stillbecoming.studio

Leaving…
Stepping away.
Moving.

That was exactly what I needed.
Not because there was anything concrete in my life that was hurting me,
but because I felt an undeniable urge to move, to create distance.
Until I could finally name what that feeling was,
I wrestled for a long time with the vast emptiness inside me.

Yes, we had financial difficulties.
After a long period of stability,
the pandemic — that strange, unwanted intruder —
pushed us into serious financial strain.
But money was never the core issue for me.
I’ve always believed money is a form of energy,
and that sometimes its flow simply changes direction.

Love, on the other hand, was always there.
It had changed form, yes,
but it was still enough to keep me in that house.
There was peace.
There was joy.
The joy between us,
the joy in our family,
friends, familiar faces —
all of it existed.

So what was this emptiness inside me?

Some people said I was simply “too comfortable.”
In Turkey, when a woman says,
“I feel an emptiness inside,”
there is almost no escaping that comment.
After hearing it often enough,
I decided to turn inward
and resolve the matter within my own dark corners.

Long, sleepless nights…
Books read,
podcasts listened to,
pages written,
sentences that found me at the right moment,
a few honest opinions from my closest friend,
well-intentioned advice…
I would say nearly a year and a half passed like this.

And then, of course, there was the menopause issue.
In our society, if a woman turns inward
or feels trapped in her life,
the sole explanation seems to be menopause.
Educated or not,
women or men,
old or young —
everyone miraculously agrees on this diagnosis.
That realization was, in itself, another moment of disbelief for me.

Anyway…
I’ve gone on long enough.

After thinking for a very long time,
the voice inside me finally whispered this:

“Your life is very safe.
But is this truly the life you want to experience?”

I knew my answer.

I needed to move.
I needed distance.
I needed to leave.

And that is where the real difficulty began.

At times, I wished things had been worse.
Because leaving would have been easier then.
Fights, chaos, unrest…
Perfect excuses to go.
And so easy to explain.

Since this wasn’t going to be easy,
I needed a plan.
One that would prepare everyone,
one that would move forward with as little damage as possible.

Once my decision was clear,
I began with my son.
One evening, when we were alone,
I explained my decision and my reasons.
He wasn’t surprised.

“I thought it would happen sooner,” he said.
“I’m with both of you, all the way.”

That sentence lifted an enormous weight from my chest.

Then it was time to speak to the person most directly affected.
But for months, I couldn’t say a single word.
I waited for a sign from the universe —
some confirmation that the timing was right.
I drifted a little,
wandered quite a lot,
questioned my decision again and again…
until one day, that sign arrived.

That was it.
The time had come.

I went home, sat down across from him,
and spoke carefully, one sentence at a time.
I explained my situation clearly and briefly.
There was no great shock, no harsh reaction.
Just a calm response:

“Okay. If this is what you want.”

Then came the plan of leaving the house.

After sharing my decision,
I allowed four months for everyone to adjust.
I would leave at the beginning of summer.
But there was a small problem:
I had no money.

I wasn’t in a position to build a new life,
rent my own place,
or sustain it on my own.

Yes…
At fifty years old,
after a lifetime of working,
I couldn’t establish a life for myself.

My sister opened her arms.
“Come live with me,” she said.

I moved from my princess bedroom
back into my fourteen-year-old self’s room.
At fifty, I took shelter under my sister’s wings.

Easy to write.
Hard to live.

But I can’t hold anyone responsible for this.
Because every choice had been mine.
And remember:
adapting to someone else’s choices
is also a choice we make.

Trying to manage this entire process with grace
left me deeply exhausted.
The home I left behind,
the life I stepped away from,
the new environment I entered…
and the constant maneuvering around people’s comments.

There are people whose efforts deserve recognition here:
my husband — now my ex-husband —
my son,
and our families.
The closest expressions of grace
came from them.

And yes,
this is my story of leaving home.

Looking back,
even if the emotions were heavier than they appear in these lines,
I feel that you understand me.

With love,
Nazan

About These Piece!

If These Piece had a color : It would be ”Sky Blue”.

If These Piece had a Song : It would be ”Winter from Vivaldi Four Seasons”. https://open.spotify.com/intl-tr/track/6OHOYEMQfPKWZY4Uxxybnh?si=e3a15515b3844c93

If These Piece had a Scent : It would be ”A Fresh Morning in Nature”.