I made it Mama
Washington Blog
Arrival – My First Steps in Washington
💭 “Some places don’t just welcome you; they hold you.”
If Washington were a person, I would have kissed it endlessly. Every curve, every turn, every breath of mist carried a quiet kind of beauty. Each morning when I looked out the window, it didn’t feel familiar, it felt like the beginning of something.
My first enchantment happened on a rainy day. I found myself at Artisan book café, a small café where the smell of coffee mingled with the hush of books. There was live music, handmade crafts, and a calm that felt like home. The owner engineer himself told me about her family, her brother the engineer, her long hours in healthcare. “I could never do what you do,” she said, her voice soft but full of respect. It wasn’t just words; it was presence. That look in her eyes reminded me that true connection is not made through stories, but through stillness between them.
Later, I drove up a random hill. Below me stretched mountains, the ocean, and a city heavy with rain. Three shades of blue hung in the air dark, still, and nearly gray. Afternoon light softened the edges of everything. The rain washed away what was complicated, leaving only calm.
📷 Image suggestion: a misty overlook of Seattle, the sky layered in deep blues and gray light.
The First Days – New Beginnings at Providence
💭 “Every arrival is both an ending and a promise.”
Seattle stirred something childlike in me. That same feeling you have before a celebration—the night when you lay out your new clothes and can’t sleep from excitement. That’s how I felt arriving in Washington: sleepless, nervous, and alive.
My first real connection was Lisa, my host. I found her through a nursing blog. She trusted me before I even sent payment, leaving the key ready when I arrived at midnight. “See you in the morning,” she said, her voice full of ease. And when I stepped inside, I froze. The house spoke in small details: tea and coffee ready, handwritten notes, every little necessity in its place. It felt like the walls whispered, “Welcome home.”
The next day, I began my job at Providence. It was lighter than Mayo, slower, but full of learning. The unit wasn’t busy, but it taught me new skills, new confidence. The best part was the people—travel nurses who became friends, coworkers who turned work into laughter. Four days a week felt like none, because connection made the time soft.
📷 Image suggestion: a cozy living room with morning light, tea steaming by the window.
Human Connections – The People Who Shaped My Time in Washington
💭 “We don’t meet people by accident; we meet them to remember ourselves.”
One of my biggest surprises was discovering the Turkish community here—vibrant, creative, and full of life. I met people in film and theater circles, attended screenings, joined the Women’s Turkish Network that centered on solidarity.
Volunteering for the play Anadolu brought me closer to Elif, Kübra, and Büşra. I had to leave before the performance, but those rehearsals awakened a part of me that had been quiet since high school—my love for art and expression. There were invitations for coffee, laughter in small living rooms, and moments of shared belonging that reminded me of home.
At work, I had anchors like Rachel—energetic, radiant, always lifting the room. And Tendi, who helped with quiet generosity. Lisa’s presence grounded me, too. Her Native American roots showed through her Thursday spiritual gatherings, which I was lucky to attend. There, surrounded by soft chanting and smoke, I saw a new side of faith—not in words, but in rhythm.
When I later moved houses, balcony talks with new neighbors brought me peace. Every visit to Seattle introduced someone new: Reda, Joe, Sunny, Deniz… Some stayed, some passed, but all left traces of kindness.
📷 Image suggestion: friends gathered in warm evening light, laughter spilling over tea cups.
Love in Its Different Forms
💭 “Sometimes love isn’t about who you meet—it’s about who you become.”
When I arrived, my heart was neither open nor closed, it was waking up. Washington’s gray skies mirrored that stillness: uncertain, deep, and honest.
Falling in Love with Myself
This city wasn’t where I met someone else, it was where I met me. In April 2025, for the first time in my life, I met the child within me, the part of me I’d forgotten, not someone I found, but someone I became. “I finally embraced the little girl I’d silenced for years. I named her Kara. To love her was to forgive myself. To forgive myself was to start anew. Sometimes, walking through the wind, I caught myself smiling, not at someone, but at life.
The Mirage of Connection
Where love appears, illusion often follows. I met bright, hollow reflections—people who shone for a moment then vanished. But I didn’t fall this time. Awareness became my compass. I learned to recognize what healed me and to walk away from what didn’t.
