For most of my life, running was my escape. As a kid, I moved a lot because of my family situation. It was chaotic, and the instability followed me well into adulthood. By the time I turned 18, I kept up the pattern, moving from place to place because it was what I knew best. In a way, it felt like the easiest way to deal with life—just keep running. But all I really did was take my trauma with me, from one place to the next.
Escapism takes many forms. Whether it’s shopping for that dopamine hit, drinking to numb the pain, or seeking comfort in the wrong people, it’s all an attempt to run. But here’s the truth: you can’t drink it away, you can’t fuck it away, you can’t travel it away. You can only sit with it. The only way out is through.
The Comfort of Chaos
Growing up, moving was part of my life, but when I hit 18, I kept moving—this time on my own terms. It was the only pattern I knew. But no matter where I went, my trauma followed. It wasn’t until I finally settled in Liverpool at 25 that I started to understand this. It wasn’t just about escaping an abusive household anymore; it had become a habit, a way to avoid facing myself. The moving, the chaos—it was comfortable because it kept me distracted.
Cannabis came into my life late. I didn’t start using it until I was 25, and it was then that things began to shift. Before that, I mostly used sex as a way to escape—seeking connection in all the wrong places. But instead of connecting, I ended up more disconnected from my own body.
Hypersexualization: A False Sense of Control
Because the only sex I had known up until that point was violent and non-consensual, hypersexuality felt like a way to take control. It became my proof of worth, a way to convince myself I was lovable, deserving of connection, and in control. As someone socialized as a woman and living in a bigger body, I felt like I had so many things stacked against me. So I made it my mission to prove that I could fuck the hottest men, make them obsessed with my body, with fucking me.
But here’s the thing: none of them would do it openly. They wanted my body, my sexual energy, but not me. My messages were always full—DMs, WhatsApp, text—but when I wanted more than lust, when I wanted love or care, they’d disappear. It reinforced the story I already believed: that I was unlovable, that I was just a vessel to be used.
But the real lesson was this: they weren’t worthy of me. Access to me is a privilege, not something to be taken lightly. What I needed to realize was that I am worthy, and not everyone deserves to be let into my world.
The Only Way Out is Through
Sitting with pain is uncomfortable. Trust me, I know. But avoiding it, pushing it away, or trying to numb it only prolongs the suffering. You have to sit with your feelings, shine a light on your shadows, and allow the discomfort to move through you. It’s the only way to release it.
One thing that’s helped me is an exercise from Michelle Elman’s book The Joy of Being Selfish. She suggests finding something that makes you cry, like a movie or a song, and then focusing on where that emotion sits in your body. For me, sometimes it’s in my belly or my chest, and allowing myself to fully cry and release that tension has been healing. It doesn’t fix everything, but it gives the body space to let go of what it’s been holding onto.
Therapy, journaling, and crying (yes, I cry at everything now) have been essential for me. I used to live in my head because my body didn’t feel safe. Journaling has allowed me to get out of my head, to release the tension that builds up inside. And it’s okay if you don’t do it every day. Consistency, not perfection, is what matters.
Moving Forward
I know what it’s like to be deeply angry. Angry at the world for not giving you the care and love you deserved. Angry at yourself for believing you weren’t worth more. And it’s okay to feel that anger. But you can’t stay there forever. Part of healing is holding space for all the versions of yourself—the ones who were lost, the ones who were scared, the ones who did the best they could with what they had. And now, you have the chance to care for them in a way they never were before.
If you’re still running, still escaping, I get it. It’s hard to stop. But at some point, you have to. You have to face what you’ve been running from. And I promise you, when you do, you’ll realise that the power to heal was always inside you.
Ok, thanks for reading! Loviou bye!
Ps: I’m still away, so orders are still 20% off with Breath20 at check out.
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