Not a Victim. Not a Villain. Just Me
At 19, I escaped to Florida thinking distance would fix what was broken.
I smiled for pictures. Played the role. Built a life that looked amazing on the outside—but inside, I was numb.
Fake happy. Fake healed.
I kept running—Virginia, North Carolina—until eventually I circled back to New York.
And that’s when the real work began.
I didn’t just come home—I came back to myself.
Faced my fears. Sat with my PTSD. Forgave things that were never apologized for.
I used to think peace lived in a place. But groundedness?
That lives in me now.
It took 5 years to escape, and 5 more to return whole.
I still love nature. I still romanticize my quiet suburban mornings.
But healing?
Healing happened when I went to the root—I’m still becoming. Still softening. Still learning how to hold myself with love and that’s okay. Wholeness doesn’t mean perfection.










































































