I’ve taken a step back from blogging for a bit for a few reasons. A big one was that I didn’t have the means (I was without internet off and on for the last few months) and we’ve been busy. Without airing too much dirty laundry the past few months have been in crisis in many ways and I’ll feel my way around entering back into this blog and decide how much of that to share and how much to keep to myself.
I think before it was easy to hide behind the blog because I pretty much didn’t know anyone who lived within half an hour. I think that physical distance gave me a false sense of isolation in this blog and it was easier to talk about things because it felt like my own world I could turn to to talk things out without hurting other people or having to be responsible for the feelings I expressed. However, after the last two blog posts I deleted because some people tried to talk me out of my feelings, I realized that any feelings I express, I have to be ready to talk about and at the time, I was not ready to talk about those feelings. I’m still not. Maybe I will be when I get to look back on it, but for now, I’m going to have to hold this blog a little further away from me so I don’t hurt people with what I’m feeling.
So we’ll start with the basics. I moved back home! Yay! When I first moved to Indiana never in a million years did I think I would be so freaking thrilled to move back home, but here I am. In a lot of ways, things are a lot better. I’m better resourced and I have family near by. I have opportunities to work on my marriage and Patrick is being raised around more diverse people, ideas, and educational backgrounds. It’s incredibly exciting. We’ve settled into a two-bedroom apartments fifteen minutes from what I consider home.
I think living in a rural area, it was easy to blame everything on the place. And in many ways, things are so much better. With outside happiness from my family, experience academia, going back to my uniquely open and loving church, having access to amazing places like the Indianapolis Children’s Museum, and having amazing friends again I feel more … stable. I feel like I’ve got ground underneath my feet again and after so long it’s nice to know that I can thrive again. There’s glimpses of the old me all over and it feels comforting.
As we were getting to move back, a move clouded in a lot of pain, I made sure to remind myself that moving back home wasn’t going to fix everything. That some things were still going to have to be worked on a there would be wounds that would hopefully scar over but I wasn’t sure would heal. I repeated it to myself over and over again.
This isn’t a quick fix. Not everything is going to be perfect again. Things are different. It’s still going to take work.
But I don’t know, some part of me must not have really gotten it because I’m still constantly confused by the fact that some key aspects of my life aren’t any better at all and I don’t know how to fix them.
Ugh this is so cryptic and weird, so how about I just move on the positive stuff happening in my life I can talk about freely.
I am so happy to be around so many people that love me and Patrick is thriving. Thriving! He’s adjusting like a champ, better here than ever. I would like to take full credit for that and making him travel so much (over 20 plane rides in the first two years of his life). I’m just kidding. That kid is happy to be wherever he is loved and boy do I love him for that. He’s the constant reminder I need that in the end the only thing you need are people who love you around. Another thing I repeat out loud but struggle to internalize.
But here the thing – the really big thing – that got better. Since Peter and I first met, in 2009, we have moved every single year. Seriously. Granted, some of that was obvious because during college you move in and out of dorms and apartment situations, but still. It’s been 6 years of keep things in boxes, not doing much to the walls other than a few pictures at one of the places, and just never feeling home. Never feeling settled. I felt like we have spent the last 6 years with one foot out of the door. I’ve looked out the window and never felt like I was home, I was just passing through. I always felt out of place, like a tourist wearing a fanny pack and sticking out as the sucker in the crowd.
I don’t feel that anymore at all. I feel good here. When I look around, I’m looking around at my home. My apartment feels like home. My parents house that I did not grow up in feels like home. My church feels like home. Campus feels like home. I feel like I’ve been holding my breath for so long and I’m finally letting it all out. And you know what? There’s a hell of a lot better chance of me fixing those other pesky aspects of my life if there’s oxygen flowing through me.
Mine has been a surprisingly painful journey these past few years. I keep it in context and thank god for my blessings in love and people, but the fact I’ve experienced unplanned pregnancy, post partum depression, regular ‘ole depression, feeling incredibly unhappy with where I lived, severe chronic illness, massive marriage troubles, and no unemployment in the family and I’m only 23, well it really blows me away. But I am lucky. I mean, there are so many things worse and I have been blessed with great people in my life who love me in a different ways. But, as you probably know, I just can’t be one of those people that stays positive because other things are worse or because God has a plan or whatever because I’m on this path and there are a lot of outcomes that I don’t think anyone would plan on as possibilities and I can’t look positively to.
But at least I’m on a path again. I’ve got air in my lungs and ground beneath my feet and I wake up wanting to face the day instead of hiding from it and I know as long as I have my kid and my family it’s all going to be okay. Dude, I really hope this is the hardest few years of my life. Sometimes I think I’m over dramatic but I keep being reassured that no this has been a surprisingly difficult few years and I shouldn’t judge life based on these past few years.
So now instead of a blog about tearing down and falling apart, I hope that this will be a blog about slow rebuilding. I’ll fall a few times I’m sure, I’ll be as honest as I can be without having to discuss things I’m not ready to discuss. I will try my best to love fully and I will fail at it many times. But I will be a person on a path instead of wandering aimlessly through darkness and I will be the mother I’ve always wanted to be. I have been. I am proud of the mother I have been the past month. Turns out there is patience inside me once I defeated the worst bouts of unhappiness. As I rebuild, this is what I wake up on the wall (yes we put things on the wall and finally made this a home)
And I’m going to be totally honest with you. I got this and it inspired me today, but yesterday I literally stuck my middle finger at it. Very juvenile for sure, but strangely satisfying. So please don’t think I’m on this glorious redemption path. I am incredibly un-heroic and unnecessarily hopeless at times. But it’s there and it means I’m home and it means that maybe I’ll be better than before.
Who knows? It could happen.