Walking Away

Life is a funny thing. You never really know what someone else is going through. Everything can look perfect from the outside and be anything but behind closed doors. A few years ago, that was me.

People thought I had it all. Some admired me. Some were jealous, both openly and not so openly. To the casual observer, my life was perfect. I was beautiful and thin with the perfect career as a lawyer at a prestigious firm, the perfect husband and 3 gorgeous boys, all packed inside a cute little house.

I had everything anybody could have dreamed of. I had the nice things, the brand names, the expensive vacations. I had everything I had once dreamed of. It sucked. I was miserable. I quelled that feeling of deep dissatisfaction for a while by telling myself that what I was feeling wasn't unhappiness, it was just what being an adult was supposed to be like. Life as a grownup, I reminded myself over and over, had nothing to do with passion, excitement or fun; it was serious, hard work. It was time for me to put childish things away.

But somehow I couldn't. As time went on, it got harder and harder to keep the pretence up. By the time late 2013 rolled around, I found myself increasingly unable to cope with my simple day to day routine. I couldn't sleep, at least not at night, but if given the opportunity I could day-sleep like a champ -eeeen (it's how my mother used to pronounce it, it seemed to fit here)! I found myself dreading even the most mundane interactions with people. I was insanely irritable, feeling white-hot rage rise within in at the slightest irritation.

I developed strange new fears too. Weird, I know, but it's true. The first, and biggest one was bridges. Yeah, bridges, as in driving over them. Not small ones, big ones. Even those that I had crossed a million times suddenly filled me with an anxiety-filled dread I couldn't explain. Every road trip I took became a chore with me having to plot out the possible bridges I might encounter, and if there were ways to avoid them.

I felt like I was slowly being suffocated by my own life - the life I had created and worked hard for. I was overwhelmed by a strange desire, almost a need, to run away, to split. So I did.

First I left my husband. I left, filed for divorce and let him keep the house and anything else he wanted. I took the clothes on my back, my personal belongings and, of course, my children (who were adults by this time). I didn't care about the property or money, I just wanted out.

He pursued me relentlessly. He stalked me, harassed me, threatened and blackmailed me. Wherever I was, he was there. He blew up my phone. Every number I blocked was met by a new series of numbers. Every social media profile I blocked was met with yet another fake one.

Then, I left law. I walked away from the career I had dreamed about and worked so hard to attain. It wasn't what I wanted to do. Mind you, I don't regret my time as a lawyer. It's better to try something and then rule it out than to regret never knowing.

I went into hiding. Serious hiding. Aside from my closest family and my then-boyfriend (now husband), I was incognito. I disappeared into thin air - POOF, just like that! We (my boyfriend and I) moved halfway across the country without anyone really noticing.

We hit a wall in Montreal. We had gone through most of my savings. My boyfriend couldn't speak French and I was struggling with PTSD and anxiety. We hopped the border to southern Ontario and started over.

For the first few weeks, things were tough. The rental market was insanely tight and we ended up staying in a motel for a short period of time. I can't even express how utterly demoralizing that was. Yes, we had a roof over our head, of sorts, but all the sights, the sounds and the fact that your bed is your sleeping area, your dining table, your seating area and everything else in between were a constant reminder that we had no place to call home.

I remember crying in the bathroom, hiding my tears from my partner, terrified this was now my life. I had traded one hell for another. I was tired, terrified and completely out of hope. I had no fight left in me. I felt like a teddy bear that had its stuffing ripped out of it, flat, deflated and empty.

After I dried my tears, somehow, I found the strength to get on with it. I found an apartment for us and we began to rebuild our lives. It wasn't a great place, but it was clean, it was ours and it was a good enough place to rebuild.

I began to write. I began to feel strong enough to get out and meet people and to do some community advancement type work. I began to come out of hiding.

After a couple years, feeling stronger than I had in ages, we moved again. This time, from a place of strength. We weren't running from anything. I wasn't running from anything. Instead, I was running toward something, my future.

In all of this, I found myself. I found my strength amid the turmoil, amid the near homelessness and near hopelessness. I found I could make a lot happen with very few resources. I found my creativity again. And I found someone that needed healing and worth the effort to find it. In walking away from my life, I finally found myself.