One Month In. The Diaries of something
So, when the opportunity came that we could move into the family cabin up north over our city apartment in Minneapolis, choices were made.
For four years, post motherhood, I had dealt with major health problems that we were starting to contribute mostly to high stress environments. Bad water, high EMF buzzing with cell towers and power lines, industry warehouses and thick air; highways, byways, protests and traffic. A sea of faces, and I was beginning to drown in tides of anxiety, alone in a crowded room. That scene in Star Wars when the walls start closing in on you, something is in the water, your closest friends see you in panic.
Anyway, we were excited for a change. We wanted our boys to be able to recognize a neighbor, feel safe at school, walk to the mailbox, learn to ride a bike with some sort of yard... a list of things that started to seem out of reach as my husband and I both worked 40+ hours a week and barely invested in 'self' or 'family'. We figured this was an answer to our prayer for positive growth.
We took it.
I've been without my friends, without those women who I had come to know and call sisters, at my side or just down the road. In a big city, believe it or not, we started showing up for coffee at the same places at the same time without even needing to call one another. Synchronicity had given me a few lost angels, dark witches and goddesses of love when I was drowning and lost. I was fearful to leave their presence at a call, or a short dart through the city.
I started the move with a period of adjustment and I really wanted to soak up every moment of the SHIFT. Waking up to new noises, new light bursts, new influences, and feeling different in a new space. Learning what was going to help make me feel 'at home' and what was going to help me feel 'myself'. Learning to find a safe space for meditation and knowing where the forks are in a midnight snack session. How to walk on the floor without waking the children and knowing where the deadly mushrooms grow. I have walked the property line a thousand times, I have paced the timing of the drain in my anxious shower moments and I have made count of the animals on the treeline (even given them names). I've built a garden, an herb box, lined the fire pit, cleaned the cob webs, cleared the brush, dismantled the hornets nests into little jars and made friends with the thrift store owner. I feel somewhat at home and in the past 30 days I can count two major panic attacks.
They used to be daily. I used to have panic attacks at the grocery story (puking in the parking lot with heaves that wouldn't stop), or in the bathroom at Target (wondering if the coffee had been drugged), even in traffic once (where fear paralyzed me so badly I was overcome with guilt, on the highway, blares of horns, sirens, sobs), and they crept up with a decent amount of vigor. I felt helpless. I was doing daily yoga, running, counting calories, journaling sugar intake, blaming my coffee, crying over my medicine and questioning my every decision - would this make me sick?
I felt sick all the time and I was paranoid that I was becoming a hypochondriac.
I told my friends, I told my loved ones, and I eventually told my doctor. Most everyone would say the same thing, that where was some sort of imbalance.
Perfectionism run rampant, sobriety gone sour, fresh grief and new motherhood. Kidney stones, gallstones, PCOD and children, a purpose. My father getting ill, my step-mother being ill, my sister being in/out of the hospital, my husband having a heart attack and working 40 hours a week minimum as a case manager with serious and persistent mental illness; constant chaos. I could see it, we could all illustrate it, but medicine, yoga, therapy and labeling it didn't help. Being able to say, 'I need help', didn't help. Getting help didn't help. Nothing seemed to help.
I was (and still am) in some cases, living in a state of fear.
Moving up north, farther from my family and further from my Minneapolis family, meant I was going to be going into the abyss with just my home team (those I hold sacred).
Hopes of becoming more intimate, goals of being a tight-knit family, blood and sweat and tears over building a home that might be the 'final resting place' for our constant movement. For me, this nomadic soul stirs with fear at the thought of being still for too long.
30 days in.
I cannot help but look back and count my blessings and my growth.
My new relationships and also seeing who is willing to drive the 178 miles north to see me.
To look out at family over the cabin dock, to see my six year old laughing as he learns to ride his bicycle and how my four year old can smash bugs and collect butterfly wings at will. We've gained a family pet, lost a family pet, purged a lot of physical items and packed what we could fit into our dying Nissan and in-laws' trunks.
30 days in and I'm already unpacked (except for the eight boxes of books), and feel at peace in the morning when I wake. I don't feel the buzzing of the city anymore, or the rushing movement all around me. Instead, I wake up each morning and I go out to the deck and I share my coffee with the animals, the insects, the elements and my thoughts.
I'm forced to face my fear, process my grief, talk to myself and build that relationship again and then, each emotional celebration is done in the company of those who really love me, and cherish me.
I'm now to that point where I'm going to start either looking for a therapist or a gym to start up a self-routine weekly appointment and my current states of low anxiety have me (fearfully) feeling stronger than I have in years. Is this my 30's? Is this some mass consciousness growing pain? Is this just the moon in Leo and the Sun in Pisces? Hell, I suppose it depends on my perspective.
