The last six and a half months have included the most difficult moments, decisions, and weeks/months of my life. While I don’t regret anything, I wouldn’t volunteer to go through these months again. Once was more than enough, thank you.
Two days ago, I bought a house. It’s a cute little house. Three bedrooms (so the boys will each have their own rooms); two bathrooms (so we won’t have hallway traffic jams on weekday mornings); and perhaps most importantly, in the kids’ school district.
It’s a good little house. Built in 2008, it’s still pretty new. The inspection report came back clean—there are a few things I should do sometime soon, like add gutters, but nothing major. It should be fairly easy to maintain; it has stained concrete floors inside and Hardiplank outside, along with a level yard so it’ll be easy to mow.
This house should provide a good place for my boys and me to be for the foreseeable future. I am pleased. I am proud of myself. I am hopeful about new beginnings in new spaces.
I’m also exhausted. Maybe even fraying at the edges.
Over the last six months or so, I’ve recognized that transition/transformation is hard work. I’ve been intentional about self-care: making time to rest; devoting energy to prayer and study; cooking good, healthy food. I’ve tried to be better about relying on the strength of community and admitting need.
On a deeper level, I’ve been exploring ideas about discovering strength in and through vulnerability. I’ve worked on forgiving myself for mistakes and shortcomings. I’ve tried to incorporate the broken pieces of my past and my present, rather than hide or gloss over them. Wholeness, rather than perfection, is my goal.
Overall, I think I’ve done well and made good choices. And yet right now, I’m worn thin. Existentially tired. Sometimes, feeling like I’m barely holding it together.
At Home Depot the other day, the guy at checkout asked if he could help me out to my car. “No thanks,” I said, “I’ve got it.” Then we stood there awkwardly for a moment as I looked at my two full carts, realizing I couldn’t get them out to my car by myself even if I tried. “How ‘bout I help load some of that in the car for you, ma’am?” he asked again. “Um, yes, that’s probably a good idea,” I replied. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
What I was thinking was… actually, I wasn’t. That was my autopilot: I don’t need help; I’ve got everything under control. Including myself.
I am glad to be here. Thankful for each day. Appreciative of community. Mindful that I am privileged in many ways. Hopeful about beginning a new year (Rosh Hashana is right around the corner!) in a new place, in a new way.
Also, I could really use a break.