I broke my lease

The right thing and the hard thing are usually the same damn thing.

After my recent trip to Sou'wester, where I stayed in a small Airstream, I realized that what I truly needed was less. What if the answer wasn’t about working harder and smarter to make more money? I’ve been plotting, scheming, and working tirelessly to find new sources of income just to cover the rent at the Lake House. But why? I can only be in one room at a time—why am I paying rent for a four-bedroom house when I hardly even use the upstairs?

I envisioned guest staying in one room and turning the other into my office, with sewing retreats and large dinner parties on the porch. Yet whenever it came time to buy furniture, I hesitated. It felt like a waste—spending so much money and effort to fill a space I can’t even afford. How could I justify buying a couch for the loft when I struggle to buy groceries?

The decision to terminate my lease was difficult, yet when I sent that email to my landlord, I cried tears of relief. In that moment, I felt like I could breathe again. I fought hard to keep this up; I truly wanted it to work. At the end of the day, I am not looking at it as a failure, because I did it. The Lake House was real, and it was what I thought I wanted. I now admit that I had tunnel vision, holding onto high hopes that I could make it all work. The hard truth is I was overextending myself from the start, and not being able to truly enjoy it left me feeling selfish, in debt, and severely stressed out.

While thoughts of leaving the cabin had already been swirling in my mind, I planned on sticking it out for the full year. It was my upcoming surgery that solidified my decision. It will put me out of commission for two to three weeks, preventing me from working or even walking my dogs. Unfortunately, Cory can’t take time off to come take care of me, and without any savings, I can’t manage this situation. I was pushing a boulder uphill, just waiting for it to roll back and crush me. My debt was piling up, and staying here would only leave me worse off.

No matter how I look at it, this is no longer where I’m meant to be.

I've always prioritized solitude and nature in my living situations, allowing my stubbornness and independence to overshadow other aspects of my life. This mindset has contributed to my current circumstances—underestimating the impact of my taxes and believing they wouldn’t come back to haunt me. For years, I resisted living with a partner or roommates, clinging to the alone time I thought I needed to thrive, paying the rent and bills all on my own.

It never felt entirely normal to require so much solitude, but doing “the work” has revealed these beliefs I've held onto were a form of protection. People can let you down, and accepting help opens the door to disappointment. I’ve clung to this internal limitation, thinking it was my source of safety, but it has left me with a narrow understanding of what safety truly means. I’ve found myself stuck.

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When Cory first suggested moving in together, I scoffed at the idea. After only three months of dating, it felt too soon. I imagined that maybe in a couple of years we could consider it, but only in a house I own where he would pay me rent. I've always struggled with the concept of cohabitation, but this feels like a significant step toward releasing control and accepting help. Both Cory and I have lived independently for years—he longer than I. Yet his unwavering offer to welcome me into his home has helped me feel secure in this decision.

Since he owns his house in Washington, I won’t have a landlord or a lease. My new rent will be about a fifth of what I was paying at the Lake House, and sharing a space with someone I love feels like the right next step. There’s no one else I’d rather live with. I am witnessing in real time my values shifting, and my willingness to receive support. I’m reevaluating the foundational beliefs that make me feel like accepting love and help is somehow the easy way out or a betrayal of self.

It’s time to embrace these changes, because what I’ve been doing clearly isn’t working.

I’ve scrutinized this transition from every angle, creating countless pros and cons lists. Trying to be realistic and intentional with every decision I make. Life can be daunting and even with careful planning, things can still go awry. We’ve had many long, difficult conversations, and if I were to move out, I wouldn’t want it to feel like our relationship was moving backward. The thought of it all is messy, but I need some sort of safety net. It has to feel somewhat temporary, or I won’t be able to commit. If, in a few months, we’re both still happy under the same roof? That’s wonderful. If not, I’ll have already set the expectation that it was meant to be a temporary arrangement from the start and I’ll have saved money and dug myself out of debt. I know that the reality is, I’m scared.

My therapist asked me, “What are you avoiding? Any issues that may arise months or years from now will surface much sooner. You’ll either work through them now, or you won’t.”

I know we can’t avoid conflict; in fact, it’s necessary. When handled correctly, conflict can be healthy and bring people closer together. Even if in the end if we don’t always see eye to eye, it’s about feeling seen and heard. We are learning more about each other everyday and I understand him more. He’s incredibly accommodating, tender, and sweet. We’re not perfect, and if you think any couple on the internet is, you’re mistaken. We’ve had unexpected arguments, especially around the dogs and our differing “parenting styles,” which has shown us just how differently we handle conflict. But ultimately, we’ve worked through it—not around it.

I’m not feeling the same excitement or buzzing high I experienced when I found out about the cabin, but maybe that’s a good thing. There’s a grounded stability in this decision that I didn’t know I needed. I love Cory and appreciate how he treats me, so I should focus on the sweetness of our situation rather than the potential pitfalls. I feel nervous, but I trust that everything will work out as it should.

As for my needs, I can still seek out the nature I crave. It may not be in my backyard or by a lake, but it’s just a short drive away. I also love being close to Portland, and financially, Vancouver makes even more sense—Washington has no self-employment tax, which will save me thousands in the long run. Cory works full-time and has his own friends and hobbies, so I’ll still have plenty of time for myself. I’ll be able to pay off my debt while living with a wonderful man who cooks every meal for me, and I can save for a future cabin of my own…

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Life is art, and like a carefully curated gallery, I’ve spent so much time setting up this lake house chapter, only to dismantle it. I’ve decorated as much as I could and filled the space with hope that it would all work out. For three months, I’ve pushed myself harder than ever, struggling to enjoy the experience. It was beautiful, but it’s no longer where I belong, and I’m ready to move out of my “comfort zone of struggle.” I’m seeking financial freedom and the space to tap back into my creative well, free from the pressure of sewing just to get by. Though short-lived, this experience has taught me a lot, and I am grateful.

This next move is very unlike me, and I see that as a positive thing

.<3 Taylor