Every Wednesday, Kionna is telling the truth about what it actually cost to leave — the parts that don't make it into the photos. This is Part 1.

The thought had been sitting in the back of my mind for most of my adult life.

I can probably trace it back to 2003, when I was in the United States Army and we were preparing to go to war. I had family members who had served before me. One of my aunts had served during Desert Storm and other military operations, and she had done well for herself and her children.

But my experience felt different.

I had joined the Army because college was not working out the way I expected. At the time, the military felt like the next best step. I was young, uncertain, and trying to figure out what I was supposed to do with my life.

What I had not truly considered was that joining the military could mean going to war.

That sounds obvious now. Of course, joining the Army comes with the possibility of war. But at that point in my life, I do not think I had fully allowed myself to understand what I had signed up for.

Going through the soldier readiness process forced me to face it.

I remember thinking, I joined because I was trying to escape my problems, and now I could potentially be sent somewhere to risk my life.

As the years passed, I learned more about the war in Iraq, the government, and the difference between what people are told and what may actually be happening behind the scenes. Some people might call those things conspiracy theories. Others might call them uncomfortable truths.

Either way, I began questioning whether I trusted the government.

Was it honest?

Was it truly working in the best interest of its people?

What was America actually doing for Americans?

I had seen how other countries provided universal healthcare and stronger social support systems. Meanwhile, in the United States, people often had to jump through endless hoops just to receive basic assistance.

I remember trying to apply for food stamps in the past and feeling like I had to prove I was poor enough to deserve help.

Today, I do not define myself as poor, and I work hard not to live with a scarcity mindset. But America can make it extremely difficult not to think from a place of scarcity. One unexpected bill, job loss, illness, or rent increase can change someone's entire life.

For years, I kept thinking, I do not want to live in this country forever.

In August 2025, my wife and I traveled to Spain. We visited Barcelona and had an incredible time. The food felt healthier. Life felt different. There was a quality of life and a sense of peace that I had not been experiencing in the United States.

Being there made something clear to us.

We needed to make a move.

Then, on my wife's first day back at work after our trip, she was laid off.

She had been the breadwinner in our household. Her income carried us substantially. I had recently left the banking industry and started working in a field that felt more aligned with my purpose. I wanted to help people in a more meaningful way.

The problem was that meaningful work did not pay enough to support both of us.

Once her income disappeared, I knew I could not comfortably carry the household alone.

Our lease was nearing its end. Rent was going to increase. We would have needed to prove that we earned three times the rent to qualify for another apartment. Food costs were climbing, and the grocery store in our neighborhood had closed, which made buying food more expensive and inconvenient.

The idea of leaving was no longer just a dream.

We kept the move quiet because I knew what I was doing was not permitted by my job.

I have always been someone who takes risks. Earlier in my life, I was rebellious. I broke rules, pushed limits, and did things without always thinking about how they might affect me later.

This time, however, I understood the risk.

I did my research, thought about my options, and decided to take a chance.

My livelihood was on the line.

At the time, I worked as a peer specialist. Many of the people I supported were experiencing homelessness or severe financial instability. While helping them, I started realizing how close I was to facing a similar situation.

I thought, I am helping people who do not have housing, and that could easily become me if I do not make a decision.

I was not pretending I was untouchable.

I knew one wrong move could cost me my job. But standing still also felt dangerous.

We told a small number of people who were close to us, but we did not want everyone knowing our plans. I believe there are times when you need to move in silence. Some things need room to develop without everybody's opinions, fear, judgment, or negative energy attached to them.

I knew people would have something to say.

They would call it dangerous. They would question our plan. Some would be concerned. Others would simply be nosy or judgmental.

At that point in my life, I did not want to spend energy defending a decision that other people did not have to live with.

It was my life.

I had to be the one to live it.

People make a lot of assumptions about Americans who relocate abroad.

Some assume we are wealthy or privileged. Some think we are running from something. Others believe leaving the United States is a betrayal, especially during a time of racism, political division, and attacks on people's rights.

I have seen people say, "You should stay and fight."

But maybe I can fight in a different way.

Maybe I needed to leave, get myself together, and learn how to help others create options for themselves.

I cannot teach anyone how to relocate if I have never done it. I cannot guide someone through the risks, setbacks, paperwork, financial issues, or emotional challenges if I do not have that lived experience.

That is the foundation of peer support.

My ability to help people was never based on having a perfect life. It came from the things I survived, the mistakes I made, the resources I discovered, and the lessons I learned the hard way.

Silent relocation gave me another form of lived experience.

And it came with a lot of shit.

People saw the travel pictures, the new country, the scenery, and the food.

They did not see me maxing out every credit card.

It is easy to ask why someone would do that. It may sound reckless from the outside. But I was thinking in paychecks and trying to fund an entire relocation without having a large amount of savings.

People did not see us buying everything we needed or preparing to leave.

They did not see me trying to get rid of more than forty years of belongings.

My wife does not enjoy flying. Traveling makes her anxious. I had to manage my own fears while also making sure I was emotionally strong enough to support her.

We tried to sell our belongings, but we could not sell everything. When we finally left, there was still a lot of stuff inside the apartment.

I also left with debt.

My thinking was that the United States credit system did not operate the same way in other countries. If I could relocate, get settled, lower my expenses, and create some breathing room, I could eventually pay everything back.

That is still the goal.

I try to focus on positive outcomes. I speak life into the things I want to happen. But optimism does not erase responsibility. The debt still exists, and I still have to figure out how to resolve it.

School became another difficult decision.

I was working on my degree when my wife lost her job. My previous employer had helped pay for my education, but my new job did not. Between the move, finances, work, and everything happening emotionally, I realized I could not manage all of it at once.

