It’s been ten years this month since that scared, uncertain girl in that photo packed whatever could fit into her tiny two-door coupe and moved to Texas.
At the time I thought I was leaving a broken relationship with a boy, but unknowingly I was moving toward a better one with myself.
For the first time since I was sixteen, I was single. I secured a random MALE roommate off Craigslist (we’re leaving that part out when I tell this story to my daughter). But instead of being the Craigslist Killer, he turned into my best friend. The breath of fresh air I needed to begin again.
I spent the next year drinking Bloody Mary’s on my brownstone porch, free and alive. I met the most magical group of friends, the kind who don’t care about anything except your core. And I also made one crucial choice:
I did the work on myself—and reaped the reward of a really wonderful life.
Eventually, I’d meet and marry my husband, but that’s not the happy ending here. The love story starts with a girl saying, “This doesn’t work for me anymore. I’m going to find what does.”
Forever I will be able to say, I am my own white knight. I facilitated my own rescue.
No one saved me except myself.
Move. Move your body, move your mind. End relationships. Start new ones. Live.
And remember, we’re not running away from something—we’re moving toward a brand new, big, unimaginably beautiful life.
To More Love,
Stephanie
