I recently travelled alone, for a two-day pocket in between a friend getaway and father/daughter weekend. It was lovely and made me think a lot of things and feel a lot of feels. It was hard to come home, and although it’s always a tough transition back into reality after a week of morning mimosas and afternoon naps, this time that transition took a bigger toll on my emotions.

I think the kicker for me was how good I felt being away – and recognizing what it was that I was so happy to be away from. I mean, what was it in my real life that felt so draining to come back to? I think getting away from reality is always good for a little soul refresh, but it felt different this time around.

I was sitting in this cozy coffee shop in Halifax while it poured outside. I was drinking a coffee and writing and I felt so fucking free. I didn’t care what I looked like or who was around me or who was talking to whom. I didn’t know what I was going to do that night and I didn’t care about what I was missing out on. I just felt like I had a whole day ahead of me to do whatever I wanted and feel however I wanted – and that was the biggest thing for me: I felt like I could feel however I happened to feel and not have to justify it to anyone. And I also felt relief that there was such little opportunity for anything to get in the way of that.

I wouldn’t have to see them exchange a smile and obsessively wonder what was going on. I wouldn’t have to obsess over that photo they both got tagged in or wonder what he was doing or know they were both at an event I couldn’t make it to. I didn’t have to pretend not to be upset or pretend I cared less about something than I did. And I simply didn’t give a shit about anything but myself and how happy I felt.

And it’s kind of frustrating how tough it was to let that feeling flow into my real life.

As soon as I stepped off the plane I felt this pit in my stomach. And it’s not that I didn’t want to come back; I love my life here a weird amount. But I think this time around it really hit me that there are certain relationships in my life that make me feel like shit on a fairly regular basis.

I think often in life I forget that it’s okay to live for myself. I mean, that sounds really dramatic – but it’s as if I’ve developed this incessant need to please people and be a part of everything. If she’s friends with him then I need to be friends with him too because I want to be liked the best, even if it hurts my heart every single fucking day. And that’s fucked. And I know that’s fucked. But it’s just so hard to let yourself feel free to be happy when you’re surrounded by pressures and people and things that you care about and don’t know how to step back from.

When I stepped off that plane I felt sad to be back – but not in a way that was reflective of how much I enjoyed where I was. To me, it reflected the things that were weighing down my life here. And I think it was so necessary for me to feel this – to feel the juxtaposition of being away vs. being back, and understand that it’s okay to live my life for myself right now. It’s okay to pull back from the people and things that make me feel bad about myself.

I have a fear of being selfish. I have a fear of not being liked by everyone. But after this trip, I think my bigger fear is not feeling like I felt in that cozy Halifax coffee shop. I think life is short and life is beautiful, and being liked by everyone isn’t worth it when you don’t even like yourself. Today I woke up with a pit in my stomach. But as I started to write I realized it’s so lovely to finally feeling that go.