A new Poem -What’s Left Behind

A Poem and the story behind it 

This article is also featured on Substack, and Medium

What’s Left Behind

I stood where laughter used to live,
Beneath the lights, the echoes give.
The pool still hums, the ceiling’s there,
But something’s missing in the air.

I used to float and lose the day,
Watch time above me drift away.
As a child, it all felt big and new,
Now it feels like something I outgrew.

The lobby once was full of sound,
Of voices warm and gathered round.
Cards and stories, late-night glow,
Welcoming all who’d come and go.

Now strangers pass through what remains,
New rules, new hands, familiar change.
The walls still stand, but something’s gone,
Like all the life has moved along.

It’s like a life I used to wear
Still lingering faintly in the air,
I can’t quite reach it, I can’t step through,
It’s not the same as what I once knew.

Maybe that’s the quiet truth
We only learn when leaving youth,
That time moves on without a trace,
And leaves us standing in its place.

So here I am, between what’s been,

Between everything I’ve lost
Between everything I’ve yet to live in.
A little lost, a little new…
A life unfolding out of view.

Behind The Poem

This poem came after a week/ weekend that felt like too much and not enough all at once.

I had just finished and published a book my daughter helped me write and design, something she wanted for her birthday. It meant a lot to me to get it done, to make it real. But I’ve started to notice something about myself. When I’m working toward something big, I almost ride this high for a few days, focused, driven, completely in it., and then, once it’s done, it drops.

With ADHD, it feels like a dopamine high followed by a crash. Because when it’s over, I finally have space to slow down, to breathe, and to think, and that’s when everything else I’ve been holding off catches up to me all at once.

Then came her birthday weekend.
It was last-minute, a little chaotic, but underneath that, I was already running on empty. I made invitations and somehow got the day wrong and didn’t find out until the day, I spent the week trying to pull everything together while finishing and publishing a book, taking my son out for driving practice everyday, cooking, working, and keeping up with everyone else’s needs and schedules.

My oldest daughter moved back home last week, so the space that was already tight became even tighter. My daughters and I are now all bunked up together in the tiny living room, and I’m trying to share a twin mattress with a 7-year-old, lol.

I’m so grateful to have all my kids under one roof again, even if it’s just for now. But I’d be lying if I said the cramped space didn’t get to me. Having to play a constant do-si-do just to move through the house, weaving around people and pets to get anywhere, it’s a lot for me.

By the time the weekend came, I wasn’t just busy, I was carrying too much, already stretched thin in ways that weren’t immediately visible, even to myself.

At the hotel, things didn’t go as planned.
My daughter got a bloody nose in the pool while I was trying to deal with the invitation date mistake and getting people to the right area. The hotel staff was upset about a couple of extra swimmers, even though I had called ahead to let them know they’d be there. I then had to send these guests home, because they weren’t allowed to stay. I was so embarrassed and felt so awful. There was tension, stress, that feeling of trying to hold everything together while it’s quietly unraveling.

I hate conflict. I can handle or initiate it when I have to, but it sits in my body in a way that feels bigger than the moment. Not following rules, or even feeling like I might not be, makes me irrationally anxious. Like I’ve done something wrong without realizing it, or like I’m waiting for someone to step in and tell me I’ve crossed a line I didn’t know was there.

It’s almost childlike in a way, like there’s some invisible authority watching, and I’m about to get in trouble for something I didn’t mean to do.

So even something small, like a misunderstanding about swimmers and mistake about dates, doesn’t feel small in my body. It lingers and builds, and turns into this quiet pressure I carry while still trying to keep everything together on the outside.

By the time everyone left, and it was just the girls and me, something shifted.

As I floated in the pool, a wave of reflection washed over me. I realized how quickly time has passed and how much of my life I’ve given to different choices. The weight of it hit me, paths I can’t return to, moments I can’t get back, and this feeling of not quite knowing where I stand anymore.

My grandparents built that hotel.
It used to be full of our family. Birthday parties, holidays, cousins, aunts, laughter. I remember floating on my back in that same pool, staring at the ceiling, feeling safe in a way that only childhood really gives you.

My grandparents were exceptional hosts. They had been welcoming people and families for many years, having owned a resort before that. They took immense pride in everything they did. I can still picture them in the lobby, sitting by the fireplace and chatting with guests as if they were old friends. For them, it wasn’t just a business; it was something they invested their hearts into.

That space felt alive because of them.
Family gathered around the fireplace playing games, people watching TV together in the evenings, laughter carrying through the room in that quiet, comforting way. It felt warm, welcoming, like it belonged to all of us.

Now it’s owned by someone else. New rules, different energy, things worn down, not quite working the same.

I’m not really connected to that part of my family anymore. The relationships, the closeness, the way we used to gather… it all faded over time. We all grew up. Cousins started their own families, lives moved in different directions. My grandparents got older, and eventually stepped away from it all.

Somewhere along the way, life just kept moving. We get busy living our day to day, doing what needs to be done, and before we even realize it, days, months and then years have quietly passed. Until one day you look up and see how much has changed, and how much of it is gone or different.

So standing there, it wasn’t just the place that felt different; it was the distance between who I was then and who I am now.

I’ve been feeling very disconnected in my life lately. From people, from where I am, even from parts of myself. It’s like I’m standing somewhere in between the life I had and the one I’m trying to build, and I don’t fully belong to either.

At the same time, it feels like I’m being pushed out of the life I’m in now, like something is quietly closing behind me before I’m ready.

I feel like I’m being rushed forward, but I don’t know where I’m supposed to land,
or how I’m even supposed to get there.

Sometimes it feels like I’m just there, floating in a pool of memories, surrounded by moments that once held so much of my life, but I can’t quite reach anymore.

Or like a ghost in A Christmas Carol,
walking through scenes that used to be mine,
watching versions of my life that feel close enough to touch,
but knowing I can’t step back into them.

That night, after I put the girls to bed, I cried myself to sleep.

The next morning, it was back to being on.
Breakfast, messes, cleaning up after the kids, trying to keep everything together on the outside while still feeling everything on the inside.

After breakfast, we went to swim again before we left. When I lay in the pool again, the memories started pouring over me again.
Family gatherings, holidays, people who are gone now.
Times I chose work instead of being present.
Relationships that have changed.
Pieces of my life that don’t exist anymore.

It felt like standing in the ruins of something that once held me.

This poem came from that moment.
From realizing that nothing stays the same,
not places, not people, not even the versions of ourselves we once were.

Perhaps the hardest part isn’t the fact that things change, it’s learning how to stand in what remains and still move forward. Maybe that’s where something new begins. It’s not about going back or holding on, but about realizing that I’m still here, still choosing, and still becoming.

Even here, in the in-between,
there is a life waiting for me to step into it.

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Thank you for reading,

If you’re navigating your own in-between, please explore the site for
places for grounding, reflection, and finding your way back to yourself.