The Post Where I Finally Unpack That Can of Worms

The Reality My Social Media Didn’t Show for 5 Years

In my last post, I casually mentioned that my time in Orlando wasn’t exactly the stuff dreams are made of. Was it the place, or was it the stuff I went through while I was there? Well, buckle up, because today, I’m opening that can of worms. Spoiler: it wasn’t the palm trees or theme parks making life less than magical—it was the situation I was in.

Before we dive in, I want to take a moment to explain why I’m sharing all of this. Writing these experiences down isn’t about dwelling on the past or pointing fingers—it’s about reflection, growth, and, most importantly, connection. I’ve been through some tough, eye-opening moments, and I know I’m not the only one. If sharing my story helps even one person feel less alone, gives them the courage to make a change, or offers a new perspective, then putting all of this out there is worth it. Life can be messy, relationships even more so, but we learn, we grow, and we move forward. This is my way of doing just that—and maybe helping someone else do the same.

Let’s rewind. I lived in Orlando for about two years. Alone. My ex-husband was a truck driver, which meant he was on the road for weeks, sometimes months. And me? I couldn’t work or travel while waiting for my green card to be approved. For those unfamiliar with the process, when you’re waiting for residency, you’re basically stuck. No job, no trips home, just… waiting. I applied for special permits to work and travel, but by the time they processed, my green card had already arrived. Thanks for nothing, bureaucracy.

So, there I was: sitting in a house, day after day, with nothing but my thoughts and relationship problems for company. And let me tell you, that’s not a combo I’d recommend. I fell into anxiety and depression, feeling completely isolated. I didn’t have friends in the U.S., and I didn’t want to worry my mom or friends back home. I could already hear them saying, “Pack your things and come home!” Which, ironically, is exactly what I would’ve told them if they were in my shoes. But I couldn’t just give up. I’d left my dream job, my drem life and all those amazing people I met there in Dubai  - for love, and I was determined to fix this relationship.

The Moment I Realized the Fix Wasn’t Coming

When I finally worked up the courage to tell him I was struggling—feeling depressed, lonely, and completely unmoored—his response left me speechless. (And in tears.) He said, and I quote, “que ladilla.” ** For those not fluent in Venezuelan slang, let’s just say it’s the equivalent of “What a nuisance.” Charming, right? 
The real kicker? He wasn’t upset about my struggles themselves—he was annoyed at the idea that he might have to deal with them. Because, let’s face it, supporting someone with depression takes effort, patience, and care, and he didn’t seem interested in putting in the work. My pain was just another inconvenience to him, something he couldn’t be bothered to handle. And that, more than anything, hit me like a ton of bricks.

**Person, moment or circumstance that is very annoying or bothersome.

That’s when the reality started sinking in: I might not be in the right relationship. I wish I could say that was the only red flag, but let’s be honest, I could fill a book with them. From constant fights to him blocking me (yes, blocking me—his wife—because I didn’t agree on where to spend Christmas), the list of signs was endless. Oh, and let’s not forget the time he wanted to go surfing in Mexico during Christmas. Without me. Because I couldn’t travel. Merry Christmas to me.

The Question We All Need to Ask Ourselves

Here’s the thing I’ve been reflecting on: why do we stay in relationships that drain us? Why do we ignore the signs, the gut feelings, the giant flashing red flags screaming “GET OUT”? Why do we risk our mental health, our happiness, and sometimes even our physical safety for the sake of trying to fix something that’s clearly broken?

It’s like we’re convinced that if we just try harder, if we’re just better, we can make it work. But what exactly are we fixing? A relationship that crushes our self-esteem? A partnership where we’re told we’re not enough? That we’re useless, or that our opinions don’t matter? At what point do we stop trying to fix it and start fixing ourselves?

Sometimes, we create a picture in our head of how life or a relationship should be—a movie we wrote, a masterpiece we painted, completely fictional. It’s not real; it never was. But we cling to it because we’re in love with the potential we saw at the start. That magical “what if” keeps us holding on, trying to mold reality to fit the dream we’ve crafted in our minds. But here’s the thing: relationships aren’t about potential. They’re about what’s actually there, right now. And trying to force something to be what it’s not is like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole—it’s exhausting, pointless, and in the end, only leaves you drained.

The Turning Point

Looking back, I can see how much I lost myself in that relationship. I let it consume me—my energy, my happiness, my sense of self. And for what? To stay with someone who thought surfing in Mexico without me was a solid Christmas plan? To keep fighting battles that left me exhausted and empty? Somewhere along the way, I realized I deserved better. That it wasn’t my job to fix someone else’s issues or to sacrifice myself for a relationship that didn’t value me.

To Anyone Who’s Been There

If any of this sounds familiar, let me tell you something I wish I’d told myself back then: you are enough. You don’t have to fix something that’s breaking you. Respect yourself enough to walk away when it’s time, no matter how hard it feels in the moment. Because staying in a relationship that drains you isn’t just a waste of time—it’s a waste of you.

Why am I talking about this? Because I lasted almost five years in a relationship I knew, deep down, I shouldn’t be in. I remember the exact moment when my intuition—or maybe it was the universe, or God, or all three—told me to leave. I was in Johannesburg, South Africa. And the craziest part? It was so early on. Like, embarrassingly early. But, of course, I stayed. I told myself I could fix it, that it was just a phase, that things would get better. And while I firmly believe everything happens for a reason (because I wouldn’t be where I am today without all of it), I can’t help but look back and wonder why I ignored the very loud, very obvious signs. Was it stubbornness? Optimism? Or just the belief that if I stayed long enough, the universe might change its mind? Spoiler: it didn’t.

I’m sharing this because I want to help others learn from my experiences— I don’t like to call it mistake. It wasn’t. These were life experiences that taught me some of the hardest and most valuable lessons. If even one person reads this and feels inspired to reflect on their own situation, to find the strength to take that first step toward a better, happier, freer life, then I’ve reached my goal. Sometimes all it takes is knowing you’re not alone, that someone else has been there and made it through, to spark the courage to start your own journey forward.