An Honest Reflection on Wanting To Leave

What It Will Feel Like

The very beginning, before it even starts, will be the hardest.

You have known something isn’t right for some time now.

In the months leading up to it, the misalignment between your head (logic/safe) and your heart (intuitive/risk) will be all-consuming. Your physiological and psychological bodies nearing a burnout state that is absolute.

You don't want to be where you are, but you don’t know how to get where you’re going. Because the truth is you don’t know where you’re going. Your thigh muscles are fatigued with constant strain: the straddling of two worlds. You exist in the space between the known and the unknown. Trying to keep it all together. Trying to hold it in a container that makes sense. When “it” just can’t do that for you right now. And it all feels like too much for one small woman to bear.

You move through the everyday tasks of running a household (planning meals, packing lunches, brushing your teeth, changing the toilet paper roll) on autopilot. A pixelated film over red eyes. You’re not settled anywhere because your pieces are scattered everywhere.

You think, “How would I even begin to do this without him? I’ve never been on my own before. I don’t know how to pay taxes, hang curtains, change a flat. I don’t know how I’ll make money, start my own business, break the news to my kids.”

Of course you think these things. The world has convinced you that you can’t do it on your own. When I broke the news to my own parents, they told me, “You can’t do this,” and tried to convince me to change my mind, that it was my job to make it work for the kids, that I’d never make it on my own. It’s not their fault. They were installed with the same faulty programming.

The conflicting dialogue between the intuitive you and the “we-follow-the-rules-for-safety-purposes” you will make you want to scream. Drink. Have an affair. Disappear. The urge will be so strong it debilitates you. But now is not the time. You must use all your energy to make a decision. For this decision, you may need to employ the medicine of the Crow.

This guidance came from my healer and mentor, who encouraged me to “look into Crow Medicine.” At first, I didn’t understand what this meant. But as I explored for meaning, it became a catalyst for my next step.

“In many Native American traditions, the crow is seen as a powerful symbol of wisdom, magic, and prophecy. They are considered messengers between the physical and spiritual realms, and guardians of sacred truths—truths that exist beyond human laws or societal systems.”

~Amy Rattner

It was through this lens that I began to understand the disparity I was feeling: the pull between Sacred Truth and Man-Made Truth.

This concept of Sacred Truth deeply resonated with me. It reminded me that I had been trained to turn away from my natural instincts—from my inner "Knower." Learning from this tradition reminded me of the importance of honoring my intuition and stepping into alignment with the truth of my heart.

**I write this with deep respect for the Native American traditions that inspired this reflection. The teachings of Crow Medicine offered me a profound perspective, and I honor the cultural roots of this wisdom. I encourage others to approach these traditions with reverence, curiosity, and a willingness to glean wisdom from them.

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I had the conversation with the Moon the night before I had the conversation with my man. I slept outside. Under the stars. It was February. I wanted to run. This was the best I could do.

I snuck out after everyone was asleep. Crawled into my tent. Pressed my back into the cool ground. Weight longing to be held by the only thing not shifting beneath it.

The Moon said, “My darling daughter, you already know what to do.”

I awoke to the smeared circumference of sunrise. That backlit the call of a crow as big as a pterodactyl.

I made a deal with the Universe, said, “If he comes into the living room before he makes coffee, I’ll sit him down and tell him. If not, I won’t. Those are my terms.” I said this knowing he never comes into the living room first.

He came into the living room first.

“Hey. Can you sit down? We need to talk about something.”

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A few weeks later, I booked myself in for this . . .