I left home to prove I was independent. Coming back was braver

This First Person article is the experience of Jumol Royes, who moved to Ottawa in search of a fresh start. For more information about CBC’s First Person stories, please see this FAQ. You can read more First Person articles here.

My life today looks different than I had planned a year ago.

I live in Vaughan, Ont., a suburb north of Toronto, where lifelong friends keep me grounded or lift me up, depending on my mood. A group for 2SLGBTQ+ Catholics in downtown Toronto provides a safe space for me to practice my faith, and I regularly connect with people who look like me or share similar experiences.

I’m grateful for the community I have now, but there was a time when I craved a fresh start on my own terms. To me, a move to Ottawa embodied that idea.

In 2023, I moved five hours away in hopes of completing my bachelor’s degree in communications — a personal goal I had deferred for two decades. I was all in. 

As a single gay Black man, I was hopeful that putting down roots in a new city would mean a chance to reinvent myself in midlife. I equated self-sufficiency with success. Striking out on my own was a declaration of independence I had been yearning for, and I hoped to become someone who was less cautious and more carefree.  

That’s how I found myself, a few months after arrival, on a summer evening headed to the Lookout, one of Ottawa’s best-known 2SLGBTQ+ bars. I was still relatively new to the city and excited about hitting the dance floor or flirting with a stranger or two, like I was used to at hangouts in the Church-Wellesley village in Toronto, the heart of the city’s 2SLGBTQ+ community.

But unlike at the bars back home, in Ottawa everyone seemed to know each other and avoided eye contact with me. When I finally felt brave enough to approach someone, I was ignored. Embarrassed, I retreated to the far side of the room, leaned against a wall and watched others dance under the rainbow strobe lights. 

I felt invisible in a place purpose-built for belonging. That’s when I began to question whether Ottawa was where I was meant to be. 

Where I sought acceptance and opportunities to make new friends at parties and Pride events, I often found myself one of the only Black men in the room. The queer scene I encountered was predominantly white, and I felt close-knit circles made it difficult for an outsider to join in.

As time went on and moments like that began to pile up, I became increasingly isolated. My studio apartment near the Rideau River stopped feeling like a sanctuary and started feeling more like a prison. My mental health suffered and I had to withdraw from courses. 

During my time in Ottawa, my godmother — the one person who always called me sweetie — died back home in the Greater Toronto Area (GTA). I was already in a precarious place and adding grief to the mix made it unbearable. I travelled to the GTA for her funeral and had planned to spend two weeks there. I ended up staying for two months to be with my family.

I had doubts about whether staying at home for so long was the right choice, but as the months passed I realized just how much I had missed my family and their emotional support. By the end of my visit, I had decided that it was time for me to give up the version of independence I had imagined, and return home for good.

I moved back to Vaughan soon after, and was thrust into a caregiver role for my aging parents. While I often struggle to stay on top of their health and finances, I feel blessed to spend quality time with them as they grow older. I talk to my sister regularly, and I’m making plans to see more old friends.

Vaughan may seem like a sleepy suburb, but to me, it’s a culturally diverse city that holds a lifetime of memories and meaningful connections. My heartstrings are forever tied here. I’m back in the place where I figured out who I was and who I wanted to be.

I’m still grappling with feelings of failure and the fear of judgement from peers about my return, but I’ve learned that independence without community can become isolation. That’s a cost I’m not willing to pay just to prove to myself that I can handle adulthood on my own.    

With my degree on hold and my community being rebuilt, I’m still figuring out what independence means for this version of me. At least I don’t have to figure it out alone.

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For more stories about the experiences of Black Canadians — from anti-Black racism to success stories within the Black community — check out Being Black in Canada, a CBC project Black Canadians can be proud of.