Moving Out, Moving On…?

Hi All,

I hope you are well.

This is much more of a personal blog as I make sense of what I’m feeling in relation to a big move coming up.

Moving. Some say it can be a very stressful time.

Well, we are moving.

It’s a very exciting time. Something my husband and I have been saving for, working towards with the help of family providing us with reduced expenditure supporting us to save, to be in a position to buy.

We’ve done it. We exchanged just recently. All these words and sayings related to moving I didn’t really understand are now terms I’m learning. It’s been an interesting experience.

I’m really proud of my husband and I. Last year the wedding and now this. We’ve been living with my family for over 3 years now. On the whole it’s been amazing. Though there’s been many a time it pushed me to my limit because I need my space, especially when I’m struggling and I get embarrassed, not wanting others to see me suffering. I then just want to hibernate and I don’t want any questions asked as I don’t have the answers. Also, as a couple, I just wanted us to have space and privacy. Yet on the whole it’s been incredible. We’ve always been a close family but living in our communal home we got closer. It was amazing how my husband became such a key member of our family household too, adopted as one of our own, how I feel in his. What our wedding definitely showed.

Transitions are not always easy even if it’s something we want to transition to. I used to be frightened of change, despite knowing it’s one of the guaranteed parts of life. I despised uncertainty, most likely because of suffering such a sudden trauma in losing someone who was meant to be more ‘certain’ to be in my life longer than they were. I’ve grown to understand the part it can play in our personal growth though and I work to rewire my cognitions so that I don’t fear it like I used to. “Nothing grows in the comfort zone”, they say. Though sometimes comfort is what we want. Perhaps we can grow our comfort zones in new places…

I’m so proud of us and I’m so proud of my family. My siblings who set examples for me. That make my heart fuzzy with their own growth and change, where they are in life navigating new chapters too.

It’s got me thinking. About them. About me. About how much time has passed now. How the milestone of it being over half way without mum, and look at us, living our lives. Moving on?

Part of moving out requires sorting out. In the midst of a Marie Kondo takeover the world is fascinated by – Kon Mari – I’ve already approached the dilemma of the sentimental pile.

If you’re lucky enough to have a family/parental home you might still even have your own room or belongings your guardians (no matter how old you are!) keep for you. Certificates. Your first drawing. Etc etc. I’ve got some of mine. I’ve also got some of mum’s. What do I do with them? Can I let go? Do I need to? Do I need to sort it all out now just because I’m moving out, do I have to move on? Am I ready?

When I first learned I’d be moving soon I had this lovely airy fairy ideal of me only taking ‘joyous’ items to the new place and letting go of older ones that no longer serve me. Yet when it comes to these, I’m not sure. I’m not ready. Not ready to part with it yet.

I found my school reports recently from the years after mum died. I reflected on the teachers’ different opinions of me and interpretation of how well or badly I was doing. Some compassionate. Some brutal with their words. Do I need to hold on to these? It made me think about my work and how many other young people are struggling and just doing their best to get by in school and they’re usually the labelled kids. It’s not all about the grades.

I got to see mum’s handwriting in some documents I found. I don’t have her beautiful voice on voicemail or messages but I love her swirly writing. It’s like mine. Her doodles. I make sense of her through her writing. I imagine her voice through her words. She comments back on my primary school reports. Proud.

I find a card apologising for when I called her a name. Judging from my writing I was very young. I find a birthday card telling her I love her more than anything. Handmade. Sweet like a child’s hand made card would be. Precious.

As I embark on this new journey I wander what I’ll be taking with me. What memories do I want as I create my own.

Do I take it all? Do I let go of the more painful? Or is that part of me, part of the journey. Or is it time to move on…move passed.

I’m about to make my own sanctuary with the man I love. I’ll take learning from the family I love and how they made a house a home. An open door.

One of the most powerful questions I got asked for a recent documentary I will feature in, where we discussed my suicide bereavement was whether I consider it part of my identity. My thoughts on this have changed. Changed with the grief. Changed with the growth. I link this question to the question of what I’ll be carrying with me. Into my new home. Perhaps I’m reading too much into it. Perhaps it will set me free.

Moving home doesn’t have to equate to moving on. But there are pros as much as cons to whatever direction I treat this move.

There’s a lot more I can say on this but it’s late.

For now, here’s chapter one on my moving thoughts. Moving thoughts on moving.

Abs x

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