I’ve packed lots of other stuff without a second thought – books, papers, CD’s, ornaments… but somehow my clothes seem different. Maybe its because, picking up the first batch of folded clothes on the bed I notice the bag I am about to put them into says ‘TO TAKE’, from when I labelled it for leaving Leeds. Then it hits me – the sadness – there is no going back now. I remember suddenly what I have lost; my boyfriend, my cats, what was supposed to be my home. I still miss it, sometimes I still miss him – or rather the person I thought he was for a long time, the one I fell in love with.
Because I have confession to make. The reason I’m moving house now is that I have been staying, since I left Leeds, at my mums. I know – 37 years old and living at home! I can be forgiven for this I believe, given that well, when the life you had planned for yourself goes down the toilet, you need time, and well – your mum, more than anything.
And its taken as long as it has – and is by no means over, but a move to a ‘proper’ house in London is a big step as its saying a final, certain goodbye. Properly letting go of a future I had looked forward to, been so relieved to have finally got hold of, planned for, uprooted my life for and worked like fucking crazy for.
Though the loss of it has not been completely what I thought it would. I’ve had this wonderfully gift in the form of blogging, I’ve found a freedom I never knew existed. I don’t get anxious anymore, I think more positively, have more confidence than ever. But the sadness and grief can sill hit me like a rock out of nowhere.
I’m looking forward to the move, an important step – leaving my mums house, maybe like a rebirth into which I take my new world view. A small part of me is resisting this step with all my might. Though things are always harder to think of doing than to actually get on with. And as my old therapist used to say, there’s a flip side to fear which carries the same sort of energy; excitement.