I will let you in on something: about six years ago, I lost the home I’d lived in for about two years. I lost all of my antique furniture, my children’s belongings, and all hope of ever getting back to normal. What made it significantly worse was that this wasn’t the first time I’d found myself in a similar situation. My choices had led me down a path of destruction, and I desperately needed a change.
I reached out to some church members and told my pastor what I was going through. Luckily, I was able to crash in a house as long as I helped with the renovations, which I happily did. But the truly difficult part was separating myself from the toxic patterns and self-serving people I tended to attract.
The real hardest choice wasn’t the moving or the rebuilding. It was deciding, finally, that I wasn’t going back to the same people, the same habits, or the same version of myself that wrecked my life in the first place. It meant being uncomfortable, being alone sometimes, and facing the mess I made without numbing it.
That decision to walk away from what meant me harm is the reason I’m still standing. It didn’t fix everything overnight, but it became the first real step toward becoming someone I could trust again. Losing everything wasn’t the end of my story — it was the moment my story finally changed direction.
