Yesterday, I saw a posting on Facebook that really made an impact on me. It was by a blogger that I read fairly regularly, and it was a photograph of a list he wrote about a year ago, outlining his “major life purpose.”

He said that he had no idea that just a year or so later, he would have reached all of the goals he set for himself.

So I decided it was time to write out my own “major life purpose.” Although I wrote many things, my life’s purpose boils down to this: I want to create a life in which I’m free to be myself, work for myself and be “location independent” — all so that I’m able to live near my daughter.

Several years ago, I had a similar goal. When my daughter was in second grade, I made a promise to myself that by the time she was in middle school, I’d be able to be home at 3 pm every day.

I reached that goal. I was really proud of myself for doing it, too, because it was tough. In order to do it, I had to get two master’s degrees (and incur some student loan debt) and hustle like crazy to get work that would allow me to telecommute and/or set my own schedule. All in a small, rural city where work was definitely not plentiful.

As I wrote out my major life purpose today, I realized that what fulfills me is being a good mother to my daughter, even now that she’s grown. She still needs me. Not in the same way, of course, but she and I both agreed recently that we’d like to live near each other, travel together, spend time together. We love each other and share a bond that is beautiful, despite being forged, in part, through our tragic life circumstances.

If I could reach my goal back then, I know that I can do it now, too. Not to be home at 3 pm, but to be a safe harbor for my daughter, an open embrace whenever she needs it.

I read a story the other day that inspired me to think about how I might continue to help other survivors of domestic violence. This has been on my mind lately, as I’m developing a speech that I hope to share with women’s groups where I live, and have been debating sharing my memoir with a literary agent  – or possibly seeing if I could shape one of the chapters into an essay for separate publication.

While all of that is fine, I really want to do more. The story I read is about a survivor in Nevada who opened a secondhand store with things that domestic violence survivors need. But it’s not only that: she plans to offer training programs in retail management, so women can learn essential job skills that they might not have.

Her main audience is women who don’t speak English and have limited education, and therefore it’s very challenging for them to leave domestic violence situations.

I would like to point out, though, that a woman’s education level has little to do with making the decision to leave an abusive husband. Someone might think that a more educated women would leave faster — that she would recognize what happened immediately.

Most people consider me to be intelligent, and I’m certainly educated. When I married my ex-husband, I had a bachelor’s degree from a very highly respected university. I had grown up in middle-class, and at one point upper-middle-class, neighborhoods. I’d never experienced violence of any kind growing up.

And yet it took me nearly 7 years to leave. Through the therapy process, I’ve come to understand that the timing has nothing to do with one’s education or intelligence or anything like that.

Here’s a quote from the article: “Nevada’s rate of women killed by men ranked No. 1 in the nation, according to a report issued in 2012 by the Violence Policy Center. The report used homicide data from 2010.”

When I give my speech, whenever that may be, this will be my message: The question people always ask is, “Why didn’t she just leave, especially after the first time? Why did she wait so long?”

Many factors go into that answer, including not being sure what’s really going on, loving him and wanting to see if he might change, and so forth.

But my main response is always this: “She had to make the best judgment she could about whether her husband was going to kill her if she left him.”

It took me 7 years to get to that point. And the fact that I’m still here, 22 years after I left him that day, proves that my timing was perfect.

Photo by me

As I mentioned in my last post, I knew that the past six months had taken a toll on me. My problems with my husband and his depression reached their peak — or their valley, I suppose — and then he turned a corner toward healing. So I did, too, on that front. Things are still on the upturn there.

I’ve been in a horrible job, which thankfully I’ll be out of in 3-1/2 weeks and into something much, much better — while I continue to work on my own business and my fiction writing.

It wasn’t until today, however, that I saw in stark terms what these past six months have done to me.

I realized I’d been looking unwell. I’ve gained about five pounds, which for me is actually a good thing as I tend to be a tad underweight. But my hair, my skin, my eyes … everything has looked dull and lifeless. I’ve done my best to conceal it, but the stress of this job, in particular, has worn through the outer veneer.

Today, I took a unique exercise class at my gym, where we sort of danced with silk scarves. It was actually a heavy-duty upper-body workout, way more than I was expecting but just what I needed.

When I looked at myself in the mirror at the gym, I almost couldn’t believe I was looking at me. My shoulders appeared to be up around my ears. I couldn’t stand up straight. My hair almost looked matted to my head. My skin was pale and sort of gray. My movements were so stiff, I didn’t recognize the way my body moved at all.

It scared me.

And it also taught me something important.

I will never, ever allow myself to be in a situation where I am under so much work stress. Never again. Nor will I ever allow myself to be taken down by another person’s emotional problems. Never again.

I’ve been reading a book called “One Word That Will Change Your Life.” It’s not the same word for everyone — you choose the word you want to focus on for a solid year.

I chose my word today. It’s my first name.

I must continue to tune into myself, so I don’t find myself in such a mess again because I haven’t been listening carefully to my own inner voice. I must continue to focus — or now, refocus — on my physical health. That starts right this second, as I go to bed a half hour earlier than I usually do.

I want to look in the mirror and see the beautiful person I know I am, on the inside and on the outside. And it’s up to me to make sure she’s always there.