This morning, the coffee shop played several songs by The Smiths, and for a moment I was transported. Nostalgia isn’t the right word, because that implies longing. But the music unlocked several memories I’ve intentionally avoided.

Suddenly, I was back in the dank little gym of a tiny Colorado town. A place where my personal struggles and workouts were equally intense. It feels like a false memory now. A blip in my timeline that I either forget or subconsciously choose not to remember.

It was a difficult chapter, but one that forged my character.

The reason I had moved to that tiny town in the first place was because my boyfriend at the time found a remote job opportunity that was only available in certain states. New Mexico wasn’t one of them. So, for his benefit- and what I mistakenly believed would also become mine- I left my well-paying, steady job and followed him across the state line (again).

That decision became one of the biggest turning points in my life.

I couldn’t find work in that town of 8,000 people. I wasn’t a local, and I didn’t have any local references. Our landlord was a piece of work, the apartment quickly became unaffordable on one income, and ironically my boyfriend’s job depended on reliable internet- something that town severely lacked.

After only a few short months, a decision was made.

We were going to break our lease and live in our car.

Crazy, right?

In the middle of the Colorado winter, we packed most of our belongings into a storage unit and slept in the back of a Chevy Tahoe.

We spent one week at a campsite with an electrical hookup. After dropping my boyfriend off at work I’d spend the day alone in our tent. Thankfully the electricity hookup allowed me to run a portable heater and my laptop. Sometimes I would wander around the empty campground, admiring the pristine falling snow and frozen lake.

More often though, we stayed in the Walmart parking lot or the town’s strip mall, which consisted of nothing more than an Ace Hardware, Snap Fitness, and some local plumbing business. We kept our Snap Fitness memberships, so the gym became the place we showered.

After today’s flashback, I found myself scrolling through old photos. I had never noticed the change in my appearance while I was living through it- but I saw it clearly today.

Before, I looked healthy, vibrant.

During those months, I looked thin and unwell.

Survival has a way of disguising itself while you’re in it.

The circumstances were physically exhausting, and my relationship added emotional devastation.

I have many memories of sitting in that apartment, only one room away from my boyfriend, bawling my eyes out while he chose to ignore me.

I don’t think one can ever feel as lonely, as the alone you feel when you know someone is there, but they chose to ignore you. The kind of loneliness that makes you feel invisible.

I remember the soreness in my throat the day after an argument. The pounding in my head. The desperation in my heart to make things work.

I remember the blood that stained my sweatshirt after an altercation in the car.

There were good moments too, but they don’t erase the difficult ones. Looking back, I don’t feel regret as much as I do sadness that my loyalty wasn’t recognized or reciprocated.

I understand now that self-abandonment is not the same as self-sacrifice.

For a long time, I believed love meant choosing someone else, even when it meant neglecting myself in the process. I thought loyalty meant following another, regardless of whether that path aligns with my wants, needs, or desires.

It isn’t selfish to care for yourself.

It isn’t selfish to say no.

Your life will not fall apart because you decide your boyfriend’s path isn’t the one you want to follow. It’s okay to go different directions.

I wonder how many ways God wanted to bless me, but I delayed because I idolized someone who wouldn’t even marry me. I was so afraid of being alone that I kept choosing him over the life God was leading me toward. (I see this as grace, that God allows us to choose and doesn’t force our hand.)

But we are never alone.

God never left me.

He wasn’t waiting for me to stop living with my boyfriend, for me to move back to New Mexico, to stop smoking weed. He was there in the apartment, in the Tahoe, at the campground.

His arms were around me then, just as they are now.