Homeless, 20, and Still Determined
I remember the air being thick and still. I remember thinking, I can’t call home. I can’t go back.
I remember my first week in Atlanta like it just happened.
I had packed up everything I owned, thinking I was finally starting over. I had left an abusive relationship behind and told myself Atlanta would be the place I could feel safe and relax.
I was staying with my aunt, grateful be to hundreds of miles away. Then, my first Saturday in Atl, my cousin’s cousin said he was going to show me around Atlanta. So I gave him my aunts address and waited for him to pick me up.
When he knocked on the door my aunt started yelling and telling me to get out because I gave out her address. I was in shock because to me he wasn’t a stranger. We’ve known his family since I was a baby. But she didn’t see it that way.
So there I was, twenty years old, across the country from my immediate family, standing on a porch being told not to come back.
I remember the air being thick and still. I remember thinking, I can’t call home. I can’t go back.
My cousin’s cousin said we could just go back to his place for while and maybe it would all blow over. That night his cousin, someone I didn’t know came over to meet me and said if I couldn’t go back to my aunts, I could stay with him for a while.
Around 11pm they drove me to my aunts to see if she had cooled off, but nope. She had all of my stuff packed inside of my car.
I stood in the driveway in shock. Homeless. Embarrassed. No mortified that this was happening to my by mothers sister.
Eventually I snapped out of my fog and hopped in my car to them. And that night I moved in with a complete stranger.
It wasn’t perfect. He had a girlfriend. The energy was confusing, but at least I had a couch to sleep on.
And on Monday I started my new job. I was in Atlanta, the big city, and that meant something to me. It meant I had made it out.
I started making friends, going out, feeling like maybe I was building a life. That lasted about 90 days and things started falling apart again.
Of course that living situation didn’t last.
My family begged me to go back to my aunt’s house. And I did.
The very first night back went down to the kitchen for a late night snack and there was a note taped to the fridge door.
It was a list of everything she expected from me (couldn’t watch tv, had to read 1 book a week…). She hadn’t said any of it before I moved in. I could feel my chest tighten reading it. It felt unreasonable and controlling.
So I made a decision. I packed up my things again and went back to my hometown, yep, the same one I had escaped from, knowing the man who hurt me would still be there.
And still, I went.
I went because I had a plan.
I told myself, I’ll stay one year. I’ll save money. I’ll come back to Atlanta on my own.
And that’s exactly what I did. And I’m still here today.
Looking back, I’m amazed by that 20 year-old version of me.
She was tired. She was scared. And she kept moving.
She didn’t crumble. She recalibrated.
When things feel hard now, I think about her.
I tell myself “if she made it through that, I can handle what’s in front of me”.
I’m so proud of her.
Sometimes it’s nice to look back and find the growth and strength.
I always say, if you’re going to look back at your younger self,
look at her with understanding and compassion.
Our past selves were doing the best they could with what they knew.
Reflection:
If this sparked remembrance in you, pause for a moment.
Take a breath. Place a hand over your heart and whisper thank you to the girl inside you who hit hard times and kept going anyway.
She deserves to hear from you.
Much love,
Essence
P.S.
There’s a version of you who knows her story matters.
If you’re tired of sitting on your medicine…
tired of hoarding your breakthroughs… tired of almost sharing.
Let’s unlock your voice together.
You can book a call with me.