I’ve been really wanting to share more here, got about a dozen posts started on my phone, but I’ve been going through an adjustment period since moving two weeks ago.
Yep, we finally moved!
If you follow me on any of my social media then you know we’ve been working on moving into our own place since relocating to Colorado last July. After months of stressing over it, we’ve finally managed to see this goal through, and if I’m super honest I thought it would feel better.
There’s a few personal circumstances that made moving to this new place a bit nervous-making, and that’s probably why I haven’t quite settled into the wave of relief that I expected to accompany this big change. Besides being annoyed at still feeling relatively the same, anxiety/depression wise, I’m actually rather sad at missing out on the typical excitement that has followed me to every new place I’ve lived. And I’ve lived in a lot of places.
After counting it all out with my husband one night, I realized I’ve lived in about thirteen different places since going away to college in ’09. Most of those moves were stressful in their own ways, and in some places I barely memorized the address before moving again, but in general I’ve always enjoyed the settling-in-make-the-place-your-own aspect of living in a new place. I’m still striving for that enjoyment, however elusive it may be.
Now, I’ve been on the internet enough to have read repeatedly that expectation is the thief of joy. I even actually believe the crap out that assertion. Yet, as hard as I try to apply that wisdom to other aspects of my life, somehow a few of those treacherous little bastards stuck like glue to how I thought it would be moving into our own apartment.
Truly, I knew all my issues wouldn’t be solved by attaining this single goal, but somehow I thought it would help more than it has. There’s no telling how or when I came to this conclusion, but I rode it out until the day we signed the lease.
Only now do I realize how much I unconsciously thought of my struggles with mental illness as a heavy cape that I could remove once we got our own place. I mean, yeah, I knew I’d probably still be wearing a somewhat lighter, slightly less restrictive cape underneath, but I seriously thought I’d be able to closet the weighty, overwhelming garment I’d worn for the last two years once I had my own closet to keep it in.
Turns out that expectation did not work out so well.
I like to think this move wasn’t half as bad as my negative side has imagined it to be, but having that damned cloak tighten around me instead of loosening kind of pisses me off. Which is silly, if you think about it, because who is there to be pissed at besides myself? I don’t know why I expected things to get so much easier when, in reality, not having my own space was just one piece in this wildly complicated puzzle that is my mental health. It’s super great to have finally found that piece, but there’s still so damn much to put together.
So that’s where I’m at these days. Swinging chaotically back and forth from mostly comfortable to totally freaked out, pretty much as usual. I’m going to be working on killing those faulty expectations while also attempting to address the other issues and goals I have. Hopefully that’ll mean a flurry of new posts soon!
Be well, friends!