Two words I’ve been described as my entire life are “independent” and “tough”.
When people hear the word “independent,” they probably picture strength. Someone who has it all together. When people hear “tough”, I imagine they picture mean or put off. What people don’t see is the exhaustion that comes with carrying everything alone when you’re so independent. How being “tough” is just a survival skill.
Being independent means there is no backup plan. No one splitting responsibilities. No one stepping in when life gets overwhelming. You just keep going because you truly have no other choice.
Late on bills? Figure it out. Short on money for groceries? Time to get creative. All of this plus more fell on my lap in my early years. There were nights I made meals from whatever I could find at Dollar Tree. Yes, really. I’ll never forget moving into my own condo for the first time in 2017. Let’s go back in time for a moment so this makes more sense.
I had just gone through an unexpected breakup with the man I’d moved to Orlando for after several years together. One day I thought I knew exactly what my future looked like. The next, I was scrambling to rebuild it.
When I found a condo on a whim, I took it. It was overpriced for what I could afford, but I had no choice. Unfortunately I was also short on a few house items. No bed. No dining table. No bedroom furniture. Just a couch, a bookshelf, a TV, and my German Shepherd, Levy. For the first 3 months, that couch was my bed. Levy curled up at my feet every night, just like he still does today.
Had I known I would be living on my own a week after accepting a brand new job, I never would have taken it. But life doesn’t always give you time to prepare. Sometimes it hands you a situation and waits to see what you’ll do next. So I adapted…Because I had no other choice.
I packed up an entire house by myself. I maintained the place I was leaving while preparing the place I was moving into. I cared for Levy. I fed myself. I paid bills. I carried the weight of uncertainty every single day.
And I worked. And worked. And worked. Seven days a week. Over sixty hours. For months. New job during the week, previous job on weekends. Talk about being burnt out and overwhelmed. But I had bills to pay and new expenses popping up.
Once I moved in to the condo, there was relief. But relief didn’t mean comfort. Two weeks of work didn’t even cover my new rent. I didn’t have internet for almost the first year because I couldn’t justify the expense. I didn’t have streaming services. I stretched every dollar as far as I could. My rent consumed most of my paycheck, and whatever was left went toward survival. I made sure Levy ate well before I did. I was literally starting from scratch in every aspect.
My first major purchase was a bed. I remember ordering it, building the frame by myself, and feeling proud beyond words. To most people it was just a bed. To me, it was proof that things were finally coming together. I was finally getting things together for myself.
That tiny home where I found my independence. Maybe too much of it. Many people describe me as cold, hard, or mean. (Or maybe I just think that’s how people see me.)
The truth is simpler than that. I’ve spent most of my adult life learning not to rely on anyone. No one came running to my rescue when I needed it. No one lent me their hand. No one woke up next to me every day saying, “You’ve got this. Keep going. I believe in you.” I was always forced to figure things out myself. I never had a shoulder to lean on. No one in my corner. It was always just me. And that puts a toll on you after years of living this way.
It would have been easy to give up. But I didn’t. I found a home I couldn’t afford, made sacrifices, and made it work out. Maybe you’d call it survival mode. Maybe you’d call it crazy. Either way, I did it.
Let’s fast forward a bit. Remember 2020? My job was affected too. When I reached out to my family with my financial struggles when my job basically laid us all off, I was told by my family to “find a food bank” and “look into government assistance”.
I could go on about stories that happened over the years in this home. Thankfully it all wasn’t struggle. A lot of positive came out of my time living here.
All of this to say – I learned how to solve problems without calling someone else. I learned how to navigate uncertainty. I learned how to survive. I learned how to depend on myself and figure life out. I learned I can start from nothing and rebuild.
I’m grateful for the help I didn’t get. Looking back it’s what helped me the most. There were plenty of times I wished someone would step in, lend a hand, somehow make things a little easier. But if they had, I’m not sure I’d have ever learned how to figure it out myself. I learned to make decisions and act on it. I learned to figure out problems. I learned to survive. It made me into who I am today. Hopefully not a terrible “mean” person, just a strong one.
That little condo saw every version of me. Broken. Happy. Angry. Hopeful. It watched me learn electrical work, tackle DIY projects, fix many appliances, and figure out challenges I had no business figuring out. I learned to garden. I learned to balance bills, about time management, and I even started my small business in that home. And those were just the early years. So much more of life happened in that small space.
Most importantly, it watched me build a life from almost nothing.
And while that decade made me tougher than I ever expected to be, it also showed me something important:
I can rebuild.
I’ve done it before.
And when life asks me to do it again, I will.
Until next time,
Brittany
