I think I may be decompressing (or falling apart) after an incredibly busy and stressful summer. Now that I am healthy more than I am sick, I chose to cash in on my home and simplify my life. Sounds good, right? Well, I know moving. I have moved forty times in my life (this was my fortieth) and bought and sold seven houses. This was my eighth purchase, so I know the process. This was the most difficult move I have ever made, for several reasons. First, I radically downsized. Although I was more than ready to do so, it is a long, difficult process, even for someone who regularly goes through and gets rid of stuff, like me. Second, the market in Denver is absolutely off the hook. Selling a house is easy-peasy. Buying a house? Extremely difficult. Third, and the most challenging, this move represented moving on with life into the unknown.
Downsizing is an emotional journey whether you want to do it or not, especially after forty+ years of acquiring things. If I’ve done it right, I won’t miss anything that I let go. So far, so good. I do feel much lighter. The possessions were literal baggage; relics of a former life that is gone. What surprised me was how difficult getting rid of possessions are post-COVID. No one wants anything now. It took one estate sales, two donation pick-ups, and a listing for “free stuff” on NextDoor, and one junk pick-up to get rid of everything we wanted.
Buying a townhome was just as stressful as getting rid of things. We put bids on three properties before we found “the one.” After all the drama with selling and downsizing, once our bid was accepted, that part was surprisingly easy. They even moved up the move date by almost three weeks, a welcome event, because we were living in a stripped-down work site. Oh, did I mention I had to do a nearly $20k repair for the sale of the house? Well, I did, and that was a HUGE hassle. In the end, Katie and I purchased a townhome together. I’ll be there part-time, so it is definitely more “hers” than mine, despite the hefty down payment I made. She is extremely happy to have a mortgage and an asset. I’m extremely happy I don’t have to worry about a big house and yard when I am not there. And yet, I am having trouble letting go of the fact that I am mistress of no home right now, but more of a guest, both in Dad’s house and now Katie’s. It’s a strange feeling, despite how generous they are. Neither mind letting me take over the kitchens while I’m there. I have my own spaces in both homes. And yet I struggle, even though it is what I wanted.
The third point is the stickler right now. Wanting to be unencumbered and being unencumbered are two different states. Perhaps it is becauseI haven’t had enough time (really, since 2013) to work through all the major changes in my life. Divorce, graduate school, and Lyme, one after the other, in quick succession. Caveat: if you who think being sick is “downtime”, I know you’ve never been seriously ill for any length of time. As I’ve said before, being sick for long periods of time is a really shitty job. It’s hard, hard, work, and when you’re not sick, you’re frantically playing catch up. That was part of the reason I have voluntarily set myself adrift. The less I have on my plate means less catching up.
Without that ceaseless cycle to occupy me, I’m left to decompress. The first week back in Tucson was filled with getting Rocky and myself settled, and taking care of things around the house for Dad. The second week I got myself caught up with all the online minutiae of changing addresses, getting finances in order, and establishing a schedule. That only takes up so much time.
People, I’m here to tell you that decompressing and having the time to process huge life changes absolutely blows
Humans will do almost anything to avoid their own emotions of sorrow, rage, and regret and I am no exception. I don’t want to think about all the things I’ve dealt with. I find myself flitting from what I should be doing to mindless doom-scrolling and game-playing. At what point do I declare an end to decompressing and begin thriving again? I know what my therapist would say: there is no timeline for this journey. He would say I need to recognize that I have been through over six long years of being more sick than well. He would tell me I need to be kind to myself and relearn how to manage my energy and my life.
But for now, it means flitting from task to task, never quite able to fully concentrate on anything. It means struggling to give myself permission to do things just for me that aren’t related to getting better or surviving. I have to figure out where the line between self-indulgence and self-care is.