When someone casually asks me why I chose to come back to Portland, I usually give a vague but true answer like, “I really missed the weather and the trees.” Or, sometimes, I drop the stunning but true bombshell that I got divorced when I was 22.
Seeing as I’m currently 24, their next question is usually, “Omg, how long were you together?” And when I say five years, I can always see the confused, concerned look on their face as they do the math. Because, yeah—I got married a month to the day after I turned 18.
Coming Back to Portland
Four years later, we were living in his hometown, and I didn’t know who I was at all—only who I was to him. I had my art and home projects (which he’d get annoyed at), and that was it. Being in an emotionally neglectful marriage, staying only because of the religious rules and family values I used to keep myself up at night trying to follow, I had to summon every exhausted shred of myself to finally say, “I’m leaving.” The day after I turned 22, I did just that.
A month later, he moved out. Then I packed everything I owned into my Ford Focus hatchback—camping gear, my dog, and all—and had an awkward hug goodbye with the ex. And I drove off.
I’ve been in Portland since spring 2023. The divorce process was quick—we didn’t care enough to make it difficult. We both just wanted out. The papers were finalized in July, and since then, I’ve had the best times of my life.
Coming home to Portland and starting over felt like an opportunity—as it is for many—to create a new version of myself I hadn’t yet discovered. I started in a one-bedroom apartment in Beaverton, but now I live in Portland. I work from home. I paint every chance I get. I have a community here.
Finally, a place where I can truly feel at home—where I can cry, heal, make lattes, try new things, be scared, be sure of myself, then be wrong, and figure it all out again.
It gave me the chance to sit on my living room floor, feel my heartbeat with my hand, and wiggle my toes—knowing I’m safe here, on my own, at home. I have space to take up space. I get to rethink how I want to do things and expand myself by always staying curious about what more I can do.
When I was younger, I tried everything to do everything right—like a good Christian kid would. I had to be ready for the workforce, do well in school (or else I’d mess up my whole future), don’t get in trouble with boys, and somehow make sure I didn’t screw anything up along the way, smile while doing it. There was a clear path: school, marriage, family, raising kids.
Now? I don’t feel the need to do anything—other than be curious. About everything. And about everything I thought I was. I can be curious of the ways I can love and support others, and myself. There’s no limits.
So, yeah, I missed the trees, and missed being able to fully be my curious self, who’s always been covered in paint. I’m so glad to be home in Portland. and , I’m just so glad you’re here! :)
-J
I truly missed the trees. Living in Florida, I wanted to plant a pine tree in our backyard, but the idea was vetoed. I missed the trails and mountains. Florida has swamps and nature trails, which are beautiful in their own way, but they weren’t mine. I missed the gay people—need I elaborate? And honestly, more than anything, I missed myself, a version of me I hadn’t felt since I was 12, maybe younger.
Since coming back, I’ve grown in ways I never imagined. I’ve had victories, great losses, and so many realizations. I worked at my childhood favorite coffee shop—gave my inner child a moment to be happy. Then I got a job that could pay the bills, all while finally committing to my art. The fall and winter months were rough, but I made more art in 2023 than I had in my entire life up to that point. Now? I might’ve already outdone that.