One word to describe the start of 2023.
Brutal.
Our Christmas was plagued by illness with me copping the worst of it. I was ill from Christmas Eve right through to New Years Day – delightful.
Head into January and with 6 weeks to go until we were officially homeless, we finally find a house. A bittersweet reality as this does rescue my family from all the other rather horrendous alternatives but sad as we have to move out of the area to obtain it. Our bubble. Our cosy and comfortable home, on the street that we know so well. Our friendly neighbours. My little walk with my daughter to her school. The first home we became a family in. The home my daughter had all her firsts in. The relief to have a new home to go to is immense but I can’t shake the dejected feeling.
My husband and I did what we do best, we kept calm and carried on. Determined for nothing to change for as long as possible but as our moving day edged ever closer, the anxiety was real. We all know that moving house is one of the most stressful events to go through in life and this particular move landed differently as we were moving because we had to. Not because we wanted to.
Most adults have had a forced move thrust upon them and it sucks – plain and simple. My husband struggled with the concept of moving in a sideways trajectory, instead of the upwards variety that we had planned when leaving our current home. Our new home will be bigger in parts and smaller in others so it will be an adjustment for sure.
My thoughts on this move are more complex and emotionally difficult. The new house is in an area that is not as accessible as this one via public transport. Which once again reminded me, not that I needed it, that I have to consider this as a non driving visually impaired person. More than this, I had to let go of the one thing I had been holding onto with every fibre of my being…my ability to walk my daughter to school independently. I knew one day this would happen but this move has made this a reality right now and I’m gutted. My husband has happily stepped into the fold which is fabulous and a friend has offered to carpool as they are heading the same way so it’s all worked out. As much as I love their immediate reaction to jump in and help out. I can’t help but feel a little pushed out.
My husband works full time and will now be taking care of the school run too…it makes me question my contribution. The need for me at all. I know that sounds dramatic but being able to handle all of my daughter’s school needs from start to finish has given me a sense of purpose. I know there will come a time where she wont need me but to have a stranger come in and press fast forward on my life is hard.
As our home slowly disappears into boxes and crates, the reality of our new normal is looming closer and closer. We are 72 hours from our new home. I’m trying to be positive for my husband so his own reservations do not overwhelm him. I’m trying to turn the chaos into an adventure for my daughter so she keeps smiling and focuses on the bigger bedroom she will have. But as I tape up another box, I have to admit that it’s me that’s overwhelmed. I feel like I have no control over what’s happened or what will happen. No longer in the driver’s seat of my own life but a passenger. Not in a comfy limo sipping champagne while someone else takes the stressful commute, more like tied up and thrown in the back of a Ford Focus! That was strangely specific but I’m sure you get the point.
For the last 5 weeks, I have been an anxiety-ridden mess and the physical symptoms of that alone have sent me to the edge more than once. One of the reasons I have not been writing is there are days where just functioning on a basic level is all I’m capable of. I have been to A&E twice, been to a GP 3 times and at my worst, my husband called an ambulance; as I honestly felt I was dying. To be woken up by my own heart pounding so fast and hard is terrifying. I thought my whole body was going to explode. My brain is constantly trying to regroup and understand what’s happening. Racing between battling to control the anxiety and the sinking feeling that something else horrendous is wrong with me. Each day is a struggle for survival. The days are longer than before as I’m scared to go to sleep at night.
Most days I can focus on packing and house move preparations. Some days I can’t focus on anything. I’m still able to camouflage my internal battle and to those who don’t know me well, they are still oblivious. My husband and mum immediately spot the change when it happens. I completely withdraw. Like a computer that’s powered down. Accept, I have not powered down. I’m in overdrive on the inside.
On the tough days, I feel a real sense of achievement when I have just taken my daughter to school. I’m trying to enjoy every last moment of our walks together. I feel like my mind and body are failing me while I desperately try to be the best human I can but all that disappears when my little girl smiles up at me and holds my hand. 4 years ago when my world was turned upside down, I didn’t know how much time I would have to do the things I loved and to be here now still walking by your side little angel is everything.
“Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened – Dr Seuss