How Sweet it is to Leave You

Written by Sydney Tate Bradford

Graphics by Jade

As I lay here fantasizing about what could’ve been, I am simultaneously romanticizing solitude. It is the first moment I’ve taken to myself after grooving on autopilot for months. It seems I find glimmers of serenity in my bedroom, but by noon the next day, I’ve forgotten how to prioritize that softened mental space. 

At first, I trusted myself overzealously and tiptoed a tightrope of toxicity for two and a half years (or maybe the rope snapped on my way in and I simply imagined the rest). By “at first,” I mean the start of my adult life. Leaving sixteen and entering the uncharted territory of a newfound sex drive, a thwarted idea of love, and a self-induced inability to pursue my dreams.

I had distance from my parents for the first time and enjoyed the mental freedom that followed suit. My high school sweetheart was beginning to heal some parental-related pain as well, so we related over shared traumas and idealizations of a future that was us against the world. Looking back nearly four years later, our codependency was crystal clear. But I was wearing the chicest rose-colored glasses, and no way was I going to take them off so soon. 

For someone with a seemingly strong sense of self, I managed to misplace my identity in an innocent attempt to provide a safe space for someone else. I was aloof to my plans for the future -- overtly hopeful, and depending on chance more than effort.

Honestly, I was afraid of what my life would look like if I genuinely took a chance on myself. Moving away seemed like too big of a commitment when I had a declaration of love right in front of me, and it felt silly to leave that feeling behind when it was so unfamiliar to begin with. Taking myself seriously when it came to intellect or creativity took effort that I didn’t understand at the time, and led me to a series of self-sabotage ensued first and foremost by my addiction to romantic connection. 

Codependency lets us gently know that it’s visiting, but I didn’t know quite yet how to trust my gut, let alone understand how to decipher an embedded pattern and attachment style that prioritized anything but myself.

After finishing my first year of college, I realized I was not happy. There were factors I’d contemplated repetitively - like if I was isolating myself from potential friendships or deciding too soon - but ultimately, I was not where I needed to be in any sense of the possibility. I had been working for sixteen days straight when I decided to move away. Less than a week from that initial decision, I left. 

There was no room to contemplate staying because I knew there was no purpose in dishonoring my needs. Despite not prioritizing myself in the past, listening to myself at that moment changed the trajectory of my healing, and brought a sense of harmony I hadn’t met more than once before. My partner and I separated during this time after a long cycle of codependency. Trust had been broken two months prior and we weren’t sure how to sustain something painful for us both. Our breakup didn’t sever the attachment entirely, either, but we ended up not texting as often and went for two weeks without contact. It was a small but mighty victory after existing so extremely enmeshed. 

I always felt comfortable with myself and cherished time alone, but I had forgotten how to appreciate that inner relationship alongside an emotionally intense experience. Leaving a city where I felt incapable of existing to the fullest extent and leaving my first serious romance were the two kindest decisions I could have made. Often, prioritizing our boundaries is perceived as selfish. If someone else could be disappointed because of our decisions, they’re initially interpreted as negative, even if it positively affects the self. This is not to encourage direct and intentional harm but is meant as a reminder that prioritizing your needs in interpersonal relationships is empowering. 

I noticed other people in town felt unhappy too. They’d say they hated every minute of their college experience up until the Spring semester of Senior year. It wasn’t everyone, just like each city and college isn’t for everyone. But this perspective stuck with me -- no one deserves to feel stuck or like they aren’t given room to operate at their absolute potential. I was motivated to leave for the sake of honoring myself and prioritizing happiness over temporary discomfort. 

We have the agency, at any moment, to adjust how we are moving throughout relationships, our career path, and so on. It’s understandable (and unfortunately, very relatable) that communicating our needs or establishing new boundaries can be difficult.  It’s easy to question our intuition when we’ve only been taught otherwise. However, choosing a path that is suitable to you is a sheer act of kindness.

Staying in a relationship that isn’t beneficial for you or your partner’s growth or preferring to avoid conflict to keep from hurting them is going to cause more pain in the long run for everyone. Listening to our intuition and practicing discernment is an admirable habit -- and agency and autonomy are truly remarkable superpowers. 

It’s been over a year since that move and I ended up moving again six months later. I’m increasingly proud of myself for making necessary change -- and I’ve found it easier to locate my inner voice in new situations or relationships. 

When I first moved away from my college town, an ideal life seemed so distant. Although I wasn’t surrounded by friends and didn’t have a set plan - I was living more honestly than I had before. I knew what I was seeking had a genuine purpose and that I could find fulfillment through that confidence. I decided to pursue solo hikes once every week and listened to the “Just Break Up” podcast along the way. Cleansing baths were a weekly occurrence, and I rewatched the entire series of Desperate Housewives before Summer was up. An ideal life is more effectively defined by the fulfillment we gain from nourishing ourselves physically, mentally, and emotionally, as well as the space to feel, and subsequent rest we offer ourselves after.

There’s a powerful sense of peace that comes along with honoring your needs. If someone else responds poorly, then they’ve shown their positioning on the matter and you can move forward accordingly. 

Putting in the necessary effort to process our past experiences and practicing vulnerability regularly brings a new sense of interconnectedness. Not only with ourselves, but with the relationship of existence in and of itself, and how it pertains to our relationship with others and our communities. I can’t describe the perfect steps to take to heal from a breakup, to redirect a career plan, or feel more whole at the end of the day. What I can do is promise that perfection is so very far from peace. There is no required time frame for growth and it will never be linear. 

There is beauty in the time it takes to heal, in the time it takes to trust ourselves, and the unwillingness to waiver, even in uncertainty. As I lay here fantasizing about what could’ve been, I am simultaneously romanticizing the solitude that allows resilience and self-discovery.