TRIGGER WARNING.

OVERCOMING EMOTIONAL & PHYSICAL ABUSE.

My 30's haven't looked at all like what I imagined for myself. In fact, I don't think any millennial ever imagined that life would look like this. Even my friends who have taken a more 'traditional' route in life can attest to the fact that surviving as a millennial is difficult.

We were all sold the same idea of prosperity that our parents were given, yet when we bought in – we had no idea that finding work, paying off student debt, purchasing a home, falling in love, getting married or having children – would ever look and feel the way that it has.

Especially with the pandemic. Especially with the continued violence against people of color and our friends within the LGBTQIA community. Especially with climate change. Especially with gun violence. Especially with our rights being stripped away. Especially at the end of capitalism.

Especially when we are all still hoping for a better outcome than this.

In addition to the external challenges of society – my personal life has been tumultuous, to say the least. The biggest thing I've had to overcome, as my therapist so candidly said, has been removing the talons my ex pierced me with.

Though his talons are long gone today, the residual scars remain. I’m certain if he were to read this, he will claim to have loved me, to have cared, to have tried – and he will say I hurt him just as much as he hurt me.

And maybe to him, I did.

It took me about an entire year to remove each of his talons one by one. As I painfully plucked each sharp bit of calcified bone from my soul, I realized fully that my reality was valid. I realized, even though he was gone, I did not feel safe in this new version of the world I was living in.

In the blink of an eye, I had become an injured dog – afraid of anyone who RESEMBLED the PERSON who ONCE MADE ME SO AFRAID.

A person that I loved and trusted, abused and manipulated me emotionally and physically. My reality was that without his talons, I was empty.

So, at 31, I started over.

As I was emerging from the breakup, a friend told me that the light I once had was dimmer. She was right. It was right around this time that I knew I would never be able to return to who I was before him. The naive, fun loving, eccentric girl who found the good in every corner of the world, who had never had a hand laid on her, who spoke her mind, who laughed frequently, who could ignore the male gaze easily, who went wherever she pleased without fear… was gone.

I tried to return to that version of myself by dating again. I hooked up. I made out. I ghosted even more. Names are blurs, faces are fragments. I relied on the idea that I had to find someone new to see in me the things that I had once been. As though they were the match and I was the candle that needed to be relit.

Suffice to say, I wound up feeling more alone and sad than I did before. I spent more time at 31 crying on the floor that is comfortable to admit. I said goodbye to places I loved in an attempt to get away from the past. It took me almost six months after the breakup to realize I had been justifying the abuse I endured.

His voice echoed in my head and everything was still all my fault. Little did I know then, it would take me another six months to love and forgive myself for justifying for so long.

As I slowly pulled my mind and each of my limbs out from the muddy quick sand of making sense of loving him – I was also mourning the loss of my grandmother, my cousin, my cat, and the puppy my ex and I had gotten together. The same puppy that he would use to manipulate me with for months after our breakup.

Through the ever deepening quick sand and downpours of grief – I moved erratically through time, memory and control. I was lost within myself – that so much was clear.

Instead of fighting it, I finally just fell into it head first.

Falling into getting lost has been the only good part about LOSING SO MUCH.

Though I experienced loss, I was not losing. Despite being lost, I was gaining whole new perspectives.

The most prominent elevation gain has been from my new pup. I have never known love like that of a dog… to which I’m sure any dog owner will sympathize. My boy was in the right place at the right time, and he is hands down the best thing that has ever happened to me.

In addition to my four-legged best friend, I gained a new job. I traveled frequently. I moved to Los Angeles. I stopped dating and I started invested my time and energy into new friendships.

The moment I began to free fall into getting lost, I realized I was falling in love with who I have always been and even more so – who I am becoming. I have fallen deeply in love with the kindness of strangers, with the ways my friends hold me up – and all the ways I have grown to love them even more. I am still falling in love with my craft. Every moment spent creating, I gain confidence in my perseverance.

Though I still cry, my tears are no longer fatal drops of confusion, regret, or blame. They are full body sighs of release of relief and nourishment – filling me up and reminding me I am human.

Today, as I write this, I know one thing:

All that time I spent crying on the floor, thinking I was crying over him – I was actually just mourning the loss of who I was before him.

Each breakdown and every tear that poured from me was a small change; and each change nourished the parts of myself that I thought would never grow back.

Yet, there they were. Tiny seeds bursting through the soil. Glimmers of myself appeared again in photographs, in song, in the reflections of the people who continued to surround me, even as I lay gripped by the quicksand of the past.

To those people,
I owe everything.

All of the bold “I love you’s” and “I am proud of you’s” that kept my chin up. The friends who wrapped me in their arms while I cried, cooked me dinner, or sliced a mango for me after a long night out. The people who welcomed me into their homes, who vowed to always have my back - even if I were to return to him again.

All of the women who shared their experiences, who likely saw me as a reminder of a place they once were; who did all they could to reiterate that I was not alone.

The friends who turned into sisters, who passed out in my bed after trying to change a tire, who laid in kiddie pools at 2am with me, who helped me forget I ever hurt to begin with. The friends who recorded a happy birthday video around a campfire, making me wish I wasn’t so far away. The friends who Facetime out of the blue, who send me stupid memes, who encourage me to follow my dreams, or just to scream about a bat stuck in their apartment.

All of the men who asked for consent, and who respected me when I said no. The men who told me I can have opinions without hurting their feelings, who told me they have no expectations, who made me feel safe in the most vulnerable of moments.

The best of friends who inspire me. The ones who sprint towards their dreams, who climb mountains to find themselves, who build tiny homes, buy ranches, take care of horses, who share their own journeys of love with me, who move in with their partners, who stand up tall after heartache. The platonic soul mates who give to me advice so real that it’s difficult to look away. The friends who fly to visit me. The friends who trust me enough to say words at their wedding, the friends who make the most beautiful babies. The friends who let me be a witness to their joy.

Even to all of the friends who tried to be friends, but just couldn’t be, thank you.

I would not have been able to overcome so much without you all.