People would say, as I’ve briefly mentioned in my other blog, that I was “brave” for going so far away from home for university and romance. I still maintain today that I was stupid. I don’t regret going abroad for university; I’ve learned so many things about myself and others, and experienced things I never would have if I’d stayed at home for two years. It was enlightening. Good and bad, happy and sad. I left England on a low note. But a few friends left me with really good memories. My last weekend there was amazing. I’ll never forget our little adventures, our goodbyes. I wish I could take those memories and carry them in my back pocket wherever I go. But overall, I was relieved to leave that place.
And when the plane touched down on the runway at home, I felt as though my own personal plane had finally been cleared for takeoff, as cheesy as that sounds. I was home. I was happy.
The amount of pain I endured in England makes me believe the bravery people would credit to me for leaving home is a bit misplaced. I feel brave, yes. For different reasons. I’m brave because I found the courage to remove myself from harmful situations that were stunting my personal growth. I’ve never felt more free. It’s amazing how the littlest things I used to take for granted now make me cry little tears of happiness because I didn’t feel free to do them in the situation I’d left behind. I feel very silly for admitting this to you.
So yes. I am brave. I don’t feel there was anything stupid about my decision to part ways with England. I am home. It’s where I’ve belonged all along. I saw this amazing little quote on a blog I follow, it said: “I’m gonna make the rest of my life, the best of my life.”
That’s exactly what I intend to do.