In two days, I'll have been single for a year.

One year since I broke the heart of someone I will always love deeply. One year since I drove away from the home we shared with a bag packed, crying so hard I couldn’t breathe. Calling Katrine over and over again from my car, screaming and praying she would pick up. Pulling over twice on the way to her duplex to try to calm my gasps, worried about veering into the other lane and crashing. Feeling my seams split and gossamer threads loosen out, myself unwinding, unfurling out and out and out until I was only a straight thread.

One year since unpacking my clothes in dim light in Katrine’s spare bedroom at 1am. Remembering I forgot my anxiety meds at the house. Realizing it was no longer “the house.” Staring at the wall in the dark and listening to my own raspy breath.

One year since unpacking the last box in the kitchen of my new apartment. Sitting in the middle of the floor, watching the drywall shapes on the ceiling change until I realized I was crying again. Feeling the loose seams of myself I had barely sewed together split apart again because this was my home now.

One year since arranging my furniture and donating most of my clothes. Resisting the urge to cut off all my hair. Buying bath bombs and cooking fresh meals and engrossing myself in the same six lighthearted sitcoms so I wouldn’t have to think too much about the constant pit in my stomach. Feeling it shrink a little every day, but the difference was too small to notice.

One year since I learned who this new person was. This Erin, post-college, post-four-year-relationship, post-first-adult-job, post-trauma, post-everything. This new woman who gets to be only her and no one else.

I’ve survived. I’m on the other side of it all. The seams of me are neatly sewn. I’m full of only myself. I even feel lonely again, but not that kind of familiar post-breakup loneliness. It’s more of a knowledge that I want to be with someone again. That I’m ready and looking forward to it. That I’m tired of waiting for my person, but we’ll find each other eventually. But for now, I’m good. I’m good.