Getting Real

I sat here today taking yet another painful hit to my gut. I was told that my offer was accepted on a house I really loved and then it was ripped out from under me by them signing with another buyer.

I realize now that the anguish I'm feeling isn't really about the house. It's about the feeling the acceptance gave me... that everything was finally going to be okay.

I never imagined that this change in my life, moving here, would create so much unraveling and unsteadiness.

I never imagined it would be so difficult to find a place to live.

I have stewed in some much loss, frustration and shame at the mess I've made for myself and my dogs, and also at the interruption I've made in my cousins' lives. (Although they are far too generous to admit it and I couldn't love them more for it.)

I caught myself going back through last year's blog posts.

I was so proud of myself for my growth. Hope and optimism were pulsing through my veins. It felt like life was finally flowing through me as it was intended.

And I find myself asking...

Where the hell did that girl go?

How did I lose myself so badly AGAIN?

How could I let this kind of regression happen?

And as quickly as my mind starting asking those questions, I was brought to a completely different view.

I haven't regressed.

I'm not bypassing hard emotions. I'm not running or hiding. I'm hitting this straight on and feeling every ounce of it.

I'm tired.

I'm shaken.

I'm desperately seeking something steady enough to stand on again.

But this is the realist I've ever been.

My progress isn't lost. It's just waiting for steady ground to root and grow.