(***I wrote this post this past spring, shortly after moving to my new city. I feared posting it primarily to spare the feelings of my few faithful readers, because I feared it would cause them pain or make them angry at me. I'm posting it now because the distance of time has given me clarity on these matters, and I no longer feel quite so alone. In fact, several circumstances have changed, as well as my mindset towards them. More importantly, my heart has been broken, in a good way. But the despair I felt when writing this was genuine, and as such, these words are a clear depiction of what my life felt like just a few short months ago. I give glory to God for the changes in my heart and life since then. Smugness in one's circumstance is not joy, and hopefully enduring a difficult time only to have things improve will produce a more steady joy, rather than fleeting happiness, in my life.)
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"My life is different now, I swear... "
- The Avett Brothers
In the recesses of my mind, I've been pondering how to write this post- what tack I should take, how much I should share, how long I should discuss it. All of that thinking failed to produce any type of actionable plan, so here I am, just pouring out my words. Since this blog has no real purpose for existing at present (other than being my thought journal), I'm hoping writing this out will help me continue to process the past 4-15 months.
I am adrift in a sea of change.
I no longer have the job I've had since 2004.
I'm no longer in school, for the first time in my life.
I no longer live in the same place I used to,
the only place I've ever lived outside my parents' house.
I no longer live in my house.
I lived in my house, the house my husband and I bought, alone. For one year.
During that time, it didn't even look like my house. It was not the same.
It was like living in a dream, literally.
I miss my house.
At the same time, the very thought of that house fills me with bitterness,
and I wish it had never existed.
Because no one will buy my house. No one will even make me an offer.
No one will make it so that I don't have to pay for a mortgage on a house I don't live in,
in a different state.
Now I live in an apartment in the suburbs. I cannot wait to move again.
I cannot buy another house because I already have a house payment.
On a house in a different state.
My belongings are scattered between the house and the apartment,
or boxed up in purgatory, waiting.
The apartment is full of unpacked boxes.
My commute to work takes 90 minutes. Each way.
That's right, I have a new job.
It is the first job I've held in my career of choice. It is terrifying.
I cannot put into words why it is so terrifying.
Here are the closest words I can find- imposter syndrome, friendlessness,
unfamiliarity, new responsibilities, no safety net.
Most of all, my experiences of the past year or so can be summed up
in 2 words: LEFT BEHIND.
Life in my old city, in my old workplace, in the church I was attending,
is continuing without me.
It is more than continuing without me.
It's thriving in my absence.
The gaps created by my absence are closing.
The impact I left behind is disappearing.
I am forgettable.
And now I feel that, more than ever before, life itself is leaving me behind.
This year I have had over 30 pregnant friends.
That's only counting the women who were/are physically pregnant,
not their partners or anyone who adopted.
I am not pregnant.
I am not sure I will ever become pregnant.
It is at this point in my inner musings that I begin to get angry at God.
Sometimes it feels like friendships only provide pain,
with their ripe grounds for comparison,
and their ability to be so quickly euthanized by distance.
Sometimes I feel like my only function in life is whining to God about poor little me.
Sometimes I think I must be a wicked person, who cannot acknowledge the happiness of
others without acknowledging the absence of that particular happiness in her own life.
Sometimes I tell myself I'm a masochist as I compulsively check social media,
involuntarily eager to glean more information that might further hurt my feelings.
Sometimes I don't feel like crying, but I can't stop.
Because I'm tired of treading water to keep my head above the surface.
And I am so tired of praying for relief, for sureness, for settledness and rightness and
security and true joy, because I know, in my bones,
that happiness in circumstance is fleeting and is not the source of such joy.
Sometimes it seems like the only way this feeling will end is by cutting ties
with my old city and my old friends and my old job, and just starting over from scratch.
It is a time of upheaval.
