building the life i used to daydream about
When I was a kid, all I could think about was…
I remember the first time I said it in front of my mom. She was upset, shocked that I’d say something like that. I remember her telling me,
Now, nearly seven years later, I’m sitting in my apartment writing this post, and I think I’ve come to a realization.
I’m actively building the life I so desperately daydreamed about as a kid.
I wanted to live in a space where I felt safe enough to just breathe.
The first thing I noticed when I went out on my own was that I was still anxious.
I moved out at 17. I took my things and left with a friend after a heated confrontation with my mom.
When my friend and her mom would take us out to dinner and the sun started setting, I’d get the biggest wave of anxiety. I genuinely thought I was going to be in trouble for being outside so late.
Even though I didn’t live there anymore.
At 18, I moved in with my high school boyfriend. We got an apartment together and started learning what bills and responsibilities actually felt like.
The pressure got to him.
He came from a stable home, and suddenly all of these responsibilities he had never dealt with before were stressing him out.
Eventually, my own home became another place where I didn’t have peace.
He started dealing with his stress and anger by hurting himself and punching the walls, the fridge, and our counters.
I realized my home no longer felt peaceful or safe for me.
I was starting to feel the same way I had felt at my mother’s.
And I did not leave one bad situation just to live in another one.
So, four years into our relationship, I sat him down and ended things.
Twenty-year-old me genuinely thought that was going to be the end of my life.
I had to go back to my mother’s house. I had to start over. I doubted that I could afford anything independently, and my biggest fear was that I’d end up stuck there forever.
Even though I was an adult, she started looking for my Social Security number and other personal information so she could claim me on her taxes and involve my name in things that, financially, I knew I could not attach myself to.
So four months later, after a lot of saving and a new job opportunity, I left.
I got myself a studio.
The apartment was run-down, but I made it mine.
And I felt peace again.
I also realized that bills weren’t as scary as they had felt before. I planned ahead. I budgeted. I worked hard at my job and earned two promotions within my first year.
And even though I still have days where I want more for myself…
A bigger place.
A higher position.
More confidence.
More money.
More everything, honestly.
I don’t ever want to forget where I was only two and a half years ago.
I was living in my mom’s basement, working a retail job, with no savings and a car that didn’t even work.
I don’t want to forget how far I’ve come in my career either.
When I started working in banking, I knew absolutely nothing about it. Now, two years later, I’m doing well. I know what I’m doing. I’ve grown into a career I never even pictured myself having.
I have a healthy relationship.
I have a home.
I have a new car.
I have new friends.
I have people and things in my life that make me feel safe.
There are still so many things I want for myself, and I know I’m nowhere near done building my life.
But sometimes I think I’m so focused on what comes next that I forget to look around at what I already built.
The kid who couldn’t wait to turn 18 and leave would probably be relieved to know that one day, she did.
She got out.
She started over.
And she built somewhere she could finally breathe.
I’m proud of myself.