Another year-later reflection post. This post is a year out from when I first decided I needed to be an active player in my own life; it's about ¯\(ツ)/¯ why and how I became the person I am now ¯\(ツ)/¯: an ever-growing woman who moves with love.
We'll start with the catalyst: the break up.
At the beginning of the break up, I'd wept every night and was unable to sleep more than 2 hours for days.
We cohabitated past our expiration date to give me some time to find a new place--the loving gesture tinged with despondency, we mourned in real time, processing our feelings as we started the slow segue out of each other's lives.
Waves of grief would wash over me every time I would wake up to moonlight. Unable to fall back asleep, I'd often lie awake thinking about how we were sharing space: me lying in the bed we shared for years while he slept just a closed door away, on our living room couch. We were physically just a few feet apart, but emotionally miles and miles away from each other. I'd eventually start getting ready for the day; see the past 4 years of love as I set my toothbrush back down next to his, as I stretched on the yoga mat he bought me.
I'd cry remembering how we had once excitedly furnished this house, decorated it; how we used to play, debate, talk politics, laugh, eat meals, brainstorm, and create art in it; how it turned into just shelter for two bodies.
Even though it was mutual, our break up devastated me--I didn't just lose my best friend and romantic partner, I lost a future I never anticipated losing. He and I had long been past the stage where invites to major social events, like weddings or work events, affixed us together. We were each other's emergency contacts. We had discussed and even had savings accounts dedicated to our portions of budgeting for a wedding, a dog, and kids. When we broke up, that future disappeared and I had to fully rechart course.
As weeks went by and I narrowed down options for apartments and packed up more and more of my belongings, I went from shedding a constant flow of tears to shedding them sparsely, on occasion. By the time I moved out, we were both fully ready.
There were little things that took time for me to adjust to though. Coming home to silence was like listening to a foreign language--it was strange to open my front door and not hear the clacking of a keyboard, his exhales while making art on his iPad. I had to recondition my thumbs, after what had become a reflex, to not open my Messages app, type his name, and excitedly write in all caps whatever cool news I had to share from the day. I felt the empty space at my side during social gatherings and work events. And I readjusted to the too familiar feeling of fear as a small woman walking back to her car alone at night.
However, the biggest adjustments and struggles came from the fact that I had three major life events happening all at once: a break up, new living situation, and new job. In order to live comfortably alone, I decided to accept a new job opportunity that came with a major title and pay bump. I struggled with this tumultuous transition period; the job quickly revealed itself to be an unsustainable one.
During my first weeks on the job, I'd finish the workday anywhere between 6 PM-1 AM regularly and, as a result, my quality of life diminished: I ate poorly because I didn't have time to cook or sit down at a restaurant, wasn't able to exercise at all, and was no longer present for conversations with friends because I was so busy working nearly every single minute of the day I wasn't sleeping or showering. I'd go from grappling with learning new softwares/adapting to the new work environment only to come home and grapple with unpacking, updating addresses and other logistics, and assembling furniture for the few minutes I had before I had to shower and get ready for bed.
The life I'd lived while in a relationship with him was stable, relaxed; my new life was characterized by exhaustion that felt all too familiar (more on that in a bit). Working constantly, I no longer had the time or energy to do anything. I felt so desperate to give myself the crumbs of happiness that were fulfilling basic human needs that I didn't even realize everything else I was missing... until I set a boundary and took a sick day to take care of my mental health.
I went to my favorite hiking trail back in LA, back to what immediately felt like home as soon as I got off the 405, back to my sacred spot of stillness amid the beautiful clamor of the city. On that hike, I completely broke down.
Feeling the sunshine, using my muscles again, being in nature--I was able to think not just about the crumbs of happiness I was starving for, but the meal too. I reflected on the things and activities that made me happy, processed that my current life was entirely void of it all. I had lost everything that made my life magic, everything I didn't realize I'd taken for granted. I had lost cooking intricate meals, hanging out with friends, trying new restaurants, my 10-minute walk to the beach after work to watch the sunset, hiking, writing at coffee shops, and checking out live performances.
I also reflected on how I only moved back to the valley because I didn't have the option to work from home; on how, though the valley was and always will be home as the place I grew up, moving back made me feel, at the risk of sounding dramatic, though I say this with no exaggeration, like my lifeforce was being sucked out of me.
