There should be some kind of reward for surviving hell.
I managed to get an apartment. It was old and very vintage. I loved it. Little by little, I got furniture for it, mostly from Craigslist. When I was married, I had contemporary furnishings, and my colors were always neutral or soft and warm.
I'd been in hell for a while. There, I lived with a very uncertain future. The only thing I knew for sure was that I was determined to lift myself out of the mire I'd fallen into. I wanted a better life for myself, one I created from what I wanted. Just me.
I accepted that I needed to live an authentic life, that I was okay just as I am, proud to fly my freak flag for all to see.
What that meant for me was that I needed to stop saying "I can't", because maybe I could. Maybe I could do more than I believed. I wanted to find out. So, I did. As time passed, I learned that I was right. My confidence rose, as did my sense of self-worth.
My new colors were blue and purple. My furniture was eclectic, and I painted a lot of it to add my own unique signature. They became my wonderful creations and I loved them all. My space now is uniquely me, perfect for the insane bohemian I've become.
It took years of continual work on myself to heal old hurts, to become stronger, more confident in my abilities, and happier. I still have moments, and my heart is still broken, but my days are better.