A Slow Climb

I have this bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.  It’s called the unknown.  I’m scared.  I’m sleeping in the spare bedroom with my dogs, and hearing my child unhindered and hopeful about the future makes me envious.  I don’t know where I’ll be in a year.  I’m not sure where I’ll be in a month.  I wanted to take this slowly, but I’m looking at rentals, being forced to parcel out furniture and decor.  I opened a kitchen drawer to stir my coffee this morning, and wondered which spoons would be allotted to me.

It’s petty, it’s necessary, and I hate it.  Part of me would like to walk out of here with the clothes on my back and my dogs at my heels and start with nothing again.  But I’m not stupid.  This place was as much mine.  I want to spend as much time with my child as I can.  I need a bed and clothes and dishes.

I’m so scared.  And I am on this roller coaster that goes up to the top of the hill with confidence and some anger, ready to start again, and then I’m plummeting down the hill of uncertainty and terror and depression, not certain i want to wake up to face tomorrow.

Deep breaths, slow down, move forward.  Nothing can grow without some changes.  I can’t get stronger without carrying weight.  Thanks for staying with me, and know I’m thankful for everyone who’s been here for me.  Onward to tomorrow.