There’s no playbook for starting over. No Pinterest checklist or Target-run essentials for what it means to pack up your life, leave behind a broken marriage, and drive 2,500 miles toward a future that’s still blurry.
But that’s exactly what I did.
I left New Orleans—my home for the last few years, my comfort zone, and the city that brought me to being a mother and wife —with my son in the backseat, a car packed with our lives, our new puppy geared up, and the kind of heartbreak that makes you question every decision you’ve ever made. All I knew was I couldn’t stay. Not after the divorce. Not after everything fell apart. What was crazy is I wasn’t heartbroken about the man, I was heart broken about leaving New Orleans.
New Orleans was one of the great loves of my life. She brought me to life through spices, rhythm, culture, soul – she held me through laughter, endless fun, and ultimately heartbreak. She held me through losing my home in Hurricane Ida, second lines and sleepless Mardi Gras nights, and she gave me a love that led me to the greatest love, my little New Orleans born son. In her warm streets that pirates once walked, under her humid skies, I became a mother, I became me. Letting go of New Orleans, of her- doesn’t mean I don’t love her anymore, but I need that space to grow and to heal, to start over. A new opportunity will always come forth and I will have to leave places and people behind, but the best part – is I carry them with me when I go.
So I chose the scariest, bravest thing I could: I left to rebuild somewhere new.
The Divorce That Broke Me—And Freed Me
Divorce doesn’t come with confetti. It’s not empowering at first. It’s gutting. It’s quiet. It’s standing in your kitchen at 2 AM wondering how the hell you’re going to raise a child alone and in a state where you have no family of your own.
Our marriage was already hanging by threads when I gave birth. I tried. I stayed. I gave every last ounce of “maybe we can still make this work.” But in the end, what I got was distance, someone who left me to evacuate our home in the line of Hurricane Ida with my newborn son and two dogs alone, disappointment, and a daily reminder that I deserved more from someone who promised me the world.
When it was finally over, the relief came with grief—and a harsh realization: I couldn’t keep doing life in the city where I lost myself with someone who was willing to lose me.
So I made a plan. A big, terrifying, can’t-believe-I’m-actually-doing-this plan.
Packing Up Our Life and Hitting the Road
Moving across the country with a toddler should be a TV show. Not a cute one. Like a “Survivor: Diapers & Drive-Thrus” type situation. Add a 7 month old puppy in the mix to that as well.
We loaded up my car after I packed my life BACK into a POD and it was shipped off to our new home—every inch filled with diapers, toys, snacks, wipes, and emotional baggage—and hit the road. From New Orleans to Portland. A Bay Area Girl, turned Southern girl headed to the Pacific Northwest, driving through heat, rain, and the kind of silence that only comes when you’re saying goodbye to everything familiar (oh and Bluey playing on the tablet of course).
There were meltdowns (his and mine), Zero – our dog actually turned about to be amazing with no issues but brought us both happiness and so many snuggles. There were gas station bathrooms that made me rethink all my life choices. There were nights at Marriott where I laid awake asking myself: “Are you doing the right thing?” And every single time, I answered with: You better be, for him and yourself.
That road trip wasn’t just a physical move—it was the hardest, loneliest therapy session I’ve ever had.
Finding a New Home Without a Safety Net
Portland wasn’t waiting with open arms, it was icy as fuck. No, literally I think it was 35 degrees the day we got there. We got there 3 days before our POD arrived so it was nights on the air mattress and take out, thank god we had power and water on. At least we had our home.
Finding a place to live as a single mom with a toddler and no local references? Humble pie for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I facetimed so many places before I moved to Oregon, I had to find a place before we left Louisiana so it was the only option I had – to rent something without touring it in person.
But eventually, I found a beautiful place in North Portland —a blank slate with enough light, enough quiet, and just enough space for us to exhale. I made it a home with secondhand furniture, my thrifted rugs, and pictures of a life I was still trying to build.
It wasn’t perfect. But it was ours.
Relearning Life in a New City
New Orleans is loud, warm, and intimate. Portland is quiet, chilly, and introverted. It took me weeks to realize strangers wouldn’t smile back at me on the sidewalk. I missed the food, the music, the chaotic beauty of my second home. I still do.
But Portland gave me something I didn’t expect: room to grow. Room to fall apart and put myself back together without the pressure of past versions of me watching.
I became a full-time employee, a full-time mom, a full-time everything. I figured out how to manage drop-offs and deadlines. I learned which coffee shops had high chairs and Wi-Fi, where the best pizza places were because that is my son’s favorite kind of treat after long weeks. I figured out who I was without a husband, without a village, without a clear direction.
I became relentless. Not because I wanted to—but because I had to.
What I’ve Learned Since the Move
- You can be scared and still brave as hell. I wanted to cry every day for the first month. But I still got up, fed my son, and kept going.
- You don’t need a village to survive—but it helps to build one. I’ve found very few, but new mom friends one awkward playground conversation at a time.
- Healing isn’t linear. Some days I feel like Superwoman. Other days, I feel like crying in a Target parking lot with a Starbucks in my hand. Both are valid.
- You can be the softest and strongest person in the room. Being a single mom in a new city is lonely—but it also taught me I don’t need to be saved. I am the safety net.
To Any Single Mama Thinking About Starting Over:
It’s going to be hard. Really hard. But it’s also going to be yours. Your choice. Your new chapter. Your life. And that’s worth everything.
I may have left behind comfort, a familiar accent, and the promise of beignets on every corner—but I gained something bigger. I gained myself.
So here’s to every mom doing the impossible. Moving through grief. Driving across state lines. Rebuilding a life from scratch.
You’re not crazy. You’re not failing. You’re just relentless.
Thank you for being a part of my story.
xx. JT
The Relentless Motherhood 
I know you have something to say, shoot it to me straight…