I stayed longer than I should have because I was terrified of what it meant to choose myself. Not in a romantic-movie way. In a practical, terrifying way where you realize that leaving means losing things you can't get back. Your family's respect. Your community. The identity you've had your entire life. The future everyone already planned for you.

The hardest part wasn't realizing I deserved more. It was accepting that getting it meant losing things I actually loved. My grandmother's voice. Sunday dinners. The way my mother looked at me when I was doing everything right. The simple certainty of knowing my place.

I think people who grow up with choices don't understand this. They move toward what they want naturally. But when your entire life has been about duty and obligation, moving toward yourself feels like moving away from love.

I'm still figuring out if I made the right choice. Some days I'm sure. Other days I just miss home and wonder if I ruined something that could never be fixed. 💔

Is it selfish to want something different from what you were born into? Or is it finally honest?