the price of becoming

Sometimes, you have to break your own heart

I wake up every morning, sip my coffee, and sit in the living room, gazing out the window at my million-dollar view (that I rented). The Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz, and the San Francisco Bay in all its glory. I could never get tired of this view.

And yet, as I stare out the window, I realize my days of taking it in are numbered. Hold on — before you start to worry, no, I’m not dying (except, perhaps, in the philosophical sense that we all are). I’m preparing for a new journey, one I’m incredibly excited about. But still, it’s a painful realization.

No one talks about the heartbreak of leaving something good for something that isn’t real yet. Something incredible, but still only visible in your mind’s eye. It’s not an easy choice, this letting go. It’s like saying goodbye to a piece of your soul, even if you know the future holds something greater.

In those moments of doubt, it’s easy to wonder if you’re making a mistake. The fear of losing what’s familiar, the comfort of what you’ve built, pulls at your heartstrings. The ache isn’t just in the leaving; it’s in the uncertainty of the journey ahead. You’re stepping away from something good, but with the hope that it will lead you to something extraordinary.

There’s a certain mourning that happens during this process, and I know it well. I still remember standing in the shower in my apartment in Columbus, Ohio— the one I shared with my partner of 6 years. Staring up at the light streaming through the small window, water running down my face—awareness washed over me. I was being called to San Francisco, and a job opportunity had suddenly appeared at my doorstep: a gift from the Universe.

When I told my two close friends about the opportunity, my friend Morgan looked me dead in the eye and, without hesitation, told me I had to move. “I can hear you making up reasons to stay, but we all know you have to go.” I expected to be talked out of it, but her conviction fueled my own belief. I’ve always loved her bluntness, but never more than in that moment.

It was awful saying goodbye - to my friends, my boyfriend, my job, and my little brick townhouse in the neighborhood I adored. I didn’t pack enough tissues for my flight to San Francisco. If you were at the Columbus airport in March 2022 and saw someone with a cat carrier (and a cat loudly meowing) with tears uncontrollably rolling down her cheeks — no, you didn’t.

As difficult as this transition was, the three years that followed have been some of the best of my life. I found the aforementioned amazing apartment, and reconnected with a childhood classmate who became my roommate, my closest friend, and my sister. The countless nights we’ve stayed up laughing, swapping stories, and sharing our dreams have become sacred memories.

Together, we took San Francisco by storm—creating a community, hosting events, and expanding our circle of friends to the point where we now complain (lightheartedly) that we can’t go anywhere in this city without bumping into someone we know.

My life is magical. But, just as I felt back in Ohio, I know there’s something else waiting for me—somewhere else I need to go to unearth the version of myself I’ve been waiting my whole life to become. I can see her, almost feel her. She’s waiting for me on the other side of adventure.

I made a promise to myself
to give me everything I ever wanted,
and it cost me all I never needed.

But it wasn’t just the skin I shed hungrily, 
it was the things I swore I’d carry forever,
the mirrors that shaped me 
with their gentle gaze, 
the stars that guided me home.

I left behind hands that held me too loosely,
laughter that no longer fit my mouth,
dreams that were too small for the life I was meant to live.

Because to step into something greater,
you must first walk away,
not just from what cages you,
but from what saves you, too.

And maybe that’s the hardest part—
sacrificing love for freedom,
certainty for possibility,
a world you once belonged to
for one you’ve never known,
but somehow already miss. 

walk boldly,

Caroline