The idea of moving out rattled my bones.
The thought of packing all of my livelihood in a box
And drifting away from a normal routine.
It was a change, and changes made my stomach twist.
Embracing the different never interested me,
Because after all, what if you despise the result of your bravery?
You can try to reassure yourself by claiming, “Now you know you don’t like it.”
We all know overthinking drowns out our kindness.
What I breathe in is my comfort in my day-to-day life.
Adding in an unfamiliar scent or spice sends me out of my orbit.
As a creature of habit,
The unknown is suffocatingly terrifying.
This space I’ve inhabited for over two decades works for me.
My room is a safe harbor filled with oceans of books and my creations.
Pushing and pulling the organized chaos apart only floods the docking station.
There’s warmth in waking up and stepping out to see the familiar:
Your parents, your pets, and the safe course of action.
My schedule for years contained waking up and checking in with my mom
To see what her plans were for the day.
I ended each night locking the doors and wishing her goodnight.
The consistent security of my mother and sister being safe and sound soothed me.
Ever since the divorce, I assumed the honorary position of man of the house.
I was content with caring for my family,
For I could promise that change would not end with new trauma in our bloodlines.
Then change led me on a pipe dream of a happy life and starting my own family.
For nearly a decade I woke up beside something different each morning:
Am I being loved correctly today, or will we try again tomorrow?
A constant cycle of decisions of putting his wife beneath stone
Because someone couldn’t become the man they vowed to be.
Change only led me down the aisle to be abandoned months later because they lost control.
A drinking problem, emotional unavailability to love,
And a desperate cesspool of leftovers screwed his mind.
New beginnings have only left me on the last chapter of this tragedy.
Ashing away old routines left me scarred past my skin.
Life soaked sorrow into my bones.
How can I accept any other form of unknown if the known and beloved broke my heart mercilessly?
Nights in my safe room grew glacial, creating an avalanche of emotion throughout the space.
Despair lined the sheets we once laid on, and grief coated the floors.
Embarrassment dripped spiked icicles from the ceiling, deepening wounds that refused to heal.
Time alone was my only form of preservation of my soul.
Taking the reins of my horse once more—change couldn’t hurt me again.
The path behind us cannot repeat itself unless we allow it to cycle through.
Fear of what cannot be controlled only holds the beauty and happiness that we deny ourselves of.
Three weeks ago I moved in with the love of my life, and I changed my mind.
Change led me to the love and safety I deserved all along, because there’s no fear crafted in the right one’s arms.
Elyssa Latham (she/her) is a woman of words, and reader. Elyssa’s works express strong emotions that people go through and get the reader to feel those emotions alongside her. She wants readers to take away that it is okay to allow yourself to feel and that you can craft art out of pain.
Featured image by Rebecca Peterson Hall on Unsplash.
