A letter for when you forget why you left

There will come a time, maybe a few months out, maybe years after leaving, when you forget why you left. The rage dulls. The hurt quiets. And in its place comes a quieter sadness, a loneliness that sits heavier than the freedom once did.

Your reasons for leaving feel like a distant shoreline, hazy through the fog. No longer the landscape sprawling in front of you, the physical sand on which you stand. Only a memory now, maybe a few relics in your peripheral.

I, personally, have started to wonder if I imagined certain things. The most outlandish actual happenings that were once my reality. But how did that happen? How did that happen to me? No. That certainly couldn't have been real.

I'll hold your hand. I'll bring you back to earth with a few simple steps:

Call your mom. She'll tell you how scared she was for you. She had sleepless nights. She saw the light dim in your eyes. She watched you slip through her fingers like sand. She prayed for you every night. She wanted to rescue you more times than she can count. And she'll remind you how relieved she is to have you back.

Call your best friend. She'll tell you she noticed the way you shrank yourself in that relationship. She could tell when you'd fought the night before, even when you tried to hide it. She'll tell you that you deserve a love that feels safe and full.

I know they say not to do this, but go back through your pictures. You'll see a woman who used to be full of light and excitement for life. You'll see the moment that light started to fade. You'll see how much of yourself you were giving away just to keep things together.

And take a look in the mirror now. You're far from the anger, the hurt, the pain, and the rage that used to hold you down. You can see it in your eyes. The color is back in your face. There's a light in your smile again. You don't have to hand your joy back to what hurt you. You're far from it now, and that is to be protected at all costs.

I know it's hard to be on your own. It's hard to buy groceries for one, cook for one, pay rent alone, and figure out dating again. But it's also hard to carry the emotional weight of a relationship where you were doing most of the holding up. Both paths are hard. One of them asks you to carry yourself. The other asked you to carry someone else too.

And you're in charge of your own reality. Your life is in your hands. This is a gift that has not always been the case. Protect that too.

We both know things weren't going to get any better. So you left for the chance of finding a better love. But maybe that better love was never out there. Maybe it was always meant to be the one you're building with yourself. And wasn't that worth it?