I Got Me Back in 2021

Sometimes the hardest year of your life is also the year you finally begin to find yourself.

Copyright image courtesy of Sharan Bilan

So yeah…

I keep seeing those posts all over social media.

“Post a picture of yourself from 2021.”

Every time I see one, I smile.

Because if you asked me to post one picture from that year…

I couldn’t.

Not because there aren’t enough.

Because there are too many.

Too many versions of me.

Too many moments that I understand differently now.

This August will be five years since I left my marriage.

Five years.

Which also means something I never thought I’d be able to say.

I’ve now been apart longer than we were married.

That realization hit me in a way I wasn’t expecting.

So I opened my camera roll.

Month by month, I scrolled.

January.

February.

March.

I see the ups and downs.

I see the beautiful new house we built with so many dreams and promises.

I remember how excited I was to decorate it. Every little detail mattered to me. I wanted it to feel warm. Safe. Like home.

Looking at the pictures now, it’s beautiful.

It always was.

But if I’m honest…

it never really felt like home.

No matter how happy I tried to make it.

No matter how aesthetically pretty it was.

It was a beautiful house.

It just held too many secrets.

I see Father’s Day.

I remember making four different meals.

Trying so hard to make everyone happy.

Waiting for him to come home.

Looking at the food I’d spent hours making and wondering why I always felt like I was waiting.

I see his best friend’s wedding.

People probably see a beautiful celebration.

I remember sitting alone at a table.

Watching him dance.

I remember the way people looked at me.

That look.

The one where they don’t know what to say.

I remember lying awake in the hotel room until he came back around three in the morning.

I remember that weekend because it was the first time I told my sisters what was really happening.

There was never really a way back after that.

I see Cabo.

One of the nicest resorts I’ve ever been to.

Palm trees.

Ocean views.

The kind of vacation people save for.

And yet…

I remember us spending most of the trip apart.

Different pools.

Different parts of the resort.

I remember not drinking.

Not because I didn’t want to.

Because I didn’t trust enough to let my guard down.

Imagine that becoming your normal.

Going on vacation…

and never actually feeling safe enough to exhale.

I see hundreds of videos of Ari and Veer.

First words.

First steps.

Tiny little voices.

Dance parties.

Bath time.

Belly laughs.

And then I notice something.

I’m behind almost every camera.

Their childhood lives through my eyes.

My voice.

My laughter.

I never realized I wasn’t just documenting their childhood.

I was preserving it.

I see Veer’s first birthday.

I remember the night before at my family’s house.

I remember the way he spoke to me.

And I remember my brother-in-law quietly shaking his head as he walked away.

He didn’t have to say anything.

That look told me everything.

It was one of the first moments I realized…

the people who loved me were seeing it too.

Then I keep scrolling.

Month by month.

Picture by picture.

I’ll admit something.

I’ve blocked parts of 2021 out.

I didn’t even realize I had until I started EMDR.

It’s strange how trauma works.

Sometimes it protects you by putting memories somewhere you can’t reach.

Not forever.

Just until you’re finally safe enough to carry them.

Looking back at my camera roll has been like opening little doors my mind quietly closed years ago.

Then I get to August.

August 2.

The day I finally left.

I stare at that picture longer than all the others.

My eyes are bloodshot.

For someone who’s 5'7", I weighed 102 pounds.

Solid food wouldn’t stay down anymore.

I lived on Ensure because it was one of the only things I could keep down.

I wasn’t trying to lose weight.

My body was trying to survive.

When people tell women to “just leave,” I don’t think this is the version they picture.

I don’t think they picture someone whose body has been carrying so much fear that it forgets how to be hungry.

And yeah…

my eyes watered a few times looking back at 2021 me.

Looking at those pictures.

That house.

Those babies.

That girl.

But for the first time…

I didn’t feel sorry for her.

I felt nothing but respect.

Because she did the very best she could.

She loved those two little boys so fiercely that she made sure they never carried what she was carrying.

She got on the floor and played.

She celebrated every milestone.

She protected their childhood while quietly breaking apart herself.

She walked away from the only life she’d known.

She filed for divorce even though it was the scariest thing she’d ever done.

She got a job by October.

She figured it out one day at a time.

Not because she wasn’t scared.

Because she was.

She just refused to let fear write the rest of her story.

So yeah…

I see those social media trends telling us to post one picture from 2021.

I couldn’t.

Because 2021 isn’t one picture.

It’s an entire album.

An album of a woman slowly finding the courage to choose herself.

And maybe the biggest realization of all…

I didn’t lose myself in 2021.

I got me back.

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