Contentment

So its no secret that for the past couple of weeks, I have been moving. And Lord, has it been a journey. I am not afraid to admit that I felt all the things:

-Stress beyond digestion 

-Anxiety levels that have peaked, and then reached new heights

-Gallons upon Gallons of tears

-Overwhelming sadness of leaving my sister and childhood island behind

-Nervousness of moving to a place where I virtually only know the people my parents are friends with

-Frustration because I am disorganized and can't find a thing

-Scattered and Displaced

But overall, I was hit will a feeling of anