Embracing New Beginnings While Navigating Old Cycles

A few months after graduation, I started the job hunt—submitting applications, showing up for interviews, doing the dance. One of them, I didn’t take seriously. The job was an hour and a half away, and I had no intention of accepting. I went for the interview purely for the experience. Why not? They offered—I figured, sure, for the practice.

But walking out of that interview, something shifted.

I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The people were warm. The facility had a calm, grounded energy. The town, though small and unfamiliar, had a quiet charm that reminded me of simpler times. It felt like… possibility. Like maybe this detour wasn’t so random after all.

The position was full-time, day shift—exactly what I needed. But the idea of uprooting my life, leaving behind everything and everyone I knew? That felt impossible. Still, I kept thinking about it.

Soon after, I interviewed at a local facility. Halfway through, I knew it wasn’t for me. It felt hollow—like putting on a coat that didn’t quite fit.

Later that day, I accepted the job 1.5 hours away. It was terrifying. It was exciting. It was time.

But then reality knocked—hard.

KK’s things still filled the duplex. He’d been in jail for a few months. When he got out, he started reaching out again. I ignored him at first. But eventually, I had to talk to him—if only to coordinate the logistics of clearing out his stuff.

I didn’t realize it at the time—how broken I still was. How vulnerable. But that one opening in communication gave him exactly what he needed to find his way back in.

He knew exactly what to say.

His words were soft, well-practiced. He sounded genuine. He made me question my own memory, my instincts, my pain. He offered half-hearted apologies wrapped in gestures of affection. And just like that, I found myself tangled in the same cycle again.

Part of the tragedy? He was one of the few people I still felt I could rely on.

I was about to move to a town where I didn’t know a soul. I had boxes to pack, rooms to clear, a new life to set up. I was overwhelmed. He offered to help. No strings, he said.

But there were always strings.

Every time I let him in, I gave away a little more of myself—more than I could afford to lose.