How floating in shit water for too long gets comfortable and it feels so much scarier to leave and head towards an unknown future than it is to stay in the almost certain continuation of floating in shit. How it’s so hard to celebrate when there’s such guilt over leaving someone you love behind. The inauthenticity and the breakdowns in communication that existed, and how they ultimately led to my realization of discontent, and then finally that I didn’t have to stay if I didn’t want to. We all have a choice. It’s not usually easy; but it’s your own responsibility.