15 November 2025

When my mother moved to Singapore, I became a parent overnight. Not to a child, but to my little sister, who was still in high school. I went from being her older sister to making sure food was on the table, grades were met, and she graduated on time. I was 23 when my mother impulsively moved abroad with her husband for his new job opportunity.

This blog is about that journey—how it felt, how it broke me at times, and how it shaped me into the person I am today. It’s about the quiet sacrifices that go unnoticed, ones that don’t make headlines. I didn’t ask for these responsibilities, but I felt obligated to take them on. Maybe you’ve carried some, too.

It was unexpected, my mother moving halfway across the world. I would have been nervous too if I were leaving the country. At the time, I had just broken up with my ex-boyfriend and driven across the United States by myself, two cats, and whatever I could pack in my car. My sister, in her last year of high school, didn’t want to move with her. And honestly, I don’t blame her. After spending four years at the same high school, why leave everything familiar for a completely new life in another country?

She had two options: move in with our dad and our three siblings, or move in with our grandparents, who were heavily religious. Not wanting either, she asked if she could stay with me. I would do anything for her, so like the big sister I am, I agreed until she finished high school.

Taking on the responsibility sounded like a simple task, on the surface. I told myself, “ I can handle this. It’s just for a year.” But overnight my life quickly shifted. I had to step up and be the adult my sister needed, even when i didn’t feel like much of an adult myself. But I had to figure it out.

I had to push my mess aside. The heartbreak I was still grieving, driving across the country alone with everything I could grab, and the confusion of rebuilding my life after the Navy. All of it had to be pushed aside. My sister didn’t need anymore confusion. She needed stability. She needed to know that someone would show up for her even on days when I wanted to fall apart. So I became that person for her.

Throughout the year, I worked at a job that I hated but paid decent. I worked long nights and barely had any room for a social life. My routine was work, home, sleep, and repeat. To help out with expenses, I also decided to use my Post 9/11 benefits to go back to school while I was working overnights. And all of my unresolved struggles I had pushed aside were finally catching up to me. The heartbreak, the anxiety, the pressure of being “the strong one”, all came falling on top of me. They didn’t stay buried for long. I had taken on so much, I didn’t realize how heavy the weight was until I cracked.

I created unhealthy habits to try and cope with everything around me. I didn’t know how to balance heartbreak, responsibility, school, and work, so I numbed myself in ways I knew how. I stayed up late nights, slept too little, avoided my feelings until I they spilled over and convinced myself that I was “fine’ because I didn’t have time to fall apart.

Then, New Year’s eve 2023, everything shattered again. My ex-boyfriend, was having a baby with an old friend from the military. The timeline clicked together like a puzzle piece. I realized that during the 4 days he was gone, he might have been with her instead. My heart shattered into pieces all over again. All of those feelings came flooding back. The last conversation, packing whatever I could carry, the lonely drive across the country. I was never meant to be “the” person, his person.

My heart couldn’t take another heartbreak on top of everything else happening in my life. It felt like my life was shattering into a million pieces and I didn’t have the strength to put back together. I was supposed to be the “strong one”, the reliable one, the one who held everything together. But I hit my limit.

I couldn’t pull myself out of the hole. For the next three months, I would shut myself out from everything. I was silent. I stopped reaching out. I barely had the energy to exist, left alone show up for my routine. It was survival mode at that point, and I didn’t realize how hard I had fallen.

Over those three months, everything slowly slipped away from me. I ended up losing my job and dropping out of school, not because I wanted to but because I had no motivation left to fight. Each day became heavier than the last. The smallest tasks felt impossible to do. I started to not take care of myself. Most nights I couldn’t sleep. I had no appetite, no energy, not even to take a shower. I was just going through the motions, barely.

My world was black and white, starving for color.

One night, sometime in March, I realized I couldn’t live like this anymore. I was sitting on the bathroom floor, exhausted from crying, numb from everything. I couldn’t live like this anymore. That was the night I decided to get help. It wasn’t a magical fix, but it was the first time I chose me.

I used the last bit of energy I did have and went to the emergency room to seek professional help. Not because I wanted to but because I was scared of what would happen if I didn’t go.

As I sat in the chair at the ER room with it’s bright fluorescent lighting, all I could think about was my sister. It felt like I let her down, I couldn’t show up for her like how I should of. I couldn’t become hospitalized. I couldn’t disappear on her the same way others have disappeared on us.

