Coming Home to Myself

I left to find freedom.

I came home to find myself.

Eight years ago, after my first solo seasonal trip to New York City, I started chasing a dream — a life full of movement, growth, and wild possibility. Over time, that dream stretched across continents, relationships and careers. Eventually, it led me to Australia.

The plan felt right: a working holiday visa, a partner I believed in, and the chance to finally live out another adventure I’d carried in my heart for years. I imagined beaches, balance, meaningful work — the magic of building something new somewhere beautiful.

But the truth is, it didn’t unfold the way I pictured it.

Australia is stunning — untamed and awe-inspiring. I get why it draws so many solo travelers in. But going as a couple brought its own rhythm and friction. What was supposed to make life easier sometimes made it harder. Finding our footing — financially, emotionally, logistically — became a constant shuffle with trying to live this big dream of enjoying life. There were highs, absolutely. But the everyday reality was often exhausting, and somewhere in that hustle, I started to feel far away from myself.

What started as my dream became our dream.

And walking away from that — from something I gave so much of my heart to — was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made.

But the truth is, somewhere along the way, it stopped looking like me.

And the moment I allowed myself to see that was the moment I began to find my way home

I didn’t see that clearly at first. I kept pushing forward, adjusting the dream, making it work — until one day it didn’t. The turning point wasn’t just the end of a relationship. It was the quiet realization that I’d lost touch with who I was beneath it all and what I was doing anymore.

Coming home wasn’t my first decision. But it turned out to be the right one.

I came back unsure, holding grief and clarity in the same hand. I needed space — to process, to rest, to listen. To get honest about the version of the dream that no longer fit, and the parts of myself I wanted to reconnect with.

This isn’t a story of failure. It’s a story of change.

I’m learning that sometimes the bravest thing isn’t chasing the next big thing — it’s pausing long enough to hear what’s actually true. It’s letting go of what no longer serves, even when it’s painful. It’s allowing your life to shift without needing to have all the answers.

This chapter is about healing. About growing with the dream, not out of it. About making room for something more rooted, more real, more me.

So if you’re in the middle of something — a change, a question, a quiet rebuild — you’re not alone. And maybe that's the whole point: we don't have to have it all figured out to keep going.

We just have to keep choosing ourselves - even when it's messy. Especially then.

Thanks for being here as I figure it out.