When Safety Is Conditional

Right now, my body is still in full fight-or-flight. I’m jumpy. I’m anxious. I’m scared.

Recently, during a tense moment, someone I trusted more than anyone in my life said to me": “We got you this apartment, and you’re still unhappy.”

Since when?

Because the truth is, all I’ve ever said—to anyone—is how much I love this apartment. We’ve had conversations about how happy I am here. About staying long-term. I was told the lease would be renewed. This space was supposed to be my sanctuary. A fresh chapter. A place to rebuild.

Instead, a false narrative was created. One that painted me as ungrateful, unhappy, and hard to please. And I don’t understand why—except maybe to hurt me. Or maybe because it’s easier to make me look unreasonable than to listen to my truth. If I say I’m happy here… why would you want to convince people otherwise?

And just like that, the rug was pulled out from under me.

I regret ever asking for help. When my ex-boyfriend begged me to reach out for support, I told him, You don’t understand. Now he does. And he feels terrible for encouraging it. Because I may be in fight-or-flight until the day I leave this place. I don’t feel safe anymore.

What I thought was stability offered in love turned out to be conditional. What I believed was a long-term commitment turned out to be temporary—maybe even a setup. Before this, I was living in a basement, barely hanging on but I was able to survive. I didn’t want to ask for help because I knew how risky it was to hope.

I thought I was safe. I was wrong.

And the worst part? This came from the person I trusted most. Someone I never imagined would use my peace as leverage. Someone I believed would never make me feel like a burden.

Now I know I can’t ‘wait until December’ to find out whether or not I’ll be “allowed” to keep my home. I was told this was long-term—then suddenly, it wasn’t. If that can change so easily, what else can? Forget it - Nic and I are out in December if we stay that long.

I can’t afford to sit in limbo, clinging to the hope that someone else might decide to let me feel safe. If I have learned anything, its to take as best care of myself as possible because I am the only one I can rely on.

So I need to start making arrangements—now.

I wanted to stay in Connecticut. My parents are getting older, and I wanted to be close to them in these years. That mattered deeply to me. But what I’ve realized is—what matters to me only matters to me. In truth, life would probably be easier for them if I weren’t around.

Here I am—chronically ill, on a fixed income, living in one of the most expensive states in the country, with weather that worsens my condition—just to be near people who treat me like an inconvenience.

It’s time to make plans for the next 10 years of my life.

I’m still deeply committed to my business, my art, and my mission. And of course, to Nicky. But now, my safety has to be just as important. It has to come first.

As much as I’ve longed to spend my time being creative and joyful, that’s not what the people closest to me seem to want for me. Every time my life gets simple, they bring chaos. Every time I finish something meaningful—my website, my art, my healing—they criticize it or find a way to diminish it.

I’m tired.

I’m tired of not being accepted for who I am today. I’m not the Dana from 20 years ago who was out partying. I’m not the Dana from 5 years ago who was drowning in work, trying to keep everyone else’s lives running.

I’m this Dana. And if someone can’t love and support her—they don’t belong in my inner circle.

So Nicky and I are going to take some trips. We’re going to explore new places—places where we could breathe, create, and be at peace. Where my home will be mine. Where no one has the power to take my stability away.

I’ve done the research before. I’ll do more now. Because this next decade? It’s mine.

Not ours.

Not theirs.

Mine.

I still love my family. I always will. But if I can’t trust them to have my best interests at heart—and instead, I’m just a disruption, an obligation, or something to be controlled—then it’s time for space. It’s time to move forward and build something new, even if that means loving them from a distance.

I never thought I’d feel this way.

But as heartbreaking as it is…

It feels right.

With Love (the real kind),

Dana and Nicky.