I look at this picture now and I see a woman who was smiling.
What I don’t see is the exhaustion she was carrying.
What I don’t see is the fear, the confusion, the grief, and the years of survival mode hidden behind that smile.
This picture was taken around the time I moved to New Orleans.
At the time, I convinced myself I was moving toward something new. A fresh start. A different life. A chance to leave behind everything that had hurt me.
I believed that if I could just change my surroundings, I could finally find peace.
What I didn’t understand then was that you can move across the country, but you still take yourself with you.
The trauma comes too.
The unresolved pain comes too.
The nervous system that has spent decades preparing for danger comes too.
The survival patterns come too.
And so does the chaos.
For years, I thought chaos was something happening to me.
Bad relationships.
Bad circumstances.
Bad luck.
Difficult people.
And while many of those things were very real, there was another truth I wasn’t yet ready to face:
I had become so accustomed to chaos that I carried it wherever I went.
Not because I was a bad person.
Not because I wanted drama.
But because chaos felt familiar.
I had spent so much of my life living in survival mode that calm felt uncomfortable.
Predictability felt boring.
Peace felt unfamiliar.
My nervous system had been trained by years of childhood trauma, abuse, and fear to expect danger around every corner. Even when danger wasn’t present, my body was still searching for it.
So I kept trying to change my environment.
A different city.
A different job.
A different relationship.
A different house.
A different version of life.
But no matter where I went, I somehow kept finding the same patterns.
The common denominator was me.
That realization wasn’t easy.
In fact, it was heartbreaking.
Because it meant I couldn’t outrun what needed to be healed.
I couldn’t move far enough away.
I couldn’t stay busy enough.
I couldn’t achieve enough.
I couldn’t help enough people.
I couldn’t rescue everyone else while ignoring myself.
The healing had to happen inside of me.
The truth is, I wasn’t looking for a new city.
I was looking for safety.
I was looking for peace.
I was looking for freedom from wounds I didn’t yet understand.
And those things were never going to be found on a map.
They were going to be found through healing.
Through therapy.
Through faith.
Through hard conversations.
Through accountability.
Through learning how trauma had shaped my thoughts, my choices, my relationships, and even my identity.
Through understanding that surviving something and healing from it are not the same thing.
Looking back, I wish someone had helped me understand this sooner.
I wish someone had explained that healing isn’t about changing everything around you.
It’s about changing what is happening within you.
It’s about learning that the life you’ve always wanted isn’t built by escaping your past.
It’s built by facing it.
With compassion.
With courage.
With honesty.
And maybe that’s why I share these stories now.
Because there are people reading this who are planning their own version of New Orleans.
A new job.
A new relationship.
A new town.
A new beginning.
And sometimes those changes are exactly what we need.
But sometimes what we are really searching for is something no location can provide.
The peace we’re looking for begins when we stop running and start healing.
When we stop asking, “Where do I need to go?” and start asking, “What inside of me needs attention?”
That question changed everything for me.
And while I still have healing left to do, I no longer believe a different destination will save me.
Because the greatest journey I have ever taken wasn’t across state lines.
It was the journey inward.
And that is where I finally began to find the peace I had been searching for all along.
If you’re in a season of wanting to run, I understand. I’ve been there. But before you pack your bags, take a moment to ask yourself what you’re truly trying to leave behind. Sometimes the bravest thing we can do isn’t start over somewhere else—it’s stay still long enough to heal.
And when you begin choosing healing over running, truth over avoidance, and courage over comfort, that is when you know you have stepped onto your own courageous journey.
Love, Paula ❤️
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