My husband wants to move. Well, actually we both *want* to move but the whole prospect is a bit terrifying for me.
There are so many good reasons for us to move. We are literally looking at only moving one town over to a neighborhood with a superior school district. We would be able to save money by taking our teen out of private school, and the youngest kids will be on a public-school tract for their full K-12 educations. We’ll be able to find a property that better suits our needs: a house with a layout that has more dedicated functional space. Right now, we have two useless rooms with no doors and a basement below grade that no one likes to go in unless we are watching a movie.
So, there are many good reasons for us to make this change. Yet, I am dreading the idea of actually picking up and doing it.
My husband is so excited. He is usually the first to jump on board with any changes. He loves to get up and go, without a second look back (and I’m not just referring to moving). But now, I’ve gotten to the point that every time he even brings up this subject, my heart sinks. It reached a peak over the weekend when he picked out several properties online and asked me twice to come and take a look at them. Each time I came up with excuses for why I didn’t have time to look at the houses. Because I feel like I just can’t go there right now.
I feel so overwhelmed by the thought of moving. The incredibly long process of house hunting is quite painful for someone like me who hates making decisions. Then, there is the grueling process of obtaining a mortgage, with endless documents to obtain and financial decisions to make. Everything about moving is decision overload.
But the worst part by far, is the idea of packing, moving, unpacking, and setting up a brand-new home. I am completely stalled with fear when I think of all of the work it will take to move everything we own. There are things I haven’t even unpacked from when we moved here, and we’ve lived here for 5 years last month. It has literally taken me years, partially delayed by having two babies, to decorate and personalize this home.
Why do I feel this way about moving? I’ve moved my whole life. House after house, different school systems, different states, different countries even. I am so tired of moving and changing everything and starting new. Despite all of the good reasons we have to move, I am really struggling to get over this serious pit in my stomach at the thought of all the change.
I have become deeply sentimental about this home that we’ve created. We brought both of our children home from the hospital to this house. Especially around the holidays, I am overwhelmed with joy remembering the traditions we have worked so hard to create here. If we moved within a year, I am not sure that either of our young ones will remember this house beyond what they see in pictures.
I feel guilty for being so negative. I am scared that my unwillingness to jump on board with the idea is putting a damper on my husband’s excitement. I feel as though I should be grateful to be able to afford to move to a different home that will better suit our family. Yet, here I sit, wanting to dig my feet into the ground. Staking my place here, refusing to budge unless forcibly removed. I am mixed with fear of the work and the loss of the beautiful memories we’ve made.
I will miss the friendships we’ve made in this neighborhood, and I am nervous about making new ones. I think this is partially from knowing the truth that lots of friends fall away when you move. There are good intentions to stay in touch, but in this modern world if it is not incredibly convenient, it just doesn’t seem to happen.
This is what I am going to have to work through. I need to sit down and explain these feelings to my husband, and we can decide together how to handle each one. I know he will understand, and that my feelings shouldn’t keep us from actually making this step. But I need to honor them, find perspective on each of my struggles, and create a plan to make this move as successful as possible.
Looking back at that stressful time, it’s easy for me to see the events that led to my attack. I was working for a Big 4 accounting firm with high demands on all employees. I was in my first semester of a prestigious MBA program that I felt thoroughly unprepared for. I had been house hunting, trying to find the perfect first home. I was fostering two feral kittens that had been infested with roundworms (hence the worms hallucination).
First time parenting is 
How Siblings Aren’t Necessarily Good for Each Other
My good friend’s sister died this week. She lost her battle with tongue cancer, claiming her life less than a year from her initial diagnosis.
I wondered what our life would be like if I lost my husband. Would I be strong enough to carry on? Could I raise our family on my own? “Of course, you would,” my husband assured me, “You’d have to.” I know I would, but it would be devastating.
Do you know what a family in crisis looks like? Would you be able to tell? I am not talking about the crises that are apparent to an outsider, such as a death or an accident or a family being displaced from their home. I am talking about the subtler kinds of crises, the ones that are less evident, impacting the family by eroding the structure from within. Perhaps caused by sickness or mental illness or even financial troubles.
When my son was born, it only compounded our troubles. He was the loudest, most unhappy baby. He 
I’ve only just started letting people really know the truth about how exhausted I really am.
I move as though I am in slow motion. Fighting, as if each movement is an effort to overcome swimming against the tide of an angry ocean.
Isn’t this enough?
Our society is so politically correct these days. But what if our insistence on using “positive” words actually detracts from the truth? What are we covering when we insist that our families are blended, instead of broken?
We have to get used to each other’s personalities. The dynamic in a house changes with each child, but that is a natural progression. Adding in a new “grown” child means going through an acceptance process of each person’s personality. I’ve had to get used to her and she’s had to get used to me.
“I just don’t want to look back on this time as the Dark Ages,” I tell my good friend’s wife. A large group of my college classmates and our kids were visiting a traveling farm last fall.
But there has been so much more that I have to work to bring to mind.
What about the late night and early morning snuggles? When I found their perfect tickle spots or blew raspberries on their sweet, soft bellies.
This week, I opened the window to my heart. I shared a deeply personal essay about how I feel when I 
And my words were shared more times than my humble heart could imagine. You shared them because they are your words now. You shared them because you were finally able to make someone else understand how you really feel. You shared them because they might describe and help someone that you know.
My days are ruled by a terrible master. Slave driving and tireless, it never ends and never lessens.
The children ask if can I play with them, and more and more I respond with “I have to do this. I have to do that.” So rarely anymore do I feel free enough to prompt play, or join in with them while they play on their own. How must they feel watching their mom consumed by a whirlwind of never-ending tasks?