Chewie, We’re…. Home?
To our dearest readers (if any of you are still out there),
It has almost been one month since I moved to New York City.
I know, you all see nothing on this blog for about two years and then I drop this ridiculous news.
Basically, I needed a hard reset.
It’s been a while since Terra or I have blogged on here. Life happened. A LOT of life happened for me.
I got pregnant.
I didn’t stay pregnant.
I got engaged.
I got a job that absolutely wrecked me in all the bad ways.
I got (secretly) married a year and a half before my wedding date.
I accepted that I am bi and on the asexual spectrum.
I got a job I loved and helped me figure out what I want to do for a career.
I was finally brave enough to stand up for myself and what I need.
I was forced to be the one to end the relationship and move out.
I lived on my own for the first time in 5 years.
I went to therapy and finally accepted help for my depression.
I got divorced six months before my wedding date.
I decided not to date because I needed to focus on healing on my own, even though my ex had swiftly moved another woman into my former space, before the divorce papers were even submitted to the court.
I knew I needed to get out of Seattle because I was drowning in my bad habits and couldn’t shake them.
I told my dad I was going to move and cried for half an hour in his car even though he was only smiles and support.
I became suicidal.
I got medication for my depression and it helped more than just therapy did.
I had to tell everyone I was leaving and gave a six week notice at work.
I slowly said my goodbyes and cried every morning and every night, mostly in private.
I sold or donated at least half of my life, two-thirds of my precious wardrobe.
I packed my bags to exactly forty-nine pounds and still had to leave too many things behind.
I almost changed my mind when my dad hugged me at the airport and started crying. I’ve only seen him cry three other times – when I went to Japan for a week when I was 15, when he read a Christmas card I made for him a few years ago, and when I told him about how my marriage was falling apart and he told me he was proud of me for trying my best.
I cursed my sleeping pills for doing NOTHING on my overnight flight.
I showed up at my best friend’s (now also my) doorstep at 9:00am eastern time and was so happy to finally take my goddamn bra off and take a nap.
I have spent a lot of time with my friends, redid my resume, applied for jobs, started working out again, started to be more mindful of my eating, even went out on a date (been stood up for a few more).
I have only had about three days during the last four weeks where I haven’t doubted my decision to move.
I keep trying.
That’s where I am now, hoping for days that feel more good than bad, working through the times when they’re the other way around. So you’ll see me here more as I try to reconnect to the things I love, navigate a new journey, explore my identities, and try to find the best boba places in NYC.