The Wordless Bond
Then came a presence—neither friend nor lover. We never shared coffee or long walks, but hearing his voice calmed me. It wasn’t love, not quite; it was something softer, unnamed. Some connections don’t exist to last; they exist to heal. Washington didn’t give me someone—it gave me myself.
📷 Image suggestion: a reflection of a woman in a rain-soaked window, half smile, half peace.
Exploration – Meeting the Soul of the City
💭 “Every road in Washington led not outward, but inward.”
Hurricane Ridge – Silence in the Heart of the Mountain
Driving up snowy roads, I felt my mind quiet. Reaching the peak alone, I whispered, “I’m living the life I once only dreamed of.” My eyes filled, not with sadness, but gratitude.
📷 Misty Mountain ridge with snow-trimmed trees and vast silence.
Lake Crescent & Sol Duc Hot Springs – Windows to Heaven
At Lake Crescent, the water was a mirror, the forest painting. On a rainy day, I swam in icy water before sinking into the warmth of Sol Duc’s hot springs. The mountains stood still before me, and for the first time, I didn’t feel small, I felt part of everything.
📷 Still Lake reflecting clouds, framed by green forest.
Diablo Lake – The Untouchable Beauty
Rachel and I went to Diablo Lake, where turquoise water hid a strange melancholy. It felt sacred, as if beauty itself drew a line. “Some wonders,” I thought, “exist to be seen, not possessed.”
📷 High viewpoint overlooking the glowing turquoise lake.
Mount Rainier – The Weight of Wonder
Walking through meadows filled with alpine flowers, I felt nature breathe through me. Nothing needed to be said; the silence itself was complete.
📷 Trail curving toward Mount Rainier under soft sunlight.
Two Lakes Hiking – The Reward of Persistence
Five hours of hiking, exhaustion, and a few muttered complaints later—I reached the lake. It was worth it. “Even when you grumble,” nature seemed to whisper, “the reward still waits.”
📷 Hidden Lake surrounded by dense evergreens, quiet and bright.
Green Lake – Calm in Routine
My walks around Green Lake became meditation. Every lap emptied my thoughts a little more, leaving only breath and rhythm.
📷 Joggers circling a still lake under pale morning light.
The Women’s Sauna – Warmth and Trust
In Seattle, there was a women-only sauna—a haven where bodies and souls rested without judgment. There, silence was a language. Sometimes healing came only from breathing together.
📷 Soft steam rising, blurred silhouettes of women in quiet ease.
Red Cup Coffee House – A Cup of Strength
That café smelled of wood and sincerity. The owner, proud and kind, poured strength into every cup. It was a space built by women, and for a moment, I felt part of that sisterhood.
📷 Rustic wooden counter, hands wrapping around a warm cup.
Whidbey Island – Calm Carried by the Ferry
Driving onto the ferry, I felt childlike excitement. Whidbey Island was gentle, serene. Rachel was with me—she had a way of making good things even better.
📷 Ferry cutting through soft blue waters under drifting clouds.
The Hidden Shore – Where I Spoke to Myself
Six minutes from home was a path leading to the ocean. At its end, a small bench waited. There, I wrote, I listened, I healed. I won’t name the place. Some places are meant to remain unnamed—like secrets shared only with the soul.
📷 Lonely wooden bench facing the sea under soft rain.
The Leaving Phase – A Quiet Goodbye
💭 “Every ending fold into a new beginning.”
Time is strange. What feels endless in the beginning turns fleeting at the end. As the days of departure neared, the city looked even more beautiful—or maybe I finally started seeing it clearly. I didn’t miss a single sunrise that week. Coffee in hand, I walked through Seattle’s foggy mornings, breathing in gratitude.
When I packed my suitcase, I realized it held more than clothes, it carried mornings, rain-soaked roads, quiet coffees, laughter, and Kara.
On my last day, I drove to the same hill where it all began. Light rain brushed the windshield. Polaroids lay on the backseat, music played softly, and I whispered, “I’m ready. But I won’t forget you.”
It didn’t feel like saying goodbye to a city, but to a person who had taught me how to be human again.
Behind me, a foggy city. Ahead, the dry stretch of New Mexico.
The wind shifted.
And I, once more, followed it toward another sky.
📷 Car driving into the distance under a light drizzle, city fading in the rearview mirror.
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