I’m not happy. Over a short time I’ve gone from being fully content and fulfilled to being…broken. I can try to pinpoint one reason, but really it’s a culmination of many things that have built up inside me for some time.
I’m afraid if you ask my husband if I’m ever truly happy, he’d tell you no. There’s been a mark on my soul for a long time that I never fully let go of. Through sickness, health, richer, and poorer that dark shadow hangs over us – ever waiting to engulf me. When I’m taken down, so is he. So are we all.
I’ve coped with my emotions through writing most of my life. Adding in all sorts of other artistic expressions over the years – musical instruments, crafts, sewing. I’m not stupid – I know I could likely call a doctor and find a pill that produces that same magical calm, probably a more stabilizing, longer lasting one. I don’t choose to fight my body, I choose to learn to live with the highs and lows. I’m mostly good at it – but sometimes I lose my light and all those seeds of doubt seep into my being and I’m simply lost.
The last few weeks have been a nightmare for me. Still a bit on edge from my last miscarriage, there was a period of calm that made me feel like I was ready to face more change and so I ushered it forward. I pushed myself a bit too far and I pushed myself off the small ledge of normal and spiraled deeper into the darkness that both scares and entices me.
I painted over rooms in my home that brought me peace, put away all the plaques and photos that made me feel grounded. I donated bag after bag of possessions, some containing more memories than articles of baby clothes. I gave away the sewing desk that was more than just a piece of furniture to me. Sure, it was a $10 thrift store find. But it was huge, it was sturdy, and it was where I found peace. I sat at that desk and found solace when my husband was working third shift and I was left alone with an infant and young toddler. The desk caught hours of lonely tears and it brought me a companion when I felt like our lives were sinking. Through the quick whir of the needle and the sharp clip of the scissors I created love and warmth through thread and fabric. In an afternoon I packed her up and said goodbye. I did it all to sell our home, our house. It’s in the wrong place. It’s too far from friends and family and I’ve created what feels like a kingdom of isolation.
It has all left me on edge more often than not. I’ve brought babies home to this house. I’ve mourned miscarriages in this house. I’ve given up a career to be a full-time mom here and I’ve watched my husband lose a job he enjoyed. I’ve seen first steps, first words, long nights, birthdays, richer, poorer, sickness, and health… These four walls have housed it all and I’m raw and scared and hurt to say goodbye. I am also hopeful for what will be, but mostly I am scared. I don’t handle fear well. I learned to put on a brave face early in my life. It doesn’t bode well to show fear when there are people in your life who will exploit it. While those people are long gone from a presence in my life, their influence forever remains.
I’m trying…I’m really trying. Some days I am failing. I’m trying to wade through the uncertainty to find clarity and slowly it’s coming. It’s hard for me to live in the between – trying to enjoy what is happening now but being ever vigilant and ready for what is to be. I ask for patience, understanding, and maybe just a hug when it’s too much for me to keep juggling it all.
To prospective buyers of my home, I ask that you overlook the smaller sewing desk I’m about to put out…I can’t be calm or grounded or keep this house show ready without some sort of myself in it. I’m a bit jealous of you. This home was purchased as my forever home. I really wish I could pick it up and move it about 50-60 miles towards my family. I’m going to cry a lot of tears when you do buy it. I’m going to lose it in my oldest son’s room the last time I look at it. I had the vision of that room in mind for so many years before he was ever born. It was the first place I took him when he came home from the hospital…
Alas, there are new memories to be made and we will find a home that feels more like a home in physicality and in spirit. I hope our home is that place for someone…it sure has been a good place for us to start our family and learn to live and not just exist.
While I’m wading out here in the between, trying to balance what is and what will be, I’m starting to come to the surface again. These are murky waters, but there’s a light out there brighter than the darkness that looms within. And I’m fighting for it…