Looking back now, I used to believe the hardest challenge of my life was leaving home at eighteen. Moving to a foreign country where I didn’t know a soul seemed impossibly difficult at the time.
But I was wrong about that.
The truly hard part came more than a decade later. It was realizing that a single folded piece of paper I’d been too scared to open might explain why I’d never been able to move forward with my life.
Fourteen years is a long time to carry something without understanding its weight. Without recognizing that it’s been influencing every choice you make, every relationship you attempt, every step you take.
I didn’t grasp any of this until recently.
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