So here’s the thing about trust (and why I ended up in rural Lithuania at 2am trying to buy diesel).
I was in a relationship for about two years. You know how after a couple months, people’s guards come down? Things get cozy, you stop pretending to be perfect, you start being actual humans around each other. That’s what I thought was happening when she started texting in bed every night.
Like, I noticed it. Of course I noticed it. She’d be right there next to me, texting someone, and I’d get this feeling in my gut. But I told myself I was being paranoid, that this was just her being comfortable, being herself. That’s what you’re supposed to want in a relationship, right? For someone to be natural around you?
One night I looked over and saw she was texting another guy. When I asked about it, she said he was from high school. Cool, totally normal. I even asked if I could meet him one day because I’m big on merging friend groups, making one big social circle, you know? She said I never wanted to meet her friends, which was… not true at all. That should have been the red flag that made everything click.
It didn’t.
Turns out she’d been cheating on me for eighteen months. Eighteen. She was seeing him while I was at work, building a whole separate life, and she was pregnant. With his kid.
When I finally asked her directly, she lied. I asked again. She lied again. It took multiple conversations before she finally admitted it, and by then I was so far past angry I’d circled back around to just… numb.
The Part Where I Walk Out (and she follows in her car)
I said, “We’re done,” and I walked out. That’s it. No big speech, no closure conversation, no asking why. What else was there to say? Eighteen months is a long time to lie to someone.
She tried to chase me down in her car. I’m still not sure what she was trying to accomplish with that. I pulled over and she tried to talk to me, tried to explain or apologize or whatever, and I just said, “Do not follow me.”
I don’t know if she kept the baby. I don’t know if she’s still with him. I walked away and I didn’t look back because honestly, what would have been the point? Some people don’t deserve your time, and I’d already given her two years I wasn’t getting back.
But here’s the thing nobody tells you about betrayal like that. It’s not just that someone lied to you. It’s that you didn’t trust yourself. I had the gut feeling. I had the evidence right in front of me every single night. And I chose not to see it. I rationalized it away. I made excuses for her. And that part? That’s the part that makes you feel stupid. That’s the part that keeps you up at night.
The “Fuck It” Moment That Led to Lithuania
After the breakup, I needed something different. A change of routine, a new perspective, literally anything that wasn’t the same city where I’d been working while she was with someone else. But it was also this total “fuck it” energy, you know? Like, what else can possibly go wrong at this point?
I had this online friend in Lithuania. We’d been talking for years, started on some platform I don’t even remember anymore, moved to MSN Messenger, then Facebook. Always just friends. Not romantic, not complicated, just someone I genuinely liked talking to. So I asked if she wanted to meet.
And then I booked a flight for the next weekend and showed up at her door.
I remember the look on her face when she opened it. Total shock. Like, “Wow, you actually came. So soon!” I think part of her thought I was joking when I said I was booking a ticket.
I was nervous as hell, honestly. Mostly about the language barrier. I kept thinking, what if I can’t communicate with anyone? What if this whole thing is a disaster? What if I just made everything worse?
Turns out it was fine. Better than fine, actually. I got along with locals way better than I expected. My friend worked during the days, so it ended up being mostly a solo trip, which was probably exactly what I needed. I rented a car without knowing any of the driving laws and just… drove. Wherever someone told me to go, I went. Why not? What did I have to lose?
The 2am Diesel Moment (or, how I learned I could handle things)
Here’s where it gets good.
It’s two in the morning. I’m in rural Lithuania trying to fill up my rental car with diesel. The gas station attendant doesn’t speak English. I try Google Translate. Doesn’t work. We’re both getting frustrated. I’m standing there thinking, I’m going to be stuck here forever. I’m never getting home.
Eventually I figure out the attendant speaks Polish, not Lithuanian or English. So we work it out through this weird combination of hand gestures and me frantically trying different translation apps until something clicks.
It’s such a small moment. But standing there in the middle of nowhere, unable to communicate, having to figure it out on my own? That did something for me. It proved I could think on my feet. That I could handle things when they went wrong. That I didn’t fall apart when I was alone and confused and in over my head.
