This chapter marks the beginning of my adult life.
For as long as I can remember, I wanted to leave my parents’ house. When I was about six years old, I used to pack a few things in a chador and pretend that I was leaving. Of course, I never actually left. Where was I going to go at that age?
I also don’t really remember why I wanted to leave at that age. And we won’t get into that discussion here, because if you read Farsi and continue reading the rest of my blog, you’ll eventually understand that my “why” was never important anyway. In the end, it was always my fault.
Although this chapter meant freedom to me, the journey was not easy. I was leaving with almost no self-esteem, the result of years of being humiliated and carrying the blame for everything that was ever wrong in the house… other people’s emotions, conflicts, disappointments, and problems. I grew up believing that somehow everything was my fault, that I was bad, that I was a problem.
Nevertheless, this was the best decision of my life.
One thing I know with absolute certainty is that I left and never looked back even once.
My only regret is that I didn’t do it sooner…
🌱🏠 زیر پوستِ خانه 