You ruined our lives, get out!» my whole family said. So, I just left. A month later, I received 50+ missed calls. Now they know…

What foods did I enjoy when not cooking to please others? What music did I prefer when not worried about being judged for my taste? What hobbies had I always wanted to try, but didn’t because they wouldn’t earn family approval? Dr. Miles and I continued our therapy sessions via video call, now focusing on what she called rediscovering your authentic self. Think of it as an expedition, she suggested. You’re exploring.

The landscape of your own preferences and desires. There are no wrong answers, just discoveries. So I began experimenting.

I tried new foods, discovering a love for spicy Thai cuisine that my family would have found too exotic. I downloaded music my brother would have mocked as pretentious, finding comfort in classical piano and joy in indie folk. I signed up for a pottery class, something my father once dismissed as playing with mud.

The first time I created a lopsided, imperfect bowl in that class, I felt a surge of pride so pure it brought tears to my eyes. Not because the bowl was impressive, it certainly wasn’t, but because I’d made it solely for myself, without fear of criticism. My neighbor in the apartment building, an older woman named Diana Rodriguez, noticed me carrying my pottery attempts up the stairs one evening and asked about them.

When I explained my new hobby, she invited me in for tea and showed me her own artistic pursuits, intricate embroidery that she’d been creating for decades. Art saves us, she told me, her hands gently tracing a pattern of birds in flight. It gives us somewhere to put the feelings that have no words.

Diana became another unexpected connection, dropping by with homemade empanadas and stories about her life as a teacher before retirement. She never asked prying questions about my family or why I’d moved to Seattle alone, seeming to intuitively understand my need for space around certain topics. But not all moments in this new life were positive.

Guilt and doubt would ambush me at unexpected times. I’d see a mother and daughter shopping together and feel a stab of loss. Father’s Day advertisements would trigger memories of trying so hard to find the perfect gift, only to have my selection criticized as impractical or not really my thing.

The nightmares were the worst. I’d dream of being back in that living room, surrounded by accusing faces, but in the dreams I couldn’t move or speak to defend myself. I’d wake gasping, my sheets tangled and damp with sweat.

During one particularly difficult week, three months after my move, I almost broke my resolution. I’d received a performance review at work that mentioned areas for improvement. Nothing severe or unexpected, but it triggered all my old insecurities.

That night, I found myself looking up flights to Portland, my finger hovering over the purchase button. What stopped me was a text from Sophia. Poetry Slam at Cafe Racer tonight.

You in? No pressure, but it might be fun. Such a small thing, this casual invitation. But it reminded me that I was building connections here, that going backward would mean sacrificing the fragile new life I was cultivating.

I declined the flights and went to the Poetry Slam instead, where I sat in the B, back, nursing a single beer and listening to people pour their hearts out on stage. One woman performed a piece about leaving an abusive relationship that resonated so deeply I had to step outside afterward to compose myself. She followed me out.

First time here? She asked, offering a cigarette, which I declined. Is it that obvious? She smiled. I saw your face during my poem.

Hit close to home? Something like that, I admitted. I’m Jessica, Melissa. We ended up talking until the venue closed, sharing experiences of extracting ourselves from situations where we were undervalued and blamed.

Though Jessica’s story involved a romantic partner rather than family, the dynamics were strikingly similar. The hardest part, she told me, is stopping yourself from going back. There’s this pull, like gravity, trying to drag you back into their orbit.

I nodded, understanding exactly what she meant. Does it ever get easier? Every day, she said. Each morning you wake up and choose yourself as a victory.

Eventually, those victories stack up until they outweigh the pull. As spring turned to summer, those victories indeed began to accumulate. I started joining Sophia’s friend group for hikes in the surrounding mountains.

I took weekend road trips to explore the Washington coast. I volunteered at a local animal shelter, finding comfort in the unconditional affection of the dogs and cats awaiting adoption. The formal opening of our Seattle office marked another milestone…