Doing interviews with artists/bands/producers/DJs regularly, going to concerts or shows every few weeks, and connecting with animators/filmmakers/other artists for years--the creative in me was always stimulated; moving back to the valley, the constant hum and buzz of creative energy I loved and had acclimated to in living in West LA was replaced by the sound of children giggling and screaming as they rode down the blacktop in their Little Tike plastic cars, a bone-chilling (for this stage in my life) suburban quiet that befell the neighborhood after 7 PM, and an absence of anyone my age on my street. I felt no inspiration. And I was burnt out. I felt like my soul was dying and I wasn't able to care for myself as a vessel.
I let these thoughts and feelings percolate the entire duration of my hike; towards the end, I was horrified by what I'd finally been able to process: I wasn't just coping with a rough transition period... this was my life. My workplace shot down my suggestions for change, it was traditional, and their internal processes were so fixed. My lease was signed. There was no amending or backing out.
I talked to my closest friends about what I was going through and, over the next couple of days, the tears stopped. Rage supplanted the melancholy--I felt disgusted, especially as an anti-capitalist, that I could let a job steal more than 8 hours in a day from me, that I could let a job use me as truly just a cog in a machine--and when that rage filled me, it changed me. I decided I was no longer going to be fucked over and that I would do everything to not just take my life back, but take my life forward.
And that's how this all started. That's how I became who I am right now: a woman who's clear about the goals she has and makes her wholeness a priority.
I spent ~a week after that hike and talk with friends jotting down (and revisiting/editing what I'd written) everything that was important to me in the big picture: what I felt deprived of and wanted back; then, more: what I felt insecure about in my abilities/self and ready to challenge, the impact I wanted to have on/messages I wanted to communicate to the world, what I wanted out of my life, and more. That last one confounded me: what do I want?--such a simple question, yet it proved damn near impossible for me to answer. For days, I wondered why.
I started writing about that, realized: I'd never actually lived my life the way I ever wanted to--I didn't know how.
I went from having no freedom, finances, or safe space to explore my identity without repercussions in my youth to being an adult who was in a relationship and just grateful to not be in survival mode.
Growing up poor with my emotionally and financially abusive mom didn't make for a childhood where my needs were provided for, desires were heard, or passions were allowed to thrive. My mom constantly berated me--I was taught at a young age that my mind, body, and existence were pathetic, insignificant, disgusting, regrettable, worthless. She all but forced me to start working as a teenager to help her pay for the mortgage. I took on the role of a parent as I tried to teach her to regulate her emotions; still, would bear the brunt of her mood swings. And there was never any money for me to take classes, explore extracurriculars, go on trips that my classmates or friends went on; anything I expressed an interest in, she turned her nose up at or belittled. I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety at the age of 14 (and OCD later on).
I knew that short-term happiness was legitimately impossible as long as I had to be around her, but I knew happiness was in the cards for me in the future if I could survive. I'd made weak suicide attempts, but deep down, I always wanted to live. With the help of therapy, I found a reserve in myself; I chose to live. I supported my mom with finances and maintained my good grades to keep my scholarships, but I pushed myself more because I had a plan. I worked myself to the bone--took on internships, accepted freelance opportunities, and had 2x jobs at a time from high school through college; those jobs weren't just to pay my mom's bills--they served a dual purpose: I was building my launchpad with a beefed up resume and making connections to position myself perfectly for finding a stable job, for finally moving out of the hell I called home. My entire youth, I'd spent hustling towards a bigger goal: escape. My entire youth, I'd never known rest, never knew what it was like to be still and at ease. I was emotionally mature, but so damaged; my existence was one of trauma. And then I'd met him.
Our relationship was so formative and pivotal. He showed me what softness looked like. I had no idea that I was even capable of experiencing, receiving gentleness in a home; I struggled to accept it. The safe space he provided helped me understand what everyone praised as drive, motivation, and a great work ethic as a trauma response. My tendency to gear towards hyperindependence and push myself beyond humane limits were elements of what I'd later be diagnosed with in therapy when I decided to start going again: PTSD. With him, I started letting go of the survival skills I needed in my youth; started releasing the thinking that asking for help as burdensome and weak; accepted generous love from him. However, I leaned so much into the security our relationship provided, the first time I'd ever known pause, that I grew complacent, listless.
I went from living in one extreme to the other--the living situation with my mom was an abusive tornado; the one with him was paralyzingly safe, understanding. Though the two couldn't have been more different on the surface, living with my mom and him were actually just different sides of the same coin: one in a state of trauma and the other, a direct response to that trauma; I'd never lived in a state of homeostasis. I finally realized what the universe was trying to tell me: breaking up, residing where I didn't want to, and working my terrible new job were just a commix of events meant to compel me to look inwards and find a new strength, to find a balance between being entirely independent/aggressive about hitting my goals and being apathetic, to finally heal my inner child.
