The Power in Starting Over (again)

Your biggest lessons are going to manifest when you think you have everything figured out. Those are also the times when you align with your biggest blessings. Life has a tricky way of giving you what you need when you think you have everything you want. I spent almost 3 years thinking everything I was aligned with were the things that I also needed. I had the man, the house, my babies, an adorable little dog, etc. There were bumps in the road, but everything I thought I was supposed to have kept finding me, so I was in no rush to go after what I needed. Hell, I didn’t even think there was much I needed outside of a steady career.

Every relationship had their share of fights and disagreements, but that wasn’t a real reason to leave right? Especially not when we were in the middle of building a life together. When you start to feel uncomfortable and there aren’t many things you can do to regain that safe space, you know right then and there it’s time to get out. It’s natural to feel out of place out in the world when you’re in a setting you have no control over, but in your home? That’s your clear sign that something is not right.

I was sitting in the house one night and I was in one of those moods. One where you don’t know exactly what’s wrong, but you feel it. Everyone had ate their dinner, and was getting ready for bed, and I was having my second glass of wine. This wasn’t one of those nights where we’d argued earlier that day and I was in the middle of the silent treatment, it was just a regular day. Something in me was like “this probably won’t last much longer. I was starting to get in the feelings of being uncomfortable once again. My partner, Jonah, was also showing signs of being uncomfortable, but no one wanted to say it aloud. We’d been together for almost 2 years before we picked out that house, and we agreed that we would work out all of our bullshit before we moved into this house together. Only we worked out just enough to say we had everything figured out. Jonah was raised in a small military household that valued structure, where higher education, a steady career, and starting a family were all part of the plan laid out for him. His parents made sure he had what he needed to be set up for this “American Dream”.

As for myself, my background was a larger, laid-back family that prioritized togetherness and simple living over ambition or strict discipline. My roots are in a loud, streetwise family that valued laughter and good times over financial planning or climbing a ladder. Somehow two worlds collided and we found ourselves entangled with each other, and while it was exciting at first it turned sour even quicker. No one plans to fall in love and end up in hell. But it happens.

Something we shared collectively was both of our families had it’s share of addiction, and domestic violence that would later spill over into our union. The first fight we ever had was on a summer Saturday on the balcony of our shared townhome. We started having a disagreement, and I made a comment about Jonah lying through his “pink ass lips”. Being a biracial man with a Caucasian father that did not sit well with him. He said I was being racist and then locked me on the balcony. I continued smoking and listening to music, and carried on as if nothing had happened. He returned still irate and looking to argue, so I went upstairs to take a shower. Clearly the night was over. Once we got upstairs he grabbed me and I pushed him and hit him, and as you can imagine things started to escalate further. I still got in the shower and he snatched the shower curtain back several times, and finally I’d started to push him again. This time knocking him down in the bathroom floor. He jumped up and pushed me down in the shower. We went back and forth with the shoving until I’d had enough and got out. We started to fight outside of the shower, and I put him in a chokehold. He started to struggle tying to get me to let him go, and threw himself back on the floor hitting my head. Afterwards, we got into a screaming match and I started to pack my things. I called my brother to come and get me since my mother had my car, and I was too drunk to drive. His girlfriend answered and I burst into tears embarrassed and ashamed. She was there within 10 minutes and she took me home. I cried profusely to her and my mother who was staying at my house while she was in town. I’d been a voice to so many women close to me about domestic relationships, and now it was me who was in a boxing ring with a man who said he’d protect me. A man who made me feel the safest in this whole world had shattered and broken me into pieces in one night. I took pictures of all my bruises and I spent the next day feeling as if I was in the twilight zone.

I finally knew what it was like to love someone and although the worst had happened the only person you wanted to be with was them. To hear how sorry they were, and promise they’d never do that to you again. Feeling their body next to yours and allowing yourself to fall apart in their arms. It was low vibrational, I know. And everything I wanted he did, and everything he promised was bullshit. There were gifts and dates, and on the backend we had never gotten back to that sweet spot before that night happened. We moved into that beautiful house together, and still dealt with the same issues. We still argued and we still fought. The icing on the cake was the final fight we had, and I’d had enough. We got into an argument while having a game night with another couple we were forging a friendship with about the husband. Apparently there were some sexual innuendos passed between he and I that everyone except Jonah seemed to miss. That argument exploded once we got home with my youngest daughter, and I ended up packing her up to go back to the new friends house. Out of all the arguments and fights we had, we’d never done it when the kids were at home. This night was proving me to be a liar though. I was used to him embarrassing me in front of my friends when we were drinking, but we hadn’t even known these two long enough. Nonetheless, I went with my gut and proceeded to leave with my baby. He cornered me on the stairs with my baby in my arms and refused to move, yelling at the top of his lungs that I wasn’t leaving with my baby. In an attempt to get past him, I pushed him, and yes if you’re wondering if we fought after that; we did. He pushed me down on the steps while I was holding my baby, and in some supernatural movement I was right back up, baby still in hand and I was knocking him upside the head with my phone until it fell down the steps. He was trying to bob and weave, but it was in vain. This time I didn’t have to have a “my word against his” after the drama was over. My mother had been on the phone with me the entire time. Then little did I know her boyfriend had been on the phone with Jonah before the fight started. He’d already said on the phone that I wasn’t going anywhere or taking my baby away from the house. In a last resort attempt to “save face” he grabs my phone and starts to say I was beating on him. Infuriated with the way things had just went down on the stairs I sat my daughter down and open hand slapped the entire front of his face, took my phone, grabbed my baby, and left. I was fed up, and I was completely done. I never wanted domestic violence to creep into my children’s home, and I wasn’t about to give it to them.

We lived a very beautiful life on paper, my two babies although not his biologically had a two parent household. He took care of us, and met all of our needs, and wants. I was able to focus more on my writing and book sales after losing my job, and life was great on the outside. That night, I realized―sometimes life gives you everything you asked for, but the price is your peace. The real betrayal is turning away from yourself, settling for what you know was never meant to feed your soul. You can pray for comfort, for a partner who provides, and still find yourself fading―slowly swallowed by the very thing you thought would save you. I’d told 1,000s of people hundreds of times, “no one is coming to save you, you have to save yourself”, and I was right back in the process of saving not just myself, but my babies as well. That kind of truth doesn’t come easy―but once it does, it changes everything.

It hasn’t been easy, and for sure has not been like anything I imagined. We were house hopping for 2 months until I’d actually found a place, but I did have a job. I worked six days a week, and overtime like a mad woman. Most days I worked from 9am - 1am to make sure financially I could pick us back up. I slept on my sisters couch with my two babies and cried so many nights because my babies would say “when are we going home, I’m ready to go home”. It still makes me tear up thinking about it and it also gives me great joy to know that was the lowest I had gotten. I may have had to start over and didn’t have a pot to piss in, but I had a car that I still hadn’t missed a payment on, food in our bellies, a steady stream of income, and a support system that kept a roof over our heads. We still haven’t bounced back completely, however, we are so happy. Oh, and I went and got my damn dog! LOL

If you are a person who has been through the life altering restart I’d like to encourage you to share your story, and If you know someone who’s currently in the thick of it; love on them a little more than usual. If you’ve resonated with this text in any way I’d like to encourage you to leave a comment, share, or subscribe for weekly blog posts.

Starting over was the hardest thing I’ve ever done― but it was also the most honest. And honesty with yourself? That’s where real freedom begins.

As always with ALL my love, I pray this helps.