While taking a walk with Liam I realized he's now lived the largest portion of his life in the same spot. He's only nine, so I am aware that's not a huge task. When I consider the fact that we moved three times in the first four years of his life, though, the number 4 seems fairly remarkable.
There are families who have moved three times that amount in the same period of time. I realize that. Relativity is real, though, and moving is a trauma.
In this New York Times piece, the reader learns that moving frequently has just as many psychological implications as never moving. Simply enter 'moving is traumatic' into your browser and you'll be able to see the myriad of words written about this.
Anyway, as we enter into our full fourth year of living back in Lexington I realize that I'm still holding my breath in some ways.
That dream of starting over looked very, very different in my mind. In my imagination everything tends to be rainbow colored and money flows from an underground river in my basement.
But that's another story.
A few months ago my usual seasonal tendencies toward depression kicked in. I have tools in my belt for this situation, but this also felt different.
I felt listless.
If you've ever struggled under the weight of depression or anxiety you know how miserable it is. I think it's fair to say I have a healthy fear of of those things. Digging was required to root out the reason my old patterns were waking back up.
Looking back on our history, even in the last four, but the four before that as well our family had been encountering a series of life-hurdles. I'm talking job transitions, death, major diagnosis (plural but I can't figure that out), major illnesses, serious mental health issues, all sprinkled among three moves.
Realization that crises gave me an adrenaline surge hit me over the head.
After becoming conditioned to handle any crisis that came our way everything felt like a crisis. My default response was to push away all the feelings about said crisis. My ADHD superpower is hyperfocus.
Crisis is my jam.
The problem comes in when your body and brain begin thinking of those situations as normal. Regular stuff starts to feel not just boring but futile.
Talking to a friend about this very thing taught me something. Turns out she had made the same discovery. I think it's funny when this happens, because I'm certain its not coincidence.
Anyway, she came up with the phenomenal idea of creating her own adventures. Camping, parties, and game nights were her ideas.
Which seemed healthier than my ideas.
I mean, relocating to Ireland isn't a terrible idea but it does seem extreme. Especially if planning a party or a karaoke night would give my brain the same buzz.
Here's my list of adventures:
~ I'd really like to party with all of you, but I can't figure that one out right now. Instead I'm going to do some book give aways (squee! books!).
~ Open the blog up for writers! Or wannabe writers! Or onetime wonder writers!
~ Start a podcast!
~ Redecorate my bedroom because it feels like the college dorm room I never lived in. Seriously, Lee still likes to use thumb tacks to hang pictures. #sendhelp
~ Finish my tattoo.
~ Get a shag haircut.
~ Go camping at least four times between now and August.
~ Submit more writing.
~ Get massages regularly (by a student at the school my daughter attends because I can afford that!).
~ Have a twice weekly feelings check in.
Okay, that last one is not so much an adventure as a necessity. As someone who feels a lot of feelings I have a tendency to shove them down. I mean, I am a boss lady who has a show to run.
Ain't nobody got time for feelings.
Just kidding. Making time to process my feelings and life experiences has been essential to me keeping anxiety and depression in check.
Is this conversation making you uncomfortable?
If it is, you probably need to make time to process your feelings and life experiences. I'm sending you a hug over the internet and you can email me and I will send you back helpful things.
I mean, here are the life experiences I have had in the last 48 hours: a tension headache that will not be deterred, getting my 15 year old to mow the yard in a manner that does not make our family look like Edward Scissorhands lives here; editing final papers an adultish daughter had due; signing up for something I don't understand; leaving my car keys in the ignition overnight; getting the laundry table cleared (praise hands!), figuring out some WordPress $%*& that makes me want to lose my mind; shaving my legs; getting some boss lady stuff done; talking to a lot of people about dyslexia; trying to eat healthy foods even though I only want brownies; realizing that when Jesus said, 'the poor will always be with you' wasn't a copout to ignore the plight of our fellow humans.
If you made through all of that, send me your address and I'll send you a thank you note.
Experiencing the difficulties of being human is not a separating factor; it's a common denominator.
Honestly, learning about trauma and its lasting effects has helped me to see my fellow humans differently. My compulsion is to throw my arms around strangers and say, "I know it's hard. Here's a hug."
