Series 7: After the Exit: What Comes After You Choose Yourself
Leaving
was only the beginning. This is what happens when the dust settles, and you're
left with yourself.
A raw, story-driven look at
what healing really looks like after burnout.
You think the hardest part will
be walking away. You brace yourself for confrontation, the fallout, the split,
but no one tells you how quiet it gets after or how strange. No one prepares
you for that stretch of time when everything’s technically fine, but you feel
like a ghost inside your own life. You made the right choice, and you know
that, but now you’re here, in this odd, quiet space: free, but floating.
I didn’t plan on writing this
series. It just kept showing up, in scraps, in those weird hours when your
body’s tired but your mind won’t quit, in notes on my phone, and in
conversations that go quiet and stay there. Somewhere in that mess, was the
real story, not the breaking point, but what happens after.
People like to skip over that
part. It’s easier to share the before-and-after than sit in the messy middle,
the part where you're trying to hold your boundaries, pay your bills, and
remember who you are, all at once. I started writing for the version of me
who’d already walked away, not in anger, not in a storm, but in stillness,
knowing something had to change. You get to that place where staying costs more
than leaving, and you go, then you wait for relief, but what you get instead is
this slow unraveling.
I know what it’s like to walk
away from something that no longer fits and still feel grief. I know what it’s
like to stop pretending, to leave the thing that looked fine on the outside but
was slowly eroding you from the inside, and I know what it’s like when nobody
talks about what comes next. The part where you're free, but still untethered;
the part where the big move is behind you, but nothing’s really settled yet.
This is the part we don’t talk
about enough: the re-entry, the stillness, the quiet sorting, the questions
that don’t have answers yet. Healing doesn’t announce itself. It doesn’t
feel brave. Sometimes, it just feels like sitting still and hoping tomorrow
feels a little less heavy. These are the moments I want to write about: the
in-between ones, the ones that don’t look like much on the outside but feel
massive when you’re in them.
If you’re in that place right
now, still piecing yourself back together, unsure what this new version of you
even looks like, you’re not behind. You’re not lost. You’re in The Life
After.
This isn’t a self-help guide.
There’s no formula here. What I can offer is the truth, as I’ve lived it: the
strange mornings, the unexpected reliefs, the gut-check realizations, the soft
edges that slowly return. Real stories from the in-between that are honest,
unpolished, and still unfolding.
You don’t have to rush this. You
don’t have to know exactly where you’re headed. You just need to keep showing
up as you are, when you can. If you’re rebuilding, still sorting through the
rubble, trying to be okay without rushing it, this space is for you. Join the
next part of the journey here.
Read the next piece in the series or return to You Are Still the Light, where this story started to close, but
didn’t quite finish.
Even as the silence stretches, you're still moving quietly, slowly, and
unmistakably forward.
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