subject line: I don't want to go to Boston.


des moines, iowa 

I listened to the song on repeat for years. “I think I’m going to Boston. I think I’ll start a new life. I think I’ll start it over, where no one knows my name.”

All I knew was that I wanted to run from where I was. I wanted to scrap the life I’d fought to build and start over, an anonymous face in a giant crowd. But I never did, because in the deepest, darkest corners of my soul I am a fighter. I refuse to give up on myself, even when I wondered if God had given up on me.

I went to a counselor who initially thought I was someone with a little anxiety, but would quickly realize the day I walked in with tears streaming to tell her my heart had been ripped wide open and that every smile and “I’m fine” was a lie, that I needed her more than she could ever imagined. I spent five years on the couch. Thousands of tears, swear words and admissions I couldn’t make anywhere else. She allowed me to break down to a foundation I didn’t know existed. She showed me strength I didn’t believe I had. She forced me to blast through the walls of fear, failure and “why me?” and go out and find the thing I was meant to do.

I used to think counselors were for the weak. I used to think I wanted to go to Boston. But, what I really wanted was to love myself enough to fight for me.