There’s a particular kind of heaviness that comes from preparing for a major life change mostly on your own. The practical reality of being the only person who can push things forward. Every task, every decision, every moment of doubt lands on my shoulders because there’s no one else here to share the weight.

Some days I move through it with stubborn clarity. I know what I’m working toward. I know why I’m doing this. I can feel the future I’m trying to build, and it keeps me going.

Other days, the loneliness of it hits harder. Not the emotional loneliness of being unloved; because I have love in my life. There's this lyric from the song Cinnamon by Hayley Williams: "I'm not lonely/I am free." I resonate with that so much. This isn't that. It's the logistical loneliness of being unassisted. The kind where I'm sorting paperwork at 8 pm on a Friday night because there’s no one to help. I'm making decisions without anyone to talk them through with, because I've tried and nobody truly understands; either they haven't gone through it themselves, or they're upset that I'm leaving. And honestly, I don't know how many people who are as disabled as I am have even attempted something like this without the support of family (which is not an option for me). I'm exhausted and still have to keep going, because if I don’t, nothing happens.

It’s strange to hold both truths at once: that I’m overwhelmed, and that I’m capable. That I’m tired, and that I’m determined. That I wish I had support, and that I’m still moving forward without it.

This is the resilience of showing up for my own life even when I'm the only one in the room.