. I remember this,” causing butterflies, it twists into, “I can’t go through it again.”
I could give in to fear. To doubt. Let it freeze my heart in a time when love meant more sacrifice than I could have imagined.
Or I can close my eyes, exhale, and allow good things to warm me.
Things like
Grace.
Patience.
Hope.
Then when I feel eyes on me. Someone smiling. Someone seeing me.
Butterflies won’t make me flinch.
Not even a little.
🦋🦋🦋
©️2026 Heather Nicole Kight. All rights reserved.
Menopause & Malarkey 