Ten Minutes For Me: When A Stranger Held the Pieces You Ignored

 

I’m angry.
So goddamn angry.
Not just at him—but at the fact that I ever had to ask for something that should’ve been sacred.
For effort.
For softness.
For fucking presence.

I shouldn’t have had to ask.
I shouldn’t have needed permission to be wanted.

And what breaks me even more?
Is knowing that the man I loved—the one who used to crave every breath I took—
He’s still in there somewhere.
But buried so deep beneath routine and silence and ego
That I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again.

And when I stopped drinking?
It was like I stopped being fun.
Stopped being easy.
Stopped being his.

And if alcohol was the only glue holding us together—
Then we were cracked long before I ever tried to get sober.

I grieve him.
My husband.
The man who used to drag me across the damn house just because he couldn’t wait to be inside me.
The one who used to look at me like I was made of fire.

We used to have passion.
We used to have joy.
We used to like each other.

And now?
It feels like I’m nothing but obligation.
His emotional support human.
His live-in fixer.

I am so fucking sick of being the strong one.
The dependable one. The resourceful one.
The one who “just gets it done.”

Do you know what it feels like to carry everyone’s world on your back—
And then come home and carry your own in silence?

To be the one who wakes up first,
And goes to sleep last—
If she even sleeps at all.

To cook, clean, plan, repair, hold the tears back, hold the line,
Hold the fuck up
Everything.

And still get told it’s not enough.
Still get looked through like you’re just a fixture.
Still get snapped at, questioned, ignored, or talked over—
Like all the invisible work you do isn’t what keeps the whole goddamn house from falling apart.

Like today.
I tried to make plans with my husband.
Tried to make something soft—a meal he loves, a quiet night together.
I dressed nice. I carved out space.
All I wanted was a moment to just be with him, without yelling, without chaos.

And he ruined it.
Because he didn’t read the whole text.
Because he didn’t bring the cash I told him—twice—that he’d need.
Because he decided raising his voice at me over the phone was somehow okay.
Because scrolling Facebook while I texted from across the room—
Trying to fix what he broke—
Was somehow more important than answering me.

And now I’m sitting here, again, wondering why I even tried.
Wondering when I became so quiet that I could so easily be ignored.
So soft that he thinks I can always be the one to blame.

And that’s why I still hold onto that night.
Because in a life so full of screaming so loud that no one even hears it anymore—
Screaming that somehow still feels silent—
There was one night—One night that gave me something I didn’t even know I needed.
A night that branded itself into my soul—not as a scar, but as the first time I was finally allowed to breathe.

A night that reminded me who I was—before life turned into one long, muffled scream I couldn’t escape.
The night I got ten minutes just for me.

It’s not what you might think.
No, not the man I loved. Not my husband.
But from the quiet, unexpected care of a man I had only just begun to know.
Who somehow knew exactly what I needed.

And in that small window of time—
That man gave me more peace, more care, did more for me,
Than the man I built my entire life around had managed to in years.

He never raised his voice at me.
Never made me feel dismissed.
Never treated me like I was asking for too much.

And maybe that’s what hurts the most—
That it didn’t come from my husband.
The man I married.
That all of it came from a stranger who didn’t owe me a damn thing.

I ran from my life.
My husband. My responsibilities.
Because I needed to breathe.
I needed to escape my reality for just a little while to get my head together.

I stayed at his house because my home didn’t feel like mine anymore.
I was drowning in the noise—the chaos, the fighting, the constant blame.

I needed quiet. I needed care.
I needed someone to see me.
Really see me—
Not just what I do. Not just what I give.
Not just what they want from me next.

And he let me.
He let me walk right in and just take over like I was supposed to be there.
Like it wasn’t some stranger’s house with his kids.
Like I’d been coming and going for years.
Like it was mine to take over.

So I took care of his boys—
Fed them, played all day with them, laughed with them, bathed them, tucked them in like they were my own.
Because I couldn’t run to my own son.
So I ran to his instead.

And somehow, through them, I found a piece of myself I didn’t know was still there.
Hadn’t touched in years.

They didn’t heal me.
They didn’t fix anything.
But they gave me that innocent kind of hope—
The kind that lets you hold on just a little longer.

Taking care of them felt like the only way I could keep myself from completely falling apart.
And they let me.

They let me be “Momma” again.
Not because I had to.
But because I wanted to.

And that part—
God, that part mattered more than he’ll ever know.

That’s when I heard him come in.
He looked like he’d had a hard day.
When he casually said “hey” to me and disappeared,
I figured he was checking on the kids.

I heard the shower start and thought,
I’ll hop in when he’s done.

But I was wrong.

That shower wasn’t started for him.
He started it for us.