The doctor asked me a series of questions.

“Are you sleeping?

No.

“Are you eating?”

No

“Do you feel like harming yourself or others?”

Then I hesitated. For the first time I felt seen but not like how I wanted to be seen.

The doctors asked me more questions then came back with a result. I was then told by the doctor, “You’re close to burnout and in a major depressive episode. We need to make sure you’re safe.”

I nodded, trying to hold myself together. I kept thinking about my sister waiting at home, probably wondering where I am. If she knew where I ended up, she would worry. I didn’t want to scare her, and honestly, I was embarrassed.

I told them the truth:
“I can’t be admitted. I have someone depending on me.”

They looked at each other, then back at me. And instead of pushing me to stay and get treatment, they met me where I was. In the moment, I was willing to take that risk, for my sister.

We created a safety plan.
They connected me with outpatient support.
They gave me crisis numbers and follow-up appointments.

I left the ER fragile but held together by something I hadn’t had in a long time, hope. Or maybe just the possibility of hope.

18 August 2025

It took four days to get in touch with him. Four days of anxiety and imaging the worst. Was it a car crash, did he get arrested, or is it something worse? When he finally picked up, all I got was a “Yeah I’m fine, talk later”. Moral of the story? Christmas in June doesn’t last forever. 

A broken heart is the worst kind of pain. Although your heart doesn’t break physically, but it feels like it. The shattering pain when you find out information you didn’t want to know. Would it be better off not asking questions to keep the peace? When he came back I had a million questions to ask him. Why was he gone for four days? Why didn’t he answer my phone calls and text? What was he doing during those four days? Instead, I only asked one question. Did you care about how I felt while you were gone? I watch his face turn into that nonchalant look when I asked.The kind that acts tough but is actually a shield. He had nothing to say. Did he really care?

There’s nothing more uncomfortable than being in the same house with your ex-lover. Every step feels like you’re walking on egg shells. Conversations shorten to just the necessities. Did you pay your half of rent? Are you going to get groceries? Days of heavy silence passed until he finally spoke. We went back and forth untangling why he left. Finally he said the words no one wants to hear. 

“I just don’t want to be with you anymore.”

My heart sank to my stomach. My throat felt like it had a lump in it. My heart shattered into a thousand shards of glass. Like any person would do, I decided to conduct my own “investigation”. I had to know why. During my search, I found numerous of dating apps on his phone. All messaging other women asking for meet ups. My heart shattered all over again. I didn’t want to believe it was true, but the truth was undeniable. 

Trying to focus at work after your ex-lover says he doesn’t want to be with you anymore and finding dating apps is the hardest thing to bear. I kept replaying the conversation over again in my mind like a broken record. Did I do something wrong in the relationship? Was this my fault? Could I have prevented this? Eventually, my coworkers began to notice my demeanor change. I was filled with sorrow, grief, and melancholy, a walking gray cloud ready to pour with rain. I wasn’t in the mood to be social. I wanted to finish work, go immediately home, and bury myself underneath the blankets, shutting out the world. 

No one warns you about the developed post-breakup anxiety. Manifesting in numerous ways. It starts with intrusive thoughts, racing thoughts, restless nights, and the god awful headaches from crying until you’re empty and numb. The panic attacks by scenarios you create in your own mind. Dreading work. Not feeling at home. Wondering what unwanted guest might be waiting at home. Luckily we made a rule for no new partners in the house. Even in the middle of heartbreak, that boundary kept me from fully spiraling. 

Finally, I’ve had enough. At the same time as my heartbreak I was separating from the Navy. Thankfully I could break from the lease with my separation papers. Without them I would have been stuck living with my ex-lover until later that fall. 

I started planning my trip back home to Virginia from Washington State. It seemed impossible to do, especially with no help or support, just me. My orders allowed me 10 days to move, but I managed to pack everything in less than five days. The agonizing silence in that apartment was unbearable. It left me in my thoughts replaying our conversations in my mind. That silence gave me the courage to leave. Not one should feel like a stranger in their own home. 

I crammed everything I could into my tiny Hyundai Venue, my clothes, a few essentials, and my two cats. Everything else stayed behind. The couch, the dressers, the dishes, things I worked hard for he kept. That made me resentful. He cheated on me, and somehow he still got to keep the comfort of the home we built. 

