The Emotional Weight of Moving Out
I was not prepared for the emotional toll that moving out of my apartment would take on me. I thought I had grieved that relationship enough. I thought I had mourned the future I once pictured with that person. I thought I was ready to move on.
The truth is, I had been planning to return to nomadic, camper-based living long before the breakup. Long before I even met my ex, I had told myself I would never be caught off guard by being broken up with again. My past—woven with abandonment, loss, and too many abrupt endings—taught me to always have a backup plan.
But maybe that was the red flag I ignored: I was making contingency plans when I should have been leaning into connection. Maybe that was the moment to pause, reflect, and acknowledge that I wasn’t in a relationship where I felt safe staying. Instead, I held onto the illusion, and now here I am—packing boxes alone, confronting a grief that still lingers.
The Urge to Throw Everything Away
I was surprised by how strongly I wanted to throw everything away and start fresh. There’s something about endings that makes you crave a blank slate—new furniture, new clothes, new life.
But practicality had other plans. Some of my belongings could be turned into cash, and right now, every dollar matters. So instead of tossing it all, I sorted. The “sentimental but useful” items went into storage. The “sellable” ones went to Facebook Marketplace, with plans to list on eBay and Poshmark over the next couple of weeks. Each sale brings me one step closer to the camper repairs I know are coming.
Starting over isn’t about erasing everything. It’s about transforming what I have into the resources I need for the next chapter.
The Next Living Arrangement
My aunt keeps pushing for me to get another apartment. She means well, but apartments don’t feel like freedom anymore. I smile, nod, and pretend to browse listings while quietly buying time. My grandpa has given me until September to move on from his place, and that’s the window I’m holding onto.
Between paychecks, side hustles, and picking up DoorDash shifts, I’m piecing together enough to make this next leap work. If I can find the right camper at the right price, I’ll not only have my own space again but also the ability to be mobile, to root where I choose, and to keep shaping this life into something that feels like mine.
Choosing Hope, Even Here
It’s easy to see only the chaos—the mold, the heartbreak, the uncertainty. But tucked inside all of it is a chance for rebirth. Every belonging I sell, every mile I drive for extra income, every plan I sketch for camper life is a seed planted.
And maybe this time, those seeds will finally have the chance to bloom. 🌸