“I just love you so much”, my nephew says as he folds himself into my arms. We’re watching Equestria Girls under a makeshift fort in our living room. It’s the first time I’ve spent more than 5 hours with a kid- I didn’t babysit growing up and only learned how to change a diaper last year. I spent most of my life believing that “kids”, “permanence”, or even “marriage” were words that were not in my future. I convinced myself at 18 that the life I wanted was the polar opposite of what was expected of women, and yet, here I am: embracing every second of it.
A tear streams from my eye as he snuggles closer to sing his favorite song from the movie. I sometimes wonder if I love my nephews too much, and then I remind myself there’s no such thing. I want them to know they’re loved by so many people: maybe then they’ll never experience the loneliness of wondering if they’re loveable. The loneliness can shatter you- I should know since it almost did.
If you asked me where I’d be five years ago, I would have told you about my dreams of living in a van and traveling the United States. Alone from the world, I’d write essays and document my life with fervor: sharing unimaginable landscapes with captions about my adventures.
I’d have Emmett James and Marco James flanking my sides: my two wolves, keeping me warm and safe on those nights I doubted all that led me there. I wouldn’t have to answer to anyone, and I would use smoke and mirrors to convince everyone that I was “okay,” happy even.
I would have told you how I wanted to be “untethered”. When you grow up too fast, enter a false marriage, and have your house of cards fall on you, cutting your heart open by a thousand papercuts, “untethered” is synonymous with “escaping”. My dream was not to be untethered, it was to be isolated from people. If I didn’t let anyone in, I could never be hurt again.
Four years ago, I started mapping out this dream, working three jobs to save up so I could flee. Every night, I would go over the steps in my head: sell the tiny house on a lot of land that feels like a prison, finalize the divorce, buy that tiny house trailer, and drive until I could retake a deep breath.
Covid-19 had other plans, of course. At a time when I was so anxious to run, I was forced to stay still. Those long, quiet days in isolation foreshadowed what life in that tiny house trailer would have felt like. Everything felt unfamiliar when forced to sit with it, down to my left finger, which still had the imprint of a ring that once sat there. During those first eight weeks, I would stare at my eyes in the mirrors, wondering when the spark left them. Would it ever come back? The only way it could would be if I tried to face myself, so I did.
The road that followed has been the most arduous to travel, but every turn has been worth it. I decided to stay and stop running away from every problem I’ve ever had. I started therapy, developed boundaries, and when I felt strong enough to move past survival mode, I started digging into my “why.” I’ve learned the importance of prioritizing yourself, although I haven’t mastered the practice yet.
It’s not all perfect, that’s for sure. There are broken relationships and people I’ve hurt along the way. I work on forgiving myself for that, and even that’s keeping me up less. I wasn’t meant to be on this earth to be perfect, I was pointed to feel the mistakes that led me here, and maybe help someone along the way.
All of this has led me here: exactly in the throws of the words I wanted to avoid a little over a decade ago. I no longer desire to run away in a tiny home- although I could see a summer of travel in one- now, I want a lot of land and a kitchen big enough for our families to gather. A place where I can cook big meals and listen to the chatter muffled by the hurried footsteps of little ones using their imagination.
For the first time in my 33 years, I know I can have that, too. While traveling that road to healing, I learned that most of my problems were because I didn’t value myself or believe that I deserved “love.” I’ve discovered that I do, and it starts with loving myself. From there, the rest falls into place. It doesn’t mean it’s easy or without its trials- it just means I know I can handle it.
“I love your smile, Aunt Leanne.” Carter whispers as we say “goodnight.” I tell him I love his smile too and that he should never change. After he left the following day, I started writing down some new adventures. I smile as I remember that the other part of my dream at 18 was to be a known writer, and this new road will be the one that gets me there.