I never planned on leaving my hometown. Despite all the bad memories it held, it was familiar. Familiarity can feel safe, even when it’s suffocating. My childhood was marked by trauma and abuse, the kind that leaves deep scars and shapes the way you see the world. As I grew older, those scars became triggers—neighbors who reminded me of someone who hurt me, restaurants where I had once sat, dissociating through an anxiety attack, and streets where bad things had happened.

For years, I lived with complex PTSD, cycling through periods of relative calm and moments of utter chaos. I even experienced episodes of psychosis—moments where my mind felt untethered from reality. It was terrifying. I wasn’t just trying to survive my mental health struggles; I was doing it in a place that constantly reminded me of why they existed in the first place.

The Move I Didn’t Plan

The decision to leave wasn’t mine, not really. Life circumstances forced me to pack up and relocate to a city I had no ties to, hours away from everything I’d ever known. At the time, I saw it as just another loss, another thing I had no control over. I didn’t realize it would become the best thing that ever happened to me.

When I first arrived, I wasn’t hopeful. I was numb, just trying to figure out where to buy groceries and how to navigate my new surroundings. But something strange started to happen. The triggers I had lived with for so long weren’t here. There was no white church on the corner, which sent my heart racing. No restaurant where I’d been emotionally shattered. No streets that whispered old fears.

For the first time in years, I had space.

The Weight of Survival Mode

Living in survival mode is like carrying a boulder on your back. You don’t realize how heavy it is until it’s gone—or at least shifted. For me, survival mode had become a way of life. Every noise, every glance, every interaction felt like a potential threat. I was constantly scanning for danger, bracing for impact, and fighting an invisible war no one else could see.

My hometown wasn’t the enemy, but it had become a battlefield. Every familiar sight or sound carried a memory, a trigger, or an association that pulled me back into the worst moments of my life. Moving to a new city without those associations was like stepping off the battlefield.

A Fresh Start for Healing

I won’t lie and say the move “cured” me. Healing doesn’t work like that. I’m still dealing with complex PTSD, but the episodes of psychosis? They’ve stopped. For the first time in years, I feel like I’m not constantly on the verge of losing myself.

The new environment gave me something I didn’t even know I needed: a chance to breathe. I could walk into a grocery store without panicking over who might be there. I could try a new restaurant without flashing back to an old memory. I could walk down a street and simply exist without looking over my shoulder.

This new city didn’t just change my surroundings; it changed how I approached therapy. Without the constant triggers weighing me down, I could finally engage with my trauma therapy in a way that felt productive. I could sit with my therapist and talk about the past without feeling like I was drowning in it.

Finding Lightness

It’s been five years since the move, and I’m not “fixed.” I don’t believe in the idea of being completely fixed when it comes to mental health. But I’m lighter. I’m not bracing for impact every moment of the day. I don’t wake up worrying when the next episode will come. For the first time in a long time, I’m optimistic about tomorrow.

I’ve started building a life here—meeting new people, trying new things, and creating memories not tied to trauma. It’s not always easy, and I still have days where the weight of my past creeps back in. But this city has given me a gift I never expected: hope.

Why Environment Matters

Moving isn’t the answer for everyone. But for me, leaving my hometown was like hitting a reset button. It allowed me to separate myself from the constant reminders of my trauma and gave me space to rebuild.

If you’re reading this and you feel trapped—whether it’s by a place, a situation, or even your own mind—I want you to know there’s hope. Sometimes, the first step toward healing is changing your environment, whether that means moving, switching jobs, or simply finding new spaces that feel safe.

Healing takes time. It’s messy and nonlinear, and it doesn’t come with a map. But sometimes, stepping into the unfamiliar can lead you to places you never dreamed were possible.

For me, that place was a new city. For the first time in what feels like forever, I am not just surviving—I am starting to feel like I am living again.

If you’re dealing with trauma, PTSD, or other mental health challenges, know that help is available. Talk to a therapist, reach out to a support group, or explore resources. You don’t have to do this alon