Mid-Renovation
**Nobody tells you about the part
where half the walls are down
and you're still living in the house.**
You got the diagnosis.
Or the realization. Or the word
that finally made the blur make sense.
And you thought: now I rebuild.
But you can't move out
while you renovate.
You still have to go to work
in a self that's half-dismantled.
**Show up on time.
Smile the old smile.
Perform the version of you
that you now know was scaffolding —
but the new version isn't ready yet.**
The people around you
see the construction.
They don't see the blueprint.
They say:
*you've changed.*
As if changing were something
you did to them.
**The hardest part isn't the tearing down.
The hardest part is the months
where nothing looks finished.**
Where you're too aware of the mask
to wear it comfortably
but too unfinished
to go without it.
That in-between
is not a failure to heal.
It's the healing.