Here’s a happy life update: I’m moving to Las Vegas. My last day in New Jersey will be July 12th.

Jersey was never my dream. In fact, living in this state is one of the many things I can attribute to privileging the needs of others over my own. Throughout college, I dated a man originally from India who was working on his PhD. After five years together, we got married – but for different reasons. At the time, I had wanted to start a life with someone, and felt marriage was a requirement as part of that. My husband never wanted to marry, but his job search would go more smoothly with a spousal visa. In fact, he was offered a position with Montclair State, contingent on the university not having to fund a work visa.

We were not aligned, and still I went ahead with a paltry ceremony at the officiant’s home. We moved from Philadelphia to New Jersey. While I welcomed a change of pace (we lived in a very rundown part of the city), residing in the New Jersey suburbs without a car was difficult. Finding employment wasn’t easy, either. Degree and all, I was working as an apprentice dog trainer at a retail pet store. Whether it was ninety degrees or freezing cold, I’d walk two miles to my place of employment, and then at 10pm, walk two miles home.

I wasn’t happy. I was young and didn’t know how to work through the feelings I had about my post-college life. While my husband was able to turn his intentions into reality after our time at Temple, he wasn’t especially sympathetic to how our circumstances left little space for me to self-actualize. But I also had no clue what I wanted, outside of a stable relationship.

We didn’t last. And I was stuck in New Jersey. I didn’t help myself when I entered a relationship with Scott, the abusive sex addict I lived with for over three years. (Because while I had no clue what I wanted, the one goal I had in my life was a stable relationship – something to fill the hole left by my estranged family.) Meanwhile, my ex-husband has since moved to New York. No ill will towards him, but it’s funny that he got to end up in a city, and I got stuck in this state.

Life has since been a lot of ups and downs. New Jersey hasn’t been all that kind to me; anyone that reads my blog understands what I mean. It hasn’t all been for nothing, though. While I’m never going to be that person who offers platitudes such as, “everything happens for a reason,” my experiences have proven my resilience. I’m alive, and I’m here, and I like the person I am for the first time in my life because holy fuck, I’m really fucking strong.

I used to feel that being a survivor was a negative. What’s the point of trying to exist in this often shitty world with a massive amount of baggage playing interference? After I left Scott, my life didn’t stop being a rollercoaster, offering proof that it wasn’t enough to simply leave an abuser. That didn’t fix my life. And some of the relationships I formed since, however brief, hurt me more in some ways than he ever did: I couldn’t understand why people would play me, or be unkind, when I was so upfront about my past with abuse and bulimia and overcoming living out of my car and so many other crazy things. All of this after enduring a childhood with a schizophrenic and seriously abusive father. I disclosed this information (perhaps too) freely – why add to my pain?

More than ever, I understand that I’m overly sympathetic to people, especially men, who share the same experiences that I do. They’ve been abused as children, dated cheaters, deal with abandonment issues, externalize their fears of not being good enough in destructive ways. The people I’ve dated that I care about most (because I am crazy enough to still want the best for them) and will always remember are also the ones who hurt me in extremely callous ways (see: Javier), largely because they have something in common with me that most people don’t: they know what it is to feel broken. Unfortunately, they took that out on me.

Javier would often tell me he’s “just this way.” My former rock climbing friend that I genuinely loved echoed similar sentiments. Both broke my heart. There was a time when I thought that of myself, that I am this way and people can take it or leave it – but if I had kept that mindset, I’d still be puking in toilets.

It’s funny that seeking a stable relationship was always the first item on my life checklist, but that it’s going to be the last thing I figure out. Everything else in my life has come together beautifully. I’m no longer a retail dog trainer and am relocating because my well known employer asked me to take a huge opportunity in Las Vegas. My struggle with depression and bulimia is finally coming to a close, it feels like. And I know myself. I know what I like and what I want. I am not the person I was when I was with Scott, living my life around his needs. I’m not the girl who broke down in public at the rock gym when thinking about how my climbing friend would never love me, how I had no idea who I was outside of my pursuit of someone that cared about me as much I cared for them.

I’m the woman who survived. The person that will not allow pain to be a reason to hurt others. I’ve had my ups and downs, and dealt with experiences that would tank anyone. But I made it through it all. It’s a testament to my intelligence, my will, and my innate resilience.

This is the right time for me to move in so many ways. I can start fresh while mentally positioned to make the most of it. For the first time in my life, I will be moving as part of advancing within my career. Not because of a man. I’m successful. Despite everything I’ve gone through, all those times I thought I would not get back up again – I’ve won.

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