Understanding this and my past, I was finally able to start answering that question I'd felt was damn near impossible to answer, the one from after my revelatory hike, the one I'd never really heard growing up, the one I always wanted to be asked: what do you want?
For the first time in my life, I felt I could actually give myself self-love. I was equipped with the knowledge of how to be soft, gentle, slow with myself; with the finances to provide for myself. I had what I needed to attend to my inner child.
I wrote down what I wanted for my life: what I wanted in a family, in a partner, in my creative pursuits, and so much more. Still a planner of a woman, I wrote down all the steps it'd take to get me there--just, this time, this plan was not made out of fear, it was made out of love for myself.
It's been a year since I finally answered that question and while I won't share everything I've accomplished/done since, I'll share a few things I've checked off my list. In 1 year, I've:
connected with my dad after having not spoken to him in 12+ years
rekindled friendships with best friends from kindergarten and high school alike
started hiking, fine dining, etc. etc. etc. alone
started exploring my sexuality
nurtured new (and what I feel are lifelong) friendships
started a new new job
moved back to LA
started dating again
took pole dancing classes
took jiu jitsu classes
took hip hop and contemporary dance classes
got tatted
started outlining the steps I need to take to turn 3 business ideas into something concrete
started writing and filming my documentary
started creating content (cringing just typing those words out) out of the meals I've been cooking
started working on more long-form essays and writing for myself again
started attending more political events
performed my spoken word (and had my first paid gig!)
started freelancing for a non-profit geared towards uplifting the Filipino community
negotiated my first partnership for an interview series
I still have quite a bit left on the list: taking photography, food science, screenwriting, business, fashion design, music production, woodworking, and sword classes; volunteering at a retirement home; racing a car and sitting (near, if not) courtside for a Lakers game; and more; but I'm taking a slow approach to checking off these boxes--combatting my proclivity to work aggressively towards my goals, to be so driven that I lose sight of opportunities and precious moments/people I didn't plan for.
And while the job I took right after the break up and apartment I rented proved to be erroneous for my life goals in the bigger picture, I'm forever grateful for the few months I spent at each. I was able to spend more time with my childhood friends than I had in years because everyone was just a 10 minute drive away. While I didn't feel ready for the domesticity of it all, being in a familiar neighborhood and knowing my neighbors in the valley was also lovely--I fell in love with going for runs at night around my block and looking up at the moon; found comfort in texting my neighbor to come over to take a spider out in exchange for a slice of a pumpkin loaf I'd just baked. This blip in time helped me learn what a new layer of self-love could feel like. I found an appreciation rather than disdain for driving the 405 (can you believe it? Wild, how missing and loving something (LA, in this case) can make you appreciate the hell it takes to get you there). I felt the universe conspiring to show me love in little ways: the new friend I'd made by chance, Kennedy, and how his couch was always a place for me when I was in LA late at night and didn't want to drive back to the valley; the poetry opportunities that opened up to me the more I attended open mics; etc.
I have battled depression, anxiety, PTSD, and OCD for more than half of my time on this planet. I have struggled with finding happiness and, more importantly, wholeness and fulfillment since my youth. The past decade of on-and-off therapy, shadow work, and committing myself to growth have made the person I’ve become in the past year the most whole me I've ever known. I feel strongly that my adolesence and young adult years were for learning what it takes to survive in an emotionally and financially abusive home, for growing while processing the residuals of leaving that home; this past year has been for me learning to thrive. And I have been.
I am so much braver, self-aware, and full of light than I ever have been; I have an awe for life; and I truly believe/now see I am in the driver’s seat and am capable of doing literally any and everything I want in this life--it's too short for me not to explore what it has to offer; to be kind to myself, my inner child, and the people around me.
I went from being a teenager who mentally jumped through hoops every single day to keep myself from killing myself to being a truly contented woman. That’s not to say life is perfect and I face no hurdles--it’s to say that I feel strong enough to handle anything that comes my way; this strength has been years in the making. I've grown a lot in just one year; I'm still on this journey to healing my inner child, but even so, I've come into a state of contentment that is so grounded and truly unwavering because it comes from a source, a root and not just from a branch.
I am so proud of myself and so grateful for everything that's/everyone who's helped me get to this point in my life.
The journey's still ongoing.
