From One Home to Another

It’s been a long time since I blogged. Since I wrote really. I was pretty sure I was just gonna give up on it completely, but my mother kindly requested that I write more.  Which makes ZERO sense to me because I talk to her almost every other day and tell her everything that’s going on in my life. So I don’t understand why she’d want to read about something I already told her about… but I guess that’s mothers for you.

            Well I’ve obviously had a lot going on the past few months. Last time I wrote was before I moved to Virginia. Now, We’ve been living here for two months, and a lot has happened. But for now, I’ll tell you the story chronologically.

I went back and forth between two main emotional states during the moving process, which I expect many people also go through during their first—or maybe any—big move.

In the months between when we decided to move and when we actually moved, I flip-flopped back and forth daily between excitement and a mix of terrified sadness. Jim had to deal with at least one spiraling mental breakdown. The most intense one I specifically remember started with a simple argument, about something Jim hadn’t done, the dishes or the laundry or something unimportant that I had requested. I was mad at him for something—neither of us can remember—and neither of us know how, but before we knew it I was bawling my eyes out in the bathroom. He came over and I tried to explain that I wasn’t crying because I was mad at him, but because I was afraid to leave my family and my friends and everything I know. One thing had spiraled into another and made me think of everything I was leaving. I’ve lived in the same house in the same small town since before I can remember. I know people and they know me. The people at the sandwich shop know me by name, the pizza shop guy remembers me as “the girl who still hasn’t seen Silence of The Lambs” and I was camp counselor to not one, but at least 2 of the cashiers at the local grocery store. I am known and loved in that small town. And I know and love those people back. And I realized that I was leaving all of this for him. And he couldn’t even do one simple thing for me.

Jim found a way to talk me down from this intense panic attack, and reminded me that there were plenty of reasons I was coming with him, my reasons. I started breathing regularly again and wiped my tears away and somehow managed to go to work and see all my beloved kindergarteners and without breaking down again.

I shot back to excitement while we were packing up the truck, even though I could tell my parents’ and friends’ hearts were breaking to see me leave. I was ready to go off and make a new life for myself with a new adventure, and as much as I knew I was going to miss all of those people back home, I knew I needed to do this for myself, and I was excited.

But when Jim and I got separated on the road in New Jersey in the middle of a snow-storm, I relapsed into panic mode again and had to call my mother to calm me down (I wanted Jim to calm me down but his phone doubles as his GPS and was unwilling to trade the directions to comfort me). I remember saying to her “I just want to go home!”  But we were past the point of no return.  Well, more like past the midpoint, so it would have been a waste of a good 10 hours to turn back at that point. Anywhoo, that was the last of my breakdowns so far, and I got through the storm and actually beat Jim  to Virginia by about an hour and a half.