The Coffee Grounds That Changed Everything (kind of)
I was at a local’s house one day and they made coffee. Except they didn’t have a coffee filter. They just put the grounds in the bottom of a cup, added hot water, let it steep, and drank it.
I know that sounds like nothing. But it hit me hard. I’d taken so much for granted. Coffee filters. The idea that there’s a “right” way to do things. The whole North American obsession with having the perfect version of everything.
These people were happy. Genuinely happy. And they didn’t have half the stuff I thought you needed to be happy. They valued people over possessions. Deep connections over material things. Simplicity over complexity.
It wasn’t just the coffee. It was everything. The way they lived. The way they prioritized relationships. The way they made do with what they had and didn’t stress about what they didn’t.
The Hill of Crosses (and the energy I can’t explain)
A local told me about two places I would have never found on my own. The hill forts, which just look like hills until you realize they built entire defensive structures on top of them. And the Hill of Crosses.
The Hill of Crosses is… I don’t even know how to describe it. Thousands of crosses planted into this hill, layer upon layer of them, a monument to defiance and resilience and faith. The energy there was unreal. You know how sometimes you can feel a place? Like the air is different, the atmosphere shifts? It was like that. Partly chilling because of the history, but also deeply respectful. These people had been through everything and they kept going. They kept believing. They kept resisting.
Standing there, I thought about how I’d let one person’s betrayal make me question everything about myself. And here were people who’d faced actual oppression, actual threats, and they didn’t break. They didn’t let it destroy them.
Coming Home Different (the subtle kind of change)
When I came back to Canada, I was different. Not in some dramatic, obvious way. I didn’t come back with a whole new personality or a life-changing revelation tattooed on my arm. It was subtle.
I started thinking about the little things more. Started valuing handmade gifts over expensive ones. Started putting more thought into what actually mattered to people instead of what looked impressive. Started having more empathy, more patience, more willingness to just… be present.
I started taking more calculated risks. Not reckless ones, but intentional ones. Things I would have talked myself out of before. Because if I could navigate rural Lithuania alone, figure out diesel at 2am, and connect with people who didn’t speak my language, what else could I handle?
It’s like mountain biking, honestly. You either commit or you eat shit. Literally. If you hesitate halfway through, you’re going down. But if you commit, even if it’s scary, even if you’re not sure you can make it, you usually do. And even when you don’t, you learn something.
Lithuania taught me that the mental version of that is just as true. Commit to the change or stay stuck. Commit to trusting yourself again or spend the rest of your life second-guessing every instinct.
What I Actually Learned (the part that matters)
Here’s what I figured out: You can’t find yourself by staying in the same place, doing the same things, surrounded by the same reminders of who you were when you got hurt. You can’t heal by staying negative. You can’t build confidence by playing it safe.
The only way forward is to start living. Actually living. Not waiting until you feel ready, not planning until it’s perfect, not protecting yourself so hard that you never take any risks. You have to go. You have to try. You have to do the things that scare you.
Stop Finding Yourself, Start Living Yourself
Because eighteen months of being lied to? That made me doubt my judgment. It made me question whether I could trust my gut, whether I was smart enough to see things clearly, whether I was worth being honest with in the first place.
But booking that flight? Showing up on my friend’s doorstep? Driving around a foreign country alone? Figuring out the diesel situation at 2am? That proved I could handle things. That I was capable. That I could trust myself to figure it out even when things went wrong.
And honestly, that’s what I needed. Not to forget what happened. Not to pretend it didn’t hurt. But to prove to myself that I could do hard things. That I could survive being uncomfortable. That I could build something new instead of just sitting in the wreckage of what broke.
The people in Lithuania don’t do what 99% of people do. They live simply. They value connection. They keep going even when things are hard. They plant crosses on a hill as an act of defiance and faith.
And if they can do that, I can take a few risks. I can trust my gut again. I can choose differently next time.
That’s what Lithuania gave me. Not closure. Not answers. Just proof that I could handle more than I thought I could. And sometimes, that’s enough.