A climb out of the shadows
It’s been almost two years since our little family had our home packed up into boxes ready to start a life in California. Our possessions were sold, my plant babies found new homes, and the road trip plans were made. Before we could leave, the borders closed. Regular life seemed to melt away and the state of limbo began. The Great Pause.
Each day we held our breath, wiped down groceries and waited until we could press play again. After living life out of boxes for almost a year, we made the decision to turn our house back into a home. Shelves were rehung, art covered the walls, new furniture was purchased, plants lined the rooms and each area of the house transformed from living space to office, to bedroom, to living room and back again.
During the last two years I did a lot of inner work. A new marriage and a young child at home full-time meant barely having any separation or alone time. I had to rethink communication and boundary setting. I forced myself to open up to vulnerability and even sat in the discomfort of my faults, deep trauma and shame. As with most people, the pandemic hit me hard mentally. I struggled to find balance and meaning. I gained weight, lost control of my histamine intolerance and spiraled into a pit of despair that I covered up with overworking, fake smiles, frequent rage bursts, and hours of bathroom sobs.
By November I accepted that I was depressed and needed therapy again. My first call with a POC therapist happened sitting in my car in downtown Philadelphia.
A funny thing happens when you accept that you need help, at least for me: a warning light turns on, a signal that says, “finally you heard me, now let’s get some work done.” Sometimes the work doesn’t begin for a while. Sometimes the needed push to care for yourself is waking up five nights in a row unable to breathe, wheezing and coughing for hours on end, sobbing in the dark, and imagining the swiftest way to end things. Each time the light appears for me, it’s almost impossible to ignore. I’m so thankful it is.
It’s been a month that I’ve begun the slow climb back out. Our boxes are packed again ready for the movers, the plants have new homes and the long drive to LA is set for February 16. I’ve been working out almost every day to get back into shape, for once not even caring how messy the house is. I work out with piles of laundry around me. I’m also back to the elimination process of a histamine-reduced diet, grieving what I can’t eat or drink anymore. I’ve been writing and journaling regularly, even without a dedicated space or schedule, and doing so without expectations.
When before I was fire, I am now back to being water.
Flowing.
I don’t know how long this state will be, but I do know that everything is cyclical and for now I am fully embracing this season as a slow paddle down the river of life.
Digital Illustration - 2021
