I gave you everything that I couldn’t afford to lose

For the first time—perhaps ever—I am unburdened by anyone else’s expectations. In the past seven months, nearly every aspect of my life has changed. After years of stability and predictability, everything unraveled. Depending on how you view it, the rug was either pulled out from under me or, as I prefer to think, I am finally free.

As an adult, I’ll always have responsibilities, especially as a mother, but after six years in the same job, the tech layoffs finally hit. It’s surreal to realize that I dedicated myself to a role I never felt truly qualified for. In corporate America, I’ve noticed two types of people: those like me, still unsure how they ended up here, and the “weird ones” who make it all seem effortless. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel entitled to these roles or truly belong in this world. My team was the reason I showed up every day. I miss them, some more than others.

I have no idea what I want to do next. And maybe what I once considered “making it” doesn’t matter anymore. Why devote myself to positions that drain the heart out of a business? Companies use people until there’s nothing left. I’ve grown accustomed to the monetary rewards that come from losing yourself in the process, but I wonder—maybe I can try something else, something different, at least until I’ve healed from the burnout. I’ve already lined up some second interviews, and this time, I’m paying close attention to the people around me. Are they happy? I know no one’s thrilled to be at work, but I’d settle for an environment where people don’t look like they’d rather die than go back another day.

My living situation has also undergone a drastic change. For years, I told myself it was better for my son to have both parents under one roof, especially after his autism diagnosis. I sacrificed my happiness for that idea, even though we separated years ago. It wasn’t all bad. R is family, and we’ve been each other’s safety net for so long. But it was time for us to move on. My son is adjusting better than I expected. The first few days were rough, but we’re getting through it, and he’s thriving.

Recently, my romantic relationship also ended. I once saw so much promise, but now, I can’t find a single thing I like about him. It’s like I saw him clearly for the first time, and the realization made my skin crawl. Maybe it’s because R leaving was more emotional than I anticipated, or maybe it’s because, for the first time, I’m living alone—and I like it. I’ve always been fiercely independent. I hated when he tried to “take care of me” or got upset when I wanted time with my friends. I am not responsible for anyone’s insecurities, and I’m not going to abandon the friends who’ve been with me through everything just because they’re men. There were other issues too, things I ignored for too long, until they forced me into defensive mode. I know I iced him out, and his storming out was his response, but I don’t care. I feel nothing—except maybe relief.

I’ve always preferred being single. It feels safer. I learned early that everyone leaves, and trusting someone else only leads to heartbreak. Maybe I push people away because I’m afraid, and maybe, if I didn’t, they’d stay. But if my own mother didn’t love me enough to stay, why would anyone else? My father loved me, but not enough to keep fighting. Everything changed after his suicide. He was my idol, my everything, and I loved him despite the complications of our relationship. His addiction took everything from him, and from us. That period was the darkest time of my life—and I was just 23.

I don’t write this to dwell on the negative. Despite it all, I feel better right now than I have in a long time. I feel hopeful. In the aftermath, I realize I have the power to create the life I want. It’s a brand new start—and it feels so good. I’m no longer anxious about my next career move or walking on eggshells to accommodate anyone else. I wake up every day and do the mundane things I’ve always done—take my son to school, clean the house, grocery shop. But now, I also have time to do things I’ve always put off because I was “too busy.” I can take my time on my skincare routine. I can go for walks, even if my allergies flare up. I’ve started writing again—something I haven’t had time for in years. I spend quality time with my kids and friends without the rush to get to the next thing. And somehow, it feels more meaningful now. I feel good. I’m not anxious about what’s next. I’m confident that whatever is meant to be will be, and I’m okay with that. I’m not forcing anything. My nights are no longer sleepless. I am free.

As someone who’s struggled with depression and anxiety for most of my life, this is huge. Honestly, I never thought I’d be able to say that. Maybe tomorrow I’ll wake up in a panic, or spend the day crying in bed—it happens. It happened just last week. But for now, I’m going to savor this peace.