With just over $500 left in my account, and 30% of my retirement account withdrawn, a carry-on, a book bag and the blessing of a job that would allow me to work remotely, as I figured life out, I boarded a one-way flight to Costa Rica.
Four months prior to boarding that flight, I had experienced a tragedy that made me feel very unsafe in my home. I’d become a homeowner early 2019, and already, not even a full 2 years later, I was faced with the decision of whether to rent it out or sell. Because of how fearful the situation was, I decided I wanted no ties to the neighborhood and made the decision to sell.
No one talks about the journey to feeling safe again after you’ve experienced something traumatic. We’re told to seek therapy, and life just keeps going. We still have to show up for work to pay the bills. We still have to show up for our clients if they’re the ones keeping the bills paid. We still have to show up for family, because who will if we won’t. And we just keep on moving. And we look up one day over a year later and realize, we never actually regained a feeling of safety. So we’re moving through life stiff, and jumpy and not our fullest selves.
I just knew that if I kept it moving, I’d eventually be stuck. Stuck in the fear. Stuck in the facade that I was okay.
The truth was, I was not okay. I wanted more. I had so many ideas I was not living because of fear, and after that incident, I decided I was not going to let it cripple me.
Women deserve to feel safe. But the reality is, many of us do not. Many of us do not feel safe emotionally because of relationships we feel inclined to choose and remain in. We do not feel safe physically because of environments we feel forced to endure in. We do not feel spiritually safe because of manipulative doctrine deceptively fixed into the foundations of our faith and belief systems. We do not feel safe mentally because of the oppression shaped by those in authority. We do not feel safe financially because of systemic abuse. And the list goes on.
I was awakened to this reality during that season of forced silence, where I had no one but my thoughts and Jesus as my lifeline.
I recognized, I could either sit in the revelation and remain helpless, or I could do something about it.
Being the rebel that I am, I took a brave leap, and I left.
I left everything behind, and boarded a plane with just a few of my belongings and an idea.
I figured, if I could just get there, if I could just get to warmth and safety, I’d be clear enough to pave the way for this new life I had envisioned.
And that, my friends, is how the journey to “Go Be Her,” started.
The truth is, I am an author. I’ve always known this about myself. But I’ve always allowed other priorities to cast a shadow on this part of my identity.
In faith, I enrolled in a 21-Day author boot camp. And at the end of that 21 days, I had not one, but TWO manuscripts written.
I packed a bottle of bubbles and a single champagne glass, that I found at a local market. I found my way to the beach, burrowed my feet into the sand and watched the most beautiful sunset I had ever seen.
Though nothing had yet taken off, I felt like finally, I had arrived. Finally, I was the traveling author of my dreams. No book published yet, but evidence of what was possible.
The journey back to safety within had begun. Truth is, I had left that safety behind very early in life, but I was committed to finding it again.
Stay tuned for Part II…
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