At Least I Know

Studies have shown it takes a victim of domestic violence an average of seven times of packing their bags, leaving the abuser, and coming back, before finally leaving and staying away. Many of us unfamiliar with these situations may shake our heads in disbelief. Others of us who have lived and breathed these stories understand.

It’s the same reason we repeat order from our favorite restaurant; why we don’t raise our hands in class; why we can’t switch jobs or tell our crush we like them. There is a safety in knowing what’s coming next and a silencing fear of failure in trying something new.

Even though we know our current job is draining our joy and a new one could set us free; even though we know we won’t learn as well as if we risk the embarrassment of answering wrong; even though there could be a better dish than the one we’ve come to know so well; even though happily ever after hinges on the first “hello;” we stay where we are because at least we know what to expect in the home in which we’ve grown.

Fear and familiarity will root us all in dry places. Something tells us there is more, but we have yet to experience what that more could be, or believe that it could be for us.

We are not so unlike each other as we think.