The job that once paid the bills now suffocates your spirit. The relationship that once felt like a lifeboat now feels like an anchor. The city that once buzzed with possibility now feels like a static map you’ve memorized too well. You wake up one Tuesday, not because anything catastrophic happened, but because nothing has happened in years.
You will not be younger. You will not be more innocent. You will not be more popular. The Changeover
I can tell you that the worst of it—the raw, weeping-in-the-shower phase—lasted about four months. The rebuilding—the tentative, hopeful, "maybe I'll try that pottery class" phase—lasted two years. And the integration—the phase where you finally look in the mirror and recognize the stranger as yourself—is actually ongoing. It never really ends. The job that once paid the bills now suffocates your spirit
Do not go back.