We Can’t Outrun Our Shadows

In my twenties, I packed my bags and left the place I knew. Good ole’ Nebraska. I headed East to a new world. Told myself I was seeking adventure—new cities, new jobs, new faces. I was chasing growth, or so I thought. And while there was truth to that, I can admit now: I was running. Not toward something, but away.

Away from the things I didn’t want to face. The pain I hadn’t processed. The patterns I hadn’t broken. The version of me I didn’t yet know how to love.

What came with me even though uninvited? My shadows. All of them. I learned they don’t stay behind when you move. They pack themselves in the corners of your suitcase. They ride shotgun on road trips. They follow you into new relationships and whisper into old wounds, even in the middle of a beautiful, new life.

Because location doesn’t heal what’s broken inside. If it did, there’s no doubt a stunning backdrop like the Berkshires would have done so.

I thought if I changed the scenery, I’d change the story. But the real transformation—the deep, gritty, soul-shifting kind—only comes when you stop running. When you look in the mirror and say, “Okay. Let’s do this. Let’s stop pretending and start unlearning.”

And let me be clear—it is not easy. The work is hard. It’s raw. It strips you of illusions and sometimes, people. You lose those who only loved the version of you that stayed small and quiet and compliant. The ones who preferred your mask over your healing.

But what you gain?

Boundaries. The kind that protect your peace. A kind of self-love that’s no longer conditional. A voice that no longer shakes when it speaks truth. And a life where your pain isn’t wasted—but repurposed into something that might help someone else feel seen, heard, and a little less alone.

No, we can’t outrun our shadows. But we can turn toward them, do the work, and walk forward—not weighed down by them—but wiser because of them.

<3 H