To be blunt – I’m scared about leaving Florida.

A couple of days from now, I will have packed up my home on wheels and begun a move. A move that will leave me 13+ hours away from my hometown.

I will have my pets with me, hoping the unfamiliarity of an overnight stay in an AirBnB won’t traumatize them.

I will hope that I didn’t forget to pack up that one storage bin from the shed, triple check that I packed enough snacks for the prolonged road trip, and panic that I’m in over my head. I will worry for the first day of my new job, my first trip to my new regular grocery store, and stress about public transportation. Because how the hell does a girl from Saint Cloud, Florida figure that out???

Will I like the area we chose to live in sight-unseen? It’s a lot.

The truth is, leaving Florida is bittersweet. I’ve always known that I wouldn’t stay here my whole life. In fact, I’ve moved out of state before. But this time I’m moving knowing that the chances of coming back are slim-to-none.

Florida holds a lot of bad things for me, a lot of bad people & feelings. But Florida also holds so many great things – my family, my friends, my coworkers, my childhood home and 99% of my adolescent memories.

Something I never expected though, was that Florida would ever hold uncertainty and lack of safety for me as a queer person. And it does.

If you’re not a queer person maybe you don’t understand that, but I would encourage you to step into my shoes for the duration of this piece.

When Roe V. Wade was overturned last June, my first thought was they’re coming for us next.

Because this is a wildly popular belief – that same-sex marriage is the next big target – Serrena & I immediately began to have many conversations about very serious topics. Things we knew we wanted to pursue eventually had suddenly become urgent, and we worried about our future as a couple living in the state of Florida —

“Well if we hear another serious warning about same-sex marriage being overturned as well, we’re running to the courthouse ASAP.“

“At least if we do have to do this now, our children can share a last name with the both of us… wait, what will be the laws surrounding that in a few years…??”

“Is this even smart? When do we stop worrying?”

Now I know it might sound dramatic, but when something as big as the overturn of Roe v. Wade happens, you begin to think the worst. At least I do. And I know many other members of the lgbtq+ community do, too.

I knew eventually that we would move out of Florida, but throw this on top of the year I was already having and you have a recipe for anxiety and desperation.

But for perception sake, let’s take sexuality out of the equation. Picture this:

A mind-boggling, federally recognized constitutional right has been overturned. Whether you support it or not, it shakes up the entire country. The entire world, even.

Before you have a chance to process the impact of the news, you receive word that soon they could outlaw marriage for you and your significant other. A significant other you cherish more than anything you’ve ever cherished in your life, a person you would quite literally give anything for.

Your future is threatened, you’re cast out as a child groomer in some peoples eyes, and others can’t stand to see you & your partner even hold hands in public. Every time you go to a bar where you feel accepted & safe, the same thought is always on the back of your mind – is tonight the night that tragedy strikes?

I’m aware that not everyone will understand. I will continue to get backlash, accusations that I’m “playing the victim” or that I’ve given into the fear mongering of today’s society. & to that I say – you’re lucky.

You’re lucky if you have the privilege to point fingers and accuse others of being dramatic, or oversensitive. You’re lucky if what’s happening in Florida (and in many other places) will not affect your relationship, your quality of life, or even your right to privacy. You’re lucky if you don’t live in fear where your fondest of memories have been made.

In a place that you hate to love.

With that being said, I recognize that my privilege goes much further than others. I am grateful that I have the ability to leave, whereas that isn’t an option for others. I am aware of the fact that others have much harder battles to fight.

I acknowledge that I, too, am lucky.

I had a conversation with a friend last month. She moved out of state awhile ago, and while she was visiting Florida I asked her if she would ever move back.

“Oh yeah, once I’m done with school we will move back to Florida. It was never really the goal to leave forever. What about you?”

“Absolutely not.”

“No?? Why not??”

I don’t think I had realized how much I was affected by what Florida had done to me and my mental health until this moment. It was also the moment that I realized wow. Not everyone is terrified to live here. Not everyone is affected by these pieces of legislation and threats.

Obviously I don’t expect heterosexual couples, especially my friends, to think about out-of-state legislation that doesn’t affect them during every conversation about our life choices.

However, that doesn’t change the fact that the realization hits hard. Sure, maybe the scary day I am anticipating won’t come. But I am not going to sit around and wait for it, ya know? Not only that, there is so much more than Florida.

I want to travel and experience seasons. I mean really experience the seasons. I want to go somewhere fun, where there are more than just chain restaurants, golfing and the beach. I want to explore canyons, waterfalls, and great big redwood trees. I want to see the ocean, but from the edge of a cliff — where there should definitely be more than that tiny little guard rail near that bend in the road.

I need to leave my hometown.

It hurts my heart to say that, but I truly don’t relate to anyone here. I can’t settle down in the same little box that I grew up in. I’m itching to leave, yearning to grow outside of this Osceola County bubble. It’s impossible to simultaneously be myself, stay here, and truly thrive all at once. So I have to leave.

I am grateful to have found a partner who shares the same ambitions. I am thankful that we have been given the opportunity, the resources and the support to leave. Not everyone can be so fortunate.

It’s still scary – To leave this familiar place, my close friends and family. My favorite Dunkin’ location (LOL) and the backroads that I could travel with my eyes closed. But it’s also liberating.

I am anxious, but excited. Worried, yet carefree. I am terrified and also unafraid. I am a walking oxymoron.

I know that this journey will help me discover parts of myself that I had no idea existed. I know I will be introduced to space(s) where I do relate to people, where I do feel accepted and where I won’t live in fear of my mundane surroundings.

If Florida is your place, I am happy for you.

And if you, too, are a Florida native who is eager yet distraught to escape the narrowing tunnel, I am with you. I see you, I hear you and I understand.

There is something so special about the unknown. So I encourage you to move away from your hometown, even if it’s not forever. I encourage you to do the scary things, find confidence in the chaos, and go where you can live fearlessly in acceptance of who you truly are.

Maybe it’s not forever, and maybe it won’t always be scary. Regardless, come May 20th, 2023, Florida will no longer be my home.

Here’s to a new chapter, more adventure & a heartfelt “See you later!“

No matter where you are, I love you. Thank you for being here.