When I started this blog, it was all about my fitness journey. That journey got put on hold when I found myself pregnant by some miracle. But now I find myself feeling the need to write again. Instead of deleting the old posts or starting a whole new blog, I'm just going to pick up where my mind takes me. Join me if you wish. Or don't. I'm not really doing this for anyone but me anyhow. Sometimes words just need to be put out there or they boil inside you until it hurts so bad you stay in bed all day. I can't speak these words just now, so I'll write them.
I have always been irrationally attached to repeating things. I love traditions! As a kid, if something happened we all enjoyed I would declare it a tradition, mark the date and make sure to insist on repeating it every year. Many of our childhood traditions came from my dad and his family. Setting up the wax people at Christmas, just so of course; picking out the perfect Christmas tree based on sparseness for hanging ornaments, pulling the branches to see how many needles fall off, and of course the smell; Easter morning being filled with the call of "Jesus is Risen!" to which you had to respond "He is Risen Indeed!" and if you didn't answer with enough enthusiasm, just like summer camp he'd call out again; birthdays starting with breakfast in bed and opening the Fox Family Gift Box...
These moments, these "traditions" shaped my world. They made me who I am, and honestly, they made my childhood a happy one. When I was having a bad day, I could always look ahead to the next tradition filled day coming soon and know it would be better. I started this habit around 6 or 7 so really, for most of my life and my childhood, its how I functioned. By 14 or so my family would tease me about my tradition obsession and remark "do we really need to make this a tradition?" with increasing frequency. What was cute as a child had become too much as a teen.
Then came my teen/college/young adult years and I learned a new lesson about repeating. Anniversaries became equally important. With the same passion I remembered (I was blessed/cursed with an excellent memory) every day that was significant. My first date? My first gift from a boy? My first kiss? My first break up? My first awful date? Yeah, I could tell you all of them. And probably could still give you at least the month and year 20 years later. Most of these anniversaries were happy events to remember but then life got hard, as it does. The anniversaries were no longer all happy. Actually, for a little while there they were all awful. The months of June, July and August were filled with terrible things and year after year I would spend those months in a dark, deep depression. Even 10 years later, I would still enter the summer months knowing it would be my dark time.
Where am I going with all this? Well, I'll tell you. It's been 14 years since the summer of suck that started my darkness. I have been through tons of therapy, doctors, medications, and more and for the most part I'm able to separate myself from those memories. Then we moved. In June. Its been a tough month. A month filled with memories of all I left behind. Of those first days in TX where the heat felt stifling. Of coming into an empty house and spending a week without a couch. Of those first days where I had to skype my friends back home daily to keep going. Of needing the GPS to get to the grocery store. Of that terrifying night where I needed an ER for Sam but couldn't find one and my neighbors were less than helpful. It was hard. Every bit of it was hard. We left behind a lot. I left behind a lot. My job, my passions, my friends, my family, the place where I grew up, the beauty of the mountains, my mom's grave, radio stations I knew, stores I could find, a parish that I loved and was deeply involved in....
Sometimes change is a good thing. Most times change is a hard thing, at least for me. I've become so dependent on my routines, my traditions, my anniversaries. They are the clock to which my life beats out a rhythm. Sometimes the beats are loud and harsh. Sometimes they are soft and soothing. But they are always there. A constant reminder.
Where am I a year later? Well, I no longer need the GPS most days. I'm back at the doctor trying to make sure my meds are right. I still don't think I know where a "good" ER is for Sam, but I do know where one is if I need it. I am still feeling out the passions thing and how to find a way here in a new place. I've learned there are amazing people everywhere if you only know to look. I've also grown to truly appreciate what I had in GA, because I'm not sure if you can appreciate those relationships until things change. I have found some radio stations to listen to, I have a favorite Kroger, and our new parish is awesome.
My mom used to always tell me that with great grief comes great growth, and that you really couldn't have one without the other. I don't think I understood that until recently. They don't call them growing pains for nothing. At 34, I think I still have quite a bit of growing to do. I'm still stunned by bad anniversaries. I still check timehop daily for the reminders of all the good days I had. I'm not sure I can change the fact that these things are deeply meaningful to me. But maybe I don't have to change everything.
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