Before:
For years, this wall sat half-done — pale, textured, tired.
The holes in it stood out like unhealed wounds. I filled them, but they still caught my eye every time I walked past.
And always, in the back of my head, his old words: too slow, too messy, not good enough. I’d been told these things so often they almost sounded like fact. Almost.
The Turn:
This week, Tilly’s away with her dad. My god, I miss her. I’ve never had a whole week without her before, and the quiet feels strange.
Joel has been here keeping me sane, but I needed something. Something that was mine to do — something I could give her without her even being here.
On Tuesday, I decided to paint. At first, just a plain white coat to mask the scars, to make the wall look less wounded.
Then Joel and I went to choose a colour for the real finish. We picked Meadow Thistle, purple, Tilly’s favourite, because this wall is part of her world. Sarah suggested glitter, and just like that, the Starlit Wall was born.
Ritual:
A stubborn roller. A ladder that wobbled. Paint on my skin, sweat in my hair, and Joel’s voice in my head like he was beside me — not telling me how to do it, but telling me it looked beautiful.
Each stroke covered more than a wall. It covered years of someone else’s voice saying I couldn’t.
It covered the ache of missing my girl. Every roll of paint was a quiet message to her: No matter how far you are, your mumma loves you.
After:
It’s not perfect — not as smooth or seamless as a professional would do.
But by fuck, it’s mine.
And it’s another step towards my reclamation.
The wall now stands bold — lilac and luminous, waiting for its glittered constellations in the second coat.
It’s not just paint. It’s proof.
A visible, permanent declaration that I can, and I did. And that I was thinking of her every second.