When I talk with people who learn about my move, the response is always interesting. Some are excited in a way that suggests they understand it entirely. A few are perplexed and curious to understand my ‘why.’ Others ask, “What are you running from?” or, in an energy full of sorrow, say, “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

The last two responses fascinate me. Sometimes, they irritate me. Which means there may be a kernel of truth in them, much to my ego’s dismay.

I’ve come to understand that in all of life, there is the dark and the light. The head and the tail. I’m not interested in living dominantly positively, or dominantly negatively. I don’t want to bypass a part of my story by constructing an answer composed only of the whimsical, curious, forward-focused part of my reality. And I also don’t want to focus on the always-there-if-you-look-for-it darkness within my story which undoubtedly has made me someone so comfortable with change.

Life is a paradox. The answer is in the and, not the or.

The brain is not structured to understand this concept. It will fight tooth and nail with indignant righteousness to prove that whatever bias its lived experiences have created is the one and only “right” or “wrong.”

Wisdom – to the surrendered mind – will reveal insights that prove the paradoxical nature of life in a way unique to our personal conditioning. It’s a beautiful experience. Insights pop into place, which show us that the answer at its greatest level of truth is composed of both the “right” and the “wrong” the brain was creating a tennis match with.

So the truth of why I’m moving?

It’s because of a story I’ve lived full of the most gut-wrenching and unconscionable pain, and who I’ve become as a result of having no choice but to survive it.

My irritation with the responses reflected back to me that I was still trying to avoid accepting the dark side of the coin. What they could see in my energy, I was trying to avoid. Everyone is our mirror.

I wasn’t ever attempting to be disingenuous by only ever presenting the positive part of the ‘why’ – I was trying to protect myself from the pain of the reality that, here in Ohio, is very real.

The pain keeps me linked to the loss, which keeps me tethered to the hope that things can heal and be whole, which reminds me that if life had been loving and healthy and what I see as beneficial for all involved, I wouldn’t have ever wanted to move.

This is a slippery slope that I got stuck on for years. It’s probably part of why I lived in two places for so long.

So now that I’ve worked through everything, I’ve accepted reality as it is, and I’ve created the framework to create a new life, I don’t want to be reminded of the catalyst. That’s where my defense to those questions originates.

But knowing this is helpful because we don’t have to go and “fix” anything that may happen. The pattern of thinking is there. My slippery slope is there. It’s nothing to shun or exile. It just needs to be observed as a ride at the amusement park—the ride I see but prefer not to go on anymore.

If you are looking to create a change in your life but feel held back by a painful experience which, though in the past, is a story that plays on repeat and holds you back, here are my tips for working through it in a truly transformative way.

1. Write out your story from your position. Don’t even think about censoring yourself. Tell all of your feelings, all the ways you were wronged, and continue to be. Admit how this makes you feel, how scared you are, and the way it has affected your life. Validate the you that lived this—the you who was robbed of your basic human needs. Go to bat for yourself. Write until you feel empty. If you feel upset or angry, you’re not done yet. Purge until you feel neutral or as close to it as possible.
2. Now put yourself in your opponent’s shoes and write their story as if you were them writing their own story. Imagine how their life experiences created corners, rules, and rigidity within their brain, forming a bias that was also unfair to them. Validate the version of them who was innocent and, like you, was robbed of basic human needs. Write until you feel compassion. Until you feel truly empathetic. If you don’t yet feel that, you’re not finished writing.
3. The third step is to go back and write your story from the position of paradox. You are no longer a player in a tennis match taking a stance with only one right and one wrong – you’re a perspective composed of both. Write from this place of simply being a storyteller for both sides. You’re a representative of life narrating interplay from a balanced view.
4. Claim this more complete story as your origin story, or call it a defining moment or something of the like. Just make sure it’s a name that signifies having existed in the past. This will create detachment within the cells of your body from this experience. You’ll become separate from that film script.
5. Now, write the screenplay for your future. The one based upon this version of you that’s integrated all parts of the past and no longer needs to tell that old story. You’re no longer a victim. You are the clay that was once the form of that old story, but you’re back in your beautifully nebulous, unshaped form. Ready to choose your change. Live your new screenplay. Create a new life.