Evicted (and moving through it)
There is a reason I’m a writer. It’s how I process and understand where I am and Who I Am and what’s going on. I write not because I already have all the answers (although I do believe we all always have our own answers when we’re ready for them), but to find the answers in my heart.
I know myself. I know that I will be stuck until I have two things: a platform to express and the validation that Where I Am is okay. This blog gives me the first; my husband and all of your deep, thoughtful and soul-dripping comments give me the second.
There are times when we need to mope and be in the thick of it (we can’t get through it without going through it). It’s where I’ve been the past few days. Then there are times when Life snorts at your experience and throws another into the mix and you have little choice but to roll with it.
Yes, just less than 24 hours after the first blow, we were dealt another. And again, in reality, it’s not a really big deal. But when you’re already neck-deep in yuck, it sure feels like a kick in the teeth.
Yesterday we got a notice that we are not allowed to park Benny in front of my parent’s house. We had 72 hours to move. 72 hours to do what we wanted another two weeks to accomplish.
Oh trust me, I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry and throw a fit and curse the neighbor who complained. But I kept my composure…there were people present after all. Instead, I acquiesced to the moment, scraped my heart off the floor and allowed the experience to propel me.
Movement through madness is a healing salve.
As your kind words poured in, we packed up our household and moved it all into my parent’s garage. As your comments brought me to tears, we moved our clothing into their spare room. As I absorbed your love and your Truth, we got Benny ready to move - without us.
I felt a little like a person getting ready to take her dog to the pound. Guilty and apologetic and tearful. We are attached after all, Benny and I. He’s my Dream-maker, my first liberator, and moving on from that grips at my chest.
Last night, with Zeb at a sleepover with his Gramma, Justin and I slept in Benny for the last time. And as we laughed and reminisced, in my heart I started to let go of my fear.
With the threat of entrapment still lingering over my dreams, watching Benny lumbering behind me down the road and leaving him behind at my father-in-law’s home for the time being took a lot of deep breaths. It was scary. On one hand it’s a necessary step. In order to get the new rig, we have to let the old one go.
But in letting Benny go I was relinquishing my freedom. For awhile at least, I have no means of escape. He’s my last tangible tie to life on the road. And that, my friends, takes a large heaping of Trust.
I’m breathing deep. I’m trusting my dreams are real and valid and happening. I’m trusting our perseverance and ingenuity to keep us from stagnancy in this place we so badly don’t want to be. I’m (just barely, mostly unwillingly, hardly contentedly) trusting the timing of it all. And I’m trusting we are loved and not alone in this, too. I’m not alone in this.
Alone is a scary place to be. But I know it’s a place I choose. I push companionship away when I hurt. I hurt myself deeper, really. But I am loved and blessed. Justin knows me. He knows to hold me when I tell him I want to be alone. He gives me the space to Be and the space to grow, a space that just happens to be within his arms. And my once battered heart is reminded again that it’s a safe place to be.
Life is challenging me, offering a long-avoided opportunity to heal. It’s requesting I stretch in order to grow. These are my growing pains. This is my growth spurt. As hard as it is to say at times, I know this place is good.