Lately, I've been focusing on the details.
For four years, post motherhood, I had dealt with major health problems that we were starting to contribute mostly to high stress environments. Bad water, high EMF buzzing with cell towers and power lines, industry warehouses and thick air; highways, byways, protests and traffic. A sea of faces, and I was beginning to drown in tides of anxiety, alone in a crowded room. That scene in Star Wars when the walls start closing in on you, something is in the water, your closest friends see you in panic.
Anyway, we were excited for a change. We wanted our boys to be able to recognize a neighbor, feel safe at school, walk to the mailbox, learn to ride a bike with some sort of yard... a list of things that started to seem out of reach as my husband and I both worked 40+ hours a week and barely invested in 'self' or 'family'. We figured this was an answer to our prayer for positive growth.
We took it.
I've been without my friends, without those women who I had come to know and call sisters, at my side or just down the road. In a big city, believe it or not, we started showing up for coffee at the same places at the same time without even needing to call one another. Synchronicity had given me a few lost angels, dark witches and goddesses of love when I was drowning and lost. I was fearful to leave their presence at a call, or a short dart through the city.
I started the move with a period of adjustment and I really wanted to soak up every moment of the SHIFT. Waking up to new noises, new light bursts, new influences, and feeling different in a new space. Learning what was going to help make me feel 'at home' and what was going to help me feel 'myself'. Learning to find a safe space for meditation and knowing where the forks are in a midnight snack session. How to walk on the floor without waking the children and knowing where the deadly mushrooms grow. I have walked the property line a thousand times, I have paced the timing of the drain in my anxious shower moments and I have made count of the animals on the treeline (even given them names). I've built a garden, an herb box, lined the fire pit, cleaned the cob webs, cleared the brush, dismantled the hornets nests into little jars and made friends with the thrift store owner. I feel somewhat at home and in the past 30 days I can count two major panic attacks.
They used to be daily. I used to have panic attacks at the grocery story (puking in the parking lot with heaves that wouldn't stop), or in the bathroom at Target (wondering if the coffee had been drugged), even in traffic once (where fear paralyzed me so badly I was overcome with guilt, on the highway, blares of horns, sirens, sobs), and they crept up with a decent amount of vigor. I felt helpless. I was doing daily yoga, running, counting calories, journaling sugar intake, blaming my coffee, crying over my medicine and questioning my every decision - would this make me sick?
I felt sick all the time and I was paranoid that I was becoming a hypochondriac.
I told my friends, I told my loved ones, and I eventually told my doctor. Most everyone would say the same thing, that where was some sort of imbalance.
Perfectionism run rampant, sobriety gone sour, fresh grief and new motherhood. Kidney stones, gallstones, PCOD and children, a purpose. My father getting ill, my step-mother being ill, my sister being in/out of the hospital, my husband having a heart attack and working 40 hours a week minimum as a case manager with serious and persistent mental illness; constant chaos. I could see it, we could all illustrate it, but medicine, yoga, therapy and labeling it didn't help. Being able to say, 'I need help', didn't help. Getting help didn't help. Nothing seemed to help.
I was (and still am) in some cases, living in a state of fear.
Moving up north, farther from my family and further from my Minneapolis family, meant I was going to be going into the abyss with just my home team (those I hold sacred).
Hopes of becoming more intimate, goals of being a tight-knit family, blood and sweat and tears over building a home that might be the 'final resting place' for our constant movement. For me, this nomadic soul stirs with fear at the thought of being still for too long.
30 days in.
I cannot help but look back and count my blessings and my growth.
My new relationships and also seeing who is willing to drive the 178 miles north to see me.
To look out at family over the cabin dock, to see my six year old laughing as he learns to ride his bicycle and how my four year old can smash bugs and collect butterfly wings at will. We've gained a family pet, lost a family pet, purged a lot of physical items and packed what we could fit into our dying Nissan and in-laws' trunks.
30 days in and I'm already unpacked (except for the eight boxes of books), and feel at peace in the morning when I wake. I don't feel the buzzing of the city anymore, or the rushing movement all around me. Instead, I wake up each morning and I go out to the deck and I share my coffee with the animals, the insects, the elements and my thoughts.
I'm forced to face my fear, process my grief, talk to myself and build that relationship again and then, each emotional celebration is done in the company of those who really love me, and cherish me.
I'm now to that point where I'm going to start either looking for a therapist or a gym to start up a self-routine weekly appointment and my current states of low anxiety have me (fearfully) feeling stronger than I have in years. Is this my 30's? Is this some mass consciousness growing pain? Is this just the moon in Leo and the Sun in Pisces? Hell, I suppose it depends on my perspective.
Lately, I've been focusing on the details.
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