a permission slip to fuck up your life

hint: it's not actually fucking up your life, it will just make this life *truly yours*

Six years ago this Christmas, everything was vastly different. I had finally taken what little courage remained somewhere, deep inside of me, and decided my nearly 8-year relationship was over. We had gotten engaged over three years before, moved to Charleston, and adopted a dog together. Our life was just beginning. We had taken the right steps and somehow ended up down a very wrong turn. That very dim kernel of courage changed the trajectory of my life.

I remember weeks prior to having this conversation, I hadn’t left our bed. I had hardly eaten or gotten fresh air. I was a shell of myself, disconnected from all reality because reality was too painful. And it was Christmas time. Our two-bedroom apartment was decorated with a tree and stockings, though the air hung low and heavy like a funeral for what once was. There was no equation of us together that included protecting and saving myself. I knew this, and I had spent the last year and a half convincing myself otherwise.

I decided, in what I believed to be the lowest possible moment, that after the holiday was over and our lease ended in January, we would need to find separate homes to live in. We would need to separate our things and decide how to handle Luna. We would need to begin grappling with our reality— the reality apparently only I would be brave enough to speak to. How could you possibly do this? You don’t mean it, we’ll be back together soon. Are you insane? You’re leaving your fiancé? No one will ever love you like I do.

I remember calling a friend from back home whose fear of the unknown made my own fear so much worse. “I don’t understand??” I hear her voice ring full of confusion from the other end of the line— “What are you going to do? Just give back the ring???” As if there were no worse things than a young woman calling off a wedding. How could I? How could I?

Looking back to that girl, sobbing on her bathroom floor, I realize what a moment of pure courage that truly was. I had no reason to believe everything would work out. There was no evidence to be found. I had no idea where I was going to live, or how I would afford it— I had 300 dollars to my name and was 1200 miles from home. I had no idea what I wanted out of life anymore. I was terrified of what people would think of me and the shame that came along with it. The grief I felt for the life I was supposed to have sloped over me like a heavy weighted blanket, nearly convincing me to stay on that floor.

In that moment, the weight of losing myself was much more of a motivator than any reason to stay… even with the grief that came along with it all. I was so close to slipping away.

I did not care how difficult it was to start over. I refused to settle for a life I did not want. A life full of loneliness, resentment, and lies.

If you find yourself on that metaphorical bathroom floor in your life this year, consider this your permission slip to change course.

I know that sometimes in these moments, our fear of the future or the pain of that grief— works to convince us that we are making the wrong decision. We can utilize them as a signal that our intuition is wrong, that we are asking for too much or an impossible version of perfect that does not exist. “But it’s Christmas..” I remember him saying, as he proceeded to decorate the tree we picked out together, ignoring the fact that I had not eaten a meal in three days and was still unable to get out of bed.

I was so alone in everything. I wasn’t real. Gaslit to believe I was asking for too much.

No one, at any point in time, had given me permission to change my life. There were many rules growing up, many guidelines and structures. I wasn’t allowed to quit competitive dance or the sports I didn’t love anymore, I always had to follow through on my commitments. It gave me a childhood filled with discipline, but little joy that was true to who I was. I was always trying so hard to stay on course, but was always a little too defiant. I was grounded, a disappointment, an eye-roll. No decision in my life felt like mine. I was scared this meant more of the same for me.

That was until one of my closest friends sat me down while grabbing a coffee earlier that December. She too, had called off an engagement and entire wedding years before. She is younger than me, but more dignified in who she is. She is a quiet and powerful storm, one that doesn’t worry about changing her skies for other people’s comfort.

“Do you understand you’re allowed to change your mind?” she says, not breaking eye contact from me at the cafe table. “At any point in time, if you aren’t happy, you’re allowed to say… this isn’t what I want for me anymore. And the world will not end.”

The world will not end. The world will not end.

I don’t know if the life I have now would exist had she not given me that permission slip. A note of safety, of ‘I see you’, of ‘you are not bad’. She saw my pain and made it real and worthy. We forget sometimes just how far that can aid our courage. (I love you, Keira)

My life now exists because I left. Because I pivoted. Because I faced heartbreak, shame, and grief… head on. This is no small feat. This is grueling work.

But it is worth it every time.

Maybe at one point in your life, something felt right and happy and true. Maybe that past version of you grew into something more complex and aware of the world and what you need out of it. You’re allowed to honor that it is no longer right for you anymore. Consider this your permission slip to stop making life choices based on someone’s potential, or better yet— seeing your own potential in them. You’re allowed to outgrow places and people you once loved. You’re allowed to break someone’s heart. (Yes, this is painful. and yes, there are proper ways to hold space for them and all you’ve lost and honored together. It does not make you a bad person. It makes room for what they deserve somewhere along the line, too.)

You’re allowed to start over when you feel too far gone, when you feel too old, when you feel like you have nothing left. You’re allowed to be completely and uttering unsure of what will come next and how you will get there. You’re allowed to let go and grieve and wade through those impossibly heavy moments, knowing two truths can exist at once. You’re allowed to give back the ring.

The skies will not fall. The world will keep spinning.

You have to trust yourself just enough to take the first step. To listen to that truth buried somewhere, deep in your knowing, and believe you are worth listening to.

Do not spend one more second in places you don’t belong. In places where you are not cherished and supported, loved and given space for growth. There is nothing more heartbreaking than a life unlived. No one should be powerful enough to take that from you.

Six Christmas’ later, I honor that lost girl who was devastated on her bathroom floor. She packed her boxes and carried them into an apartment she could not afford, and bet on her ability to provide for herself— emotionally, physically and financially— even in the most grueling moments. She spent the last six years uncovering the self she worried she had lost to that relationship, only to find that once a safe space was created for her to thrive…. that she was never truly lost at all.

There have been mistakes made. There has been more heartbreak. There has been more love. The studio, the home, the businesses, the friendships and the life I have now are all because of the small kernel of courage I held close that Christmas. I trusted that it would be enough. Sometimes in those moments where there is nothing else, that small kernel is all there is.

I’m here to give you permission to use yours, no matter how dim the light of it may be. No matter how small or terrified or insignificant it feels.

You do not need anyone else’s permission. You are allowed to change your life.

In fact, you are the only one with the power to do so.

Trust in the fact that the person coming to save you will always, in the end, be you.

Trusting yourself is all there ever will be. How freeing it can be to finally accept it x

Luna and I in our new apartment six years ago, starting a new path <3