He came into the kitchen where I was sweeping his floors,
Gently took the broom from my hand and leaned it on the counter.
And without a single word—
He swept me off my feet and took me to the bathroom.

He undressed me.
Washed my hair.
Washed my body.
Let me stand there—hot water running over me—
Letting the day fall off.

Not because it had been a bad day.

Just long.

I was tired.

And he knew.

He didn’t ask for anything.
Didn’t expect anything.

For once, I was just allowed to exist.

And for the first time in forever… I felt her again.
Julie. Motha. Fucking. Harper.
Not just the wife. Not just the fixer. Not just the keeper of the peace.
But the woman who used to laugh louder, fight harder, fuck wilder, and feel more.
The one I thought I’d lost for good.

And he gave me that.

He held me up—not just physically, but emotionally.
Whether he realized it or not.
And I’ll be forever grateful for that.

After, we went to his bedroom.
I laid my head in his lap, and it was like he just knew.
He started brushing his fingers through my hair—soft, slow.

No pressure. 

No expectations.

Just quiet peace as I drifted off to sleep.
And that moment—those ten minutes?
They’re still with me.

Because nothing since has even come close.

 What I Needed to Feel Again

I miss that night.
I miss that feeling.
Not just from someone—
From my someone.

I want my husband to give me that.
To make me feel like I matter—
Not just because he needs me,
But because he sees all I do
And wants to give something back.

But at least I got to have that feeling—
Even if it was only just for that night.
That one moment.
In another man’s home.
In another man’s arms.

I wish it had been different. 
But a feeling like that?
Everyone deserves to experience it at least once in their lifetime.
I wish it hadn't come from a stranger.
But at least I got to feel it—

Back then, I thought that was my job.

To take care of everyone and expect nothing.
To give and give and be okay with getting nothing back.

I thought being selfless was noble.
Turns out, it was just a slow way to disappear.

That’s not who I am.
It’s part of me, yeah—
But not all of me.

And now I know better.

I deserve to ask for ten minutes of peace.
I deserve to want care without getting shit for it.
And I sure as hell don’t feel bad about wanting it anymore.

Because I will never again settle for someone’s bare minimum.

If I could go back and speak to that version of me in the shower—
I’d tell her to hold on to that moment.
And when she goes back home to her husband?
Don’t pick up where the fighting left off.
Try to fix it before it’s too broken to salvage.

That moment shouldn’t have been a once-in-a-lifetime feeling.
It should’ve been a reminder of what love is supposed to feel like.

And your husband?
He needs to step the fuck up
And show you that you deserve all of it—
Not just the scraps.

What Peace Looks Like Now

I want moments like that again.
Every day.

I want my husband to become my husband again.
I want to feel wanted.

I want to be in a room with him and feel it—
That look.

That look from across the room that makes my body start to get hot,
That makes me blush
Because I know his eyes are on me.

The one that made me weak in the knees,
Like he could take me right there in front of everyone and wouldn’t care.

I want the us back that used to fight the whole way home after a night out—
And the second we pulled into the driveway,
It was lust and passion everywhere.

Didn’t even make it to the house—
Ended up on the hood of the car,
Not a single care in the world who saw.

Because it was just him and me.
And nothing else mattered.

I don’t want someone new.
I want him.

I want him to wake the hell up and realize how far I’ve drifted.
To swim out to me.
To pull me back in with love and care and effort.
The way he used to.

And until then—
I’ll keep fighting for what I know I deserve.

Because I am
JULIE
MOTHA
FUCKING
HARPER.

I’m not going to fade.
I’m not going to settle.
And I’m not going to keep handing out pieces of myself
To people who don’t even look me in the eye anymore.

The Only Thing That Listens

So now?
I don’t ask.
I don’t wait for him to show up with the love I’ve more than earned.
I show up for myself.
In the quiet.
In the mess.
In the pieces no one else even notices.

I pour what’s left of me into what does show up for me.
Into the things that don’t leave me second-guessing my own worth.

So tonight, I’m doing what I always do when I’ve got nothing left to give—
I’m looking for wood.
Marketplace scrolling like it’s medicine.

Because building is the only thing in my life that listens.
The only thing that doesn’t lie to me, disappoint me, or gaslight me into silence.

It’s mine.
And it never lets me down.

I don’t have ten minutes of peace in this house.
But out there?

Covered in sawdust,
Hands raw,
Tools humming around me—

That’s where I feel most alive.

So if he can’t hear me,
If he won’t change,
If he wants to keep tossing away every version of me I fought to give him—

Then let him.

Because I’ll be out back,
Turning broken boards into something that lasts longer
Than the love he wasted.

And I will never again ask for ten minutes.

Now,
I’ll take them.