I haven’t always been this girl.

Okay, maybe I was her once, but somewhere along the way, I lost it. And, I can’t quite put my finger on the moment that it happened. I’ve come to the realization that our lives are a slow fade.

My divorce at age 30 was really a catalyst for my exploration of self. For years I was unhappily married and struggled with defining terms like alcoholism and domestic violence. I cared deeply what others would think about me for walking away from a life that, on paper, looked damn near perfect.

Then, one morning, I woke up.

I realized that I had been lying to myself about the life that I really wanted, and I got sick of staring at the emptiness behind my eyes in the mirror. So, I walked away. I chose more. And, I promised myself that I would never be silent again for the sake of someone else’s comfort. I have a voice. And, that voice matters. 

The emotional turmoil that I experienced in that relationship was very much bandaged by my physical monotony. To break out of my routine, to invite spontaneity and adventure into my life, would have been an invitation to a loss of sanity. When I was able to overcome my paralysis to change, I realized that my personal imprisonment was a product of my circumstance and not a character trait that existed in the core of my being. My soul yearned to move and explore. I had just spent years silencing it. The more trips I took, the more I connected to the road as my home. So, I set my sights on owning an Airstream (and a Frenchie), and a year later, I can humbly say I achieved that goal.

Now, I refuse to settle.

Today, I am much more grounded in who I was as a byproduct of hating so much of what I became. I’m not mad at her for falling. I’m thankful for her ability to rise.