i've still got sand in my shoes.

I feel like I had so much to say, so much to share and talk, talk talk. I sat down to write this blog post after putting it off all day, and I'm lacking a little bit on the words.

I came home from New York City over a week ago. It was hard, but not harder than anticipated. A few months ago, I seriously contemplated packing up the essentials and crashing on my friends couch to escape my life, for even a few days; dreaming of pretending to come home and really just floating from park bench to park bench in the city. Reinvent myself to be someone better than the person I am here. And it wasn't the money that held me back from going - it was the knowing that at some point, I would have to come home. That I would have to return to this life. You can run for a while, but sooner or later, your silhouette comes knocking at your door and you've got to slip back in. I remember how crushed I felt leaving the city in February, so I knew that would have been ten times amplified if I had just ran away from my life here.

And yet, although my reasons for going were purely for a break, to breathe again, I knew, somehow, that I would be okay when I came home. That I could come home and not fall apart. Could come home and hold onto what I New York and J gave me during my brief stay there. That's the thing about New York - no matter how many times you go, no matter how many places you visit and revisit, there is always something to give. And with that, comes sacrifice - all the pieces of myself I had to sacrifice in order to get from New York what it had to offer me. I feel lighter. I feel...happier?

I feel optimistic about my life - and I say that very cautiously, because I know where that has gotten me in the past. I'm so quick to make these decisions to really put an effort into working on things in my life which automatically makes me think I can do it on my own. In the car today I thought of all the things that were waiting for me in my life, both short term and long term; the goals I have for myself. And how I have to be healthy and keep my life in order to achieve them - as if that is enough. As if wanting something is enough. I sat there thinking, "Well, since I'm putting in an effort I'm going to quit therapy and do this all on my own." And it's bull shit. I know I need to still go to therapy, even though a part of me feels like a failure for needing too - failure for...needing help?

I need to work on this. I feel like who I was in my last session compared to now is huge. I feel I need to shift my goals and focus with my therapist because of the tremendous change I feel I have gone through. This...this is a more realistic and wise decision than quitting cold turkey and throwing myself into the world on my own. I've done that before. Look where I ended up?

Today is my first day truly home. Following New York, I instantly jetted off to the cottage and had another week away. It feels good to be home. It feels good to be in my own space, my own room, my own bed.

I miss New York. I miss J. I miss all of it. But not in the soul crushing, heart wrenching, gut aching way I'm used too.  It's different...