It’s hard to believe it’s been only a little over a month since I packed up as much as I could fit in two suitcases and moved down to Ocean City for the summer. It’s hard to believe that I was ever not living here, not settled into a tiny space in an attic with just one dresser and a twin-sized bed. Not running around serving vacationers margaritas and Mexican beers with limes with a rose in my hair and shorts that practically expose the tattoo on my butt. Not breathing in the smell of the bay on my morning runs and lying on the beach for the hour or two that I can fit in before my shift, a lizard-skin peeling nose and dark, Spanish-esque skin as a permanent part of my appearance. One thing is consistent in Ocean City: every week feels like many weeks, the days passing in true beach time fashion—like the salty air has everything frozen in slow motion. What happened last Sunday had to have happened months ago; what happened at the beginning of the month may not have ever happened at all. But it did. One month ago, I packed my car up and drove three and a half hours in the middle of the night with a man who was possibly more excited than I was to make this adventure with me. One month ago, I breathed through the fear, telling myself that doing this alone was the easy way, that it was time to try something new, time to make the choice to stay rather than run away in a relationship, to take a leap into commitment. One month ago, he and I settled into our two beds pushed side-by-side, a makeshift king-sized mattress, and fell asleep holding each other and our excitement. One month ago, I woke up in the morning invigorated by the sunshine and the fresh air, sure it would be okay. He looked at me and said, “You seem so much happier here.” And I already was.

I wish I knew what happened with me in relationships, if only to have a better explanation for the person I’m with than, “I just can’t do this. I can’t show up anymore. It just isn’t what I want.” How do you explain to someone that it’s truly nothing they did, nothing you wanted either, that you tried with every ounce of you to make yourself feel differently, to attach yourself like a sea anemone and hang on?

I’m trying to remain transparent here while not relaying too much detail, for the sake of others involved. The feeling of panic that I began to experience, even a few weeks before the move, was nothing I hadn’t felt before. That light switch that flips inside of me is a natural occurrence, one that I’ve experienced with every relationship I’ve been a part of, as if all of the sudden I wake up like a stranger in a foreign land wondering how I’ve got here and where I’ve been and how I get home—home to myself and my solitude.  I start to crave the first senses of the morning all to myself, meals spent in silence and only my own company, no accountability and expectations to show up for any one person more than others in my life. So when I began to feel these things this time, I talked about them instead of burying them inside. I chose to push through and do something different. I chose to stay anyway. I thought that I was being more selfless that way.

But the biggest message I learned throughout this experience (one more time and I’m sure not the last) is that ignoring my intuition does not serve me. And it does not serve others, either. It disconnects me from my true self. It pushes me to the edge of a breakdown. It leaves me heavy and heartless, wondering what’s wrong with me and why I feel so desperate and depressed. It leaves me unable to look at others in the eye and be of any use to the people I love. A dear friend said to me when I came to her in tears before I left wondering why I was feeling so disconnected: “Honey, what are you ignoring inside of yourself?” Two weeks into the move and I knew. I knew that I couldn’t be in a relationship right now, that I couldn’t give to another what they deserved, that I couldn’t just “push through the fear”—because it wasn’t fear. It was a knowing.

How do you distinguish what’s fear and what’s intuition? This is what I’ve been learning, over and over again the past almost three years, what I learned more than anything during the mess I created. Fear shows up as panicked confusion, as uncertainty, as cycles of overthinking. Intuition shows up as a gnawing, but calm, peaceful knowing—even if that knowing is still scary and hard. It’s that first thought—or really, first feeling—that comes before all the “what-if’s” and “what-will-they-say’s” and “but's.”

And that’s what I began to feel every morning sitting on the porch with the sun on my face and my first cup of warm coffee. My gut, not my heart or my mind—and that’s important—telling me that I had to make the decision that I never wanted to make. That I had to leave the relationship that I desperately wanted to keep. That I’d really messed up this time in ignoring myself because this person that I loved had sacrificed a lot for me. Maybe, that’s what I was most tore up about.

For those who know the value of and exquisite taste of solitary freedom (for one is only free when alone), the act of leaving is the bravest and most beautiful of all. -Isabelle Eberhardt

That afternoon I cried harder than I’d cried in maybe a year, cried so hard he may have thought someone died when he first saw me walking up the steep steps into the attic towards him. “What’s wrong?! What happened?” and how do you answer that? It’s me, it’s just me, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore. It’s not what I want.

That wasn’t a good enough answer for him and it’s never a good enough answer for anyone. I’m still struggling with that, though I have no other ones to give. That day, I was faced with telling a person that I still loved and cared for deeply that the relationship we shared was over, that our forever was up. That I wasn’t unsure anymore, that that was the difference. I was sure now. I knew. I’d known. Deep down we always do. But now I could face it.

The summer has been different than I’d expected since then, but I believe it was always supposed to happen this way. What have I been doing since the beginning of June? Spending a lot of time in a restaurant that felt right from the beginning, with a team of beautiful new people and absolute chaos (just the way I like it). Miles of biking and walking, which makes me feel more like myself than I have since Thailand, the perfect release from sitting in the stagnant energy of York. Days spent meeting new people and drinking virgin pina coladas with mounds of whipped cream at pool bars or lounging on my wicker mat in the sand. Family visits that feel like the suave I need for my cuts and bruises. Lots of day trips to all the cute Delaware beaches.  Birthday celebrations for my roomie complete with sparklers and ice cream cakes. Lots of dancing. All the time. And a closeness with my niece that has been my favorite part so far, a closeness that has truly brought me another sister—and the nickname “Aunt Lizz” from locals. (I’m slowly embracing it.)

I realized after I made my decision to leave my relationship and take on the rest of the summer alone that it was the day of the Sagittarius moon. My moon. I’ve always had a deep appreciation and belief in astrology and the moon cycles, and it was no coincidence that the day I finally couldn’t hold on any longer was that day. Full moons signify culmination. They often act as a magnifying glass, illuminating and bringing forward our emotions and information that we’ve been hiding in the shadows during the rest of the cycle. Sagittarius energy is largely centered around truth and wisdom, around instinct. Sagittarians are known for their honesty and their emphasis on freedom. One myself, through and through, it was this moon that helped to push me into this lesson another time, this lesson of learning to trust myself again, to trust my intuition. And most especially, to forgive myself no matter how messy and ungracefully I learn.

Some nights in my tiny attic bed have been spent clinging to my extra pillow in loneliness, missing the comfort of another person. Some hours of my days have been spent saddened that I had to lose a best friend in this process, the worst part of leaving a relationship. I had a lot of shame and guilt over the whole thing, over hurting someone deeply and changing all their plans. And then there was the egotistical worry about what people would say about everything. But I know now that it’s not selfish to be true to myself and to follow my inner consciousness (or sub-consciousness, you could say). In not doing so sooner, I made a situation a lot messier than it would have been.

You will never be able to escape from your heart. So it's better to listen to what it has to say. ― Paulo Coelho

But like I said, I truly believe all things happen exactly as they’re supposed to. This isn’t all about me, as the mistakes and paths we chose are to teach others along the way just as much, if not moreso. And so when I laid on the beach at 4 AM that night and stared at the Sagittarius full moon, I felt total peace in my heart about my decision—and a deep appreciation for giving into my intuition and trusting myself. And that’s the Divine within us, you guys. That’s when you know you did the right thing (which is usually never the easy one). That’s self-love. That’s the journey to the heart.

♥