I didn’t have any energy to fight it. I was too tired, too empty. I chose myself instead.  On Thursday, I drove away. I left behind the couch, the dishes, and the dressers. But I took my freedom with me. Freedom from the military and freedom from a toxic relationship.

And I never looked back. 

31 July 2025

I’ve lived through noise. Through the catapults slamming against the deck beneath where I slept, sirens in my head from conducting drills, the loud silence that follows a mental breakdown. But writing? That’s my way of listening. It’s how I fill the deafening silence, how I make sense of the void. 

I joined the military seeking structure and purpose, but in reality I was searching for an escape. I didn’t know that I would leave with just uniforms, memories and a few great friends that I now call family. I left with a version of myself I have still been trying to understand ever since. 

At the time, everything felt unstable. My relationship with my mother was back and forth like a seesaw, I had no money to my name, and desperate a sense of self. Joining the military looked like the best option. After all I come from a family of military, how hard could it be? I thought if I could survive bootcamp, I could survive myself.

A day before I was set to depart, I announced it to my family. My mother felt betrayed I didn’t include her in the process. But I needed to do something for myself, without any outside influence. Without someone asking me, “Are you sure you want to sign your life away?  Be gone for long periods of time?”.  

The truth was I didn’t have a perfect plan. I had an instinct. I had to leave for myself, to be apart of something bigger than me, something that might make me stronger. I wanted to be useful. I wanted to be seen. And deep down, I wanted a clear instruction on how to live. 

I was young, idealistic, and hurting in ways I didn’t have the words for. The military became a place where I could hold all of that, set it to the side, even if it never truly fixed it. 

(03 August 2025)

It felt like Christmas in June. I was finally separating from the Navy. I could hardly sleep the night before from all the exciting thoughts going through my head. “How am I going to celebrate?”. “What is the first thing I’m going to do?”.

That morning, I woke up earlier than usual for the big day. I made sure my hair was extra slicked with gel, my makeup was subtle and natural, and made sure I put on my best uniform. Triple checking all of my checkout sheets for my command, it finally hit me. I’m actually separating the Navy.

Excitement swirled with anxiety. The Navy has been my whole world since I graduated high school. Was I ready to leave out into the real world again? I knew a part of my life would end and a new one would begin. And that was frightening. 

Gathering all of my paperwork, I got to my car, and drove to base one last time. I waited morning gate traffic, just like every other day. The gate guard looked at my CAC card like always. Only this time it was, goodbye.

Everything felt meaningful. Pulling Tinto the parking lot, walking through the turnstile, stepping into my command. These people, most of the strangers, became part of my every day routine. It felt strange knowing I’d probably never see them again. In a way it made me unexpectedly sad. Why am I getting sad over a person I never even knew? I knew after today I would be free and tomorrow they would still be working or standing watch. They’ll still be working hard while I’ll be at home sleeping in wondering what to do with my day. I felt empathy.

I walked to admin, heart pounding through my well kept uniform. Deep down I wanted to grab my paperwork and make a run for it. But I knew the right thing to do would be to say my goodbyes. So that’s what I did. I sat through every Chief and Officers “farewell” speech, the thing I was trying to avoid. I knew they meant well and they’re just looking after there sailors. All of them said along the same thing. “You are still a Sailor”, “You still represent the United States Navy.”. I thought to myself, “Not after today, I’ll be a civilian as soon as I leave this base.”. 

I went back to the admin office where I had to do the hardest thing ever. Surrender my CAC card. The one thing that gave me healthcare, government access, and discounts at my favorite shops. It was finally gone.

The only thing left to do was leave base. As I was walking back to my card a weight lifted off my chest. Simultaneously, feeling grief and despair that part of my life as ending and a new one was beginning. Shouldn’t I be excited? I walked to my car, open the car door, and sat silence. 

The drive off base was the hardest. A huge wave of emotions came over me. Sadness, pride, fear and an unexpected emptiness. My military career has ended. I was leaving my job, my structured life, and people who became my second family behind. I wondered, “ Would I ever find that kind of bond again?”. They were more than coworkers. We sweat through long shifts, laughed until we couldn’t breathe, and shared traditions only those who’ve served could understand.

I drove away with the morning sun in my rearview as I heard the sound of the afterburner from F-18 jets. I didn’t know what would be next, but I knew I couldn’t go back. Freedom was beautiful, but also terrifying. And that’s the part no one talks about.