Sometimes you don’t leave because you want to.
You leave because staying is slowly breaking you.
After my last retreat, I thought I’d be leaving with a ready camper, some financial stability, and a clear plan.
Everything seemed prepared. Everything under control.
But it didn’t go that way.
What started as disagreements over space and belongings ended in something deeper:
I lost my home.
And not long after, the right to use the camper was taken from me — not out of need, but out of spite.
A conscious attempt to hurt me, to take what was left.
But it didn’t touch me.
Not like before.
Because I had already found something far more valuable:
myself.
I listened.
To the doctor, who said, “It’s time to rest.”
To the psychologist, who asked me to trust.
Even to the judge, who issued a restraining order — unfair, I thought at first,
but now I understand the intent: to create peace. Distance. Space.
And for that too, I feel gratitude.
Years ago, at the very place I’m returning to now,
someone made me feel a kind of happiness I had never known.
So real, so intense — I almost couldn’t hold it.
It didn’t last.
It turned into confusion, into intensity, into sharp words —
words I rejected back then.
But now, years later, I can see:
every word he said was true.
Every one.
I know where that clarity came from now.
And I know I’ll never be able to thank him fully —
but I try. In how I live, how I speak, and how I protect myself now.
I’m also thankful for myself.
For finally being able to receive help.
From my sister. From her partner.
They welcomed me when I had nowhere to go.
They helped turn a van into a space I could breathe in.
Not a home — but a beginning.
Because of them, I can leave.
Not in luxury, but in truth.
I don’t know what’s ahead. And that’s okay.
I’m not leaving to run away.
I’m not leaving to find someone.
I’m not leaving to prove anything.
I’m leaving because staying would have kept me trapped in a game that’s no longer mine.
This time, I chose.
And I chose me.
Whatever comes my way will meet me as I am.
No expectations.
No fight.
No illusions.
Just my head held high.
And my heart open.
Psychological Reflection:
• Living grief
Losing a home, a relationship, or a sense of security can create a form of grief that’s invisible yet very real. It lacks rituals, but not depth.
• Emotional manipulation and protective detachment
When someone uses power to cause pain, detachment may arise as a defense. It’s not coldness — it’s clarity.
• Setting boundaries as self-care
Legal measures, even if painful, can mark a turning point in reclaiming space. Boundaries allow you to reconnect with your own rhythm and needs.
• Accepting help
Allowing support, especially from loved ones, is a sign of healing. It breaks the old belief that asking for help equals failure.
• Self-determination and aligned action
Choosing your path — not out of reaction, but conviction — is a return to your own center. It’s quiet strength, not loud rebellion.
Spiritual Reflection:
• In Buddhism
Letting go of expectations and possessions softens suffering. Peace isn’t about fixing, but about flowing.
• In Christianity
Forgiveness isn’t always understanding. It’s trusting that release is more important than justice.
• In Sufism
Loss can become initiation. What disappears often reveals what is essential.
• In Taoism
To leave is not to run. It’s to align. Harmony lies in simplicity — in letting things be what they are.
“Peace comes not when all is fixed, but when you stop fixing what was never yours to hold.”