Letting Go

Eight more days until we're out of our house. Sixteen more days until we hitch a one-way ride to our new life. I'm in a perpetual state of disbelief that we're really doing this. It feels unreal.

I got a mini-massage at the health fair I was working the other day, and the masseuse said I was holding an extreme amount of tension in my back, neck, and shoulders. She said I should really be going for regular massages because I had an insane amount of trigger points, or something. I don't have time or money for that, but now that I think about it, I did used to have more mobility in my neck, and my jaw muscles didn't used to pop and freeze when I opened my mouth. I've been under so much stress for so many months that I hardly notice it anymore. Sometimes I find that I'm unconsciously holding my breath. My jaw is tight and my back is rigid.

So far, things are working out just fine. Despite my constant fears and Tom's predictions of doom, all is going exactly as we'd hoped (for the most part anyway). We managed to fix up our house and make it look beautiful, in spite of our lack of DIY experience. (I can now wield a power drill with confidence, hang shelves, tile a backsplash, lay sod, cultivate a flower garden, remove countertops, re-hang cupboards, install a sink, and replace a faucet.) In a weak real estate market, our house went under contract in less than three weeks. The movers are booked and the boxes are ready to be packed. I've finished the classes I wanted to complete before the move. We don't have an apartment in Brooklyn yet, but we have enough leads that I feel optimistic about finding one. It's all going to be okay.

Years ago, I did an Outward Bound weekend with a bunch of other city girls, and our big challenge was to rappel down the side of an icy cliff. The whole way down, I clenched my teeth and held my breath, prepared for my fall to certain death. Just before I got to the bottom of the cliff, a realization swept over me: I was safe. The rope was holding me and I couldn't fall. I was doing exactly what I needed to be doing, and people were surrounding me, cheering me on and keeping me safe. I felt a glimmer of what I could have been feeling the whole way down - confidence, empowerment, joy. Then suddenly I was down, being helped out of the harness. I trudged a little way off to be alone, sat down in the snow, and cried for what seemed like hours.

Right now I don't know if I'm still near the top, or almost down, but I'm going to try to relax my grip and trust the rope to catch me this time.

Unhappy People

Again with the long gap between posts, but this time with a reason (sort of). We've been struggling, and I haven't wanted to write about it in front of the entire Internet. However, I'm at a point where I feel like I'm finally getting out from under it all, and I really need to say some things so I can move on.

There's a group of people out there who have been making us fairly miserable for a couple of years now. They lash out at us, criticize our lifestyle and our beliefs, spread lies about us, cyberstalk us, and generally give us a huge, knotty stomachache. For the most part, we've tried to ignore them, so as not to fuel the fire, but over the last few weeks, the attacks have escalated. (Last call, everybody - they're moving across the country!)

It's probably a function of my neurotic personality and low self-esteem, but when I find out that someone really dislikes me, and has been yapping about how offensive/gross/despicable I am, my first impulse is to feel shame and guilt, because surely, it must be my fault. I am a bad, bad, person, and clearly I've just been unable to see it, probably because in addition to being offensive, gross, and despicable, I am stupid. That's the old shame-spiral, with a big dose of depression, confusion, and paranoia. There have been countless nights of tears and anguish around here for the last two years.

I'm absolutely not going into the whole nasty saga here, but what I've finally, finally figured out is: this is not my fault. These people are unhappy. They have problems that run very deep and have nothing to do with me, and I've been a handy target for their rage and scorn because I have strong beliefs and am outspoken about them. I'm also (and I am truly sorry to have to point this out, at the risk of being struck down for extreme hubris) a smart, beautiful woman who is dizzyingly in love with a smart, handsome, brilliantly talented man, and we have two amazing, beautiful, perfect daughters. To top it off, we're in the process of doing something scary and risky and huge in the name of following our dreams, and I'm pretty confident (with the exception of the occasional panic attack) that we're going to be wildly successful and happy after we undergo this trial by fire. (Unless we're crushed by a subway train, blown up by terrorists, or get cancer before health insurance, that is. See? Occasional panic attacks.)

When you are all that (yeah, we are all that), certain people feel threatened by you. Those people might say ugly things about you and then accuse you of "running away." They want you to stay right where you are, ostensibly so that they can continue kicking the shit out of you. Well, guess what? We've been planning this move for years; since long before they started bullying us. Also, we don't like having the shit kicked out of us. So yeah, we're leaving. If any of you lovely readers out there happen to be one of the people I'm writing about, good luck either a) finding someone else to demonize and attack, or b) investing in a little therapy so you can stop being so unhappy and angry.

Alrighty, then - here's hoping that's the last you'll have to read about that! And here's hoping I can get back to work and actually concentrate, now that I've washed my hands of all that drama. There's an apartment waiting for us in Brooklyn, and I've got to find it. Onward and upward.