I withdrew from my classes.

That hurt because my education was supposed to help me move forward. But sometimes progress does not look like doing everything at the same time. Sometimes progress means knowing what you have to put down temporarily so you do not collapse.

Then, right before we left in December, my employer announced layoffs.

They completed two rounds.

I was already terrified of being discovered outside the country, and now I also had to worry about being laid off.

That was the weight behind the move.

People thought I was leaving my life behind.

The immediate financial difference was significant.

My rent was much lower than what I had been paying in the United States. Utilities were included where I stayed. Food was cheaper. My paycheck stretched further.

Even small things made a difference.

Getting my hair done in the United States usually cost around sixty dollars. In Colombia, it was closer to thirty.

I saw brown people. I saw African cultural influence. I felt a sense of belonging that I did not expect.

I was technically more unfamiliar with my surroundings, but emotionally I often felt more at peace.

The fear connected to my job never completely disappeared. When I could put work aside and compartmentalize it, everything else felt better.

Moving did not erase fear.

It did not fix every issue in my marriage. It did not eliminate financial consequences. Debt does not disappear just because you cross a border.

Things follow you.

Visa issues brought old decisions and unfinished matters back into my life. I also learned that some things connected to the United States are simply more difficult to handle while living abroad.

Distance can remove you from an environment, but it cannot remove what remains unresolved inside of you.

Still, Colombia gave me space to work on the things that followed me.

I have always described America as having a dark cloud over it. I cannot fully explain whether it is an energy, a frequency, a political atmosphere, or the emotional weight of constantly being surrounded by stress.

I only know that I have traveled to other places and did not feel that same cloud.

Being somewhere more peaceful made it easier to face difficult things. I began working through trauma. Moving in silence also exposed emotional issues I did not realize were affecting me.

Sometimes peace does not immediately feel peaceful.

Sometimes peace gives your mind permission to finally unpack everything survival forced you to postpone.

Relocation also taught me about loneliness.

In the United States, I knew people. I could walk down the street and run into someone familiar. After relocating, I knew almost nobody.

Communication with people back home became less frequent. Distance showed me which relationships could survive without convenience and which ones could not.

I made friends in Colombia, but it was not easy. Building new relationships as an adult is already difficult. Doing it while learning Spanish added another layer.

I could be surrounded by kind people and still feel isolated because I could not always express my full personality, humor, or emotions.

Today, when I think of home, I primarily think of my wife.

She is my happy place, my safe place, my confidant, and my person.

I have experienced periods when I did not have a lease or a place that belonged to me. I know what it means to be unhoused.

Today, I have a roof over my head. But I also understand that a person can have an address and still not feel at home.

I sometimes refer to Washington, D.C., as home, but the word feels awkward now. D.C. is where I come from. It shaped me. My history, family, pain, and memories are tied to it.

But a place can be where you come from without being where you belong.

I think home is something we create.

I would not change a damn thing.

I have no regrets.

Yes, it has been hard. But I have made memories I never would have made if I stayed.

For New Year's Eve in Colombia, my wife and I wore yellow underwear and sat under a table eating grapes because it was part of the local tradition.

I sat under a fucking table eating grapes.

I experienced fireworks and celebrations in Peru that were overwhelming in the moment but became part of my story.

But how would I have known what to do differently without first doing it?

Even if I had known six months earlier exactly where I would end up, I still would have made the move.

Life is duality.

The move was painful and beautiful. Risky and necessary. I lost things and gained experiences. I was scared and courageous at the same time.

I take the good with the bad.

I am nervous about the future, but I am also excited to see where it takes me.

People judge decisions they do not understand because of fear, ignorance, projection, and sometimes jealousy.

When people tell me they are jealous of my life, I do not always know how to receive it.

I think, what are you jealous of?

You do not know all the details.

People are often jealous of the visible outcome, not the process required to reach it. They see the pictures and experiences. They do not see the debt, fear, loneliness, secrecy, and hard decisions.

Sometimes when people say they are jealous, what they really mean is that they wish they believed they could take the same kind of risk.

I was running toward peace, freedom, adventure, health, stability, financial breathing room, and a different way of living.

I wanted to escape the rat race.

I wanted to stop feeling like I was constantly trying, working, and pushing without ever getting ahead.

Some people may have considered me successful, and I will not take that success away from myself. I have accomplished things. I have survived things. I have built a life.

But success on paper did not mean the life was working for me.

I needed to get away.

I needed to regroup.

I needed a change of scenery that I did not believe the United States could provide.

We even researched programs that paid people to relocate to different cities or states, but the incentives were not enough to make the move feasible.

Leaving the country became a hard blessing.

I was also running from a system I no longer trusted.

I was tired of watching rights being threatened, government programs being weakened, and support being reduced for poor and working-class people.

Gas was not getting cheaper. Food was not getting cheaper. Housing was not getting cheaper. My income was not keeping pace.

I was burned out by violence, gunshots, political tension, and the heaviness of living in the Washington, D.C., metropolitan area.

I needed different.

When I think about running toward peace and running from chaos, I see polarity.

They appear to be opposites, but they are connected.

I was running from instability because I was running toward stability.

I was running from fear because I was running toward peace.

I was running from confinement because I was running toward freedom.

I was running away from one version of life so I could finally run toward myself.

The intro to the television series Power captures some of the energy behind this chapter. The message is simple: when you come from struggle, the path is not always straight, but you still feel the pressure to make it.

My path has never been straight.

It has been filled with twists, turns, bruises, risks, mistakes, and lessons.

Silent relocation was another one of those turns.

K Redd, Arequipa

Part 2 of The Uncomfortable Truth drops next Wednesday. Sovereign Sundays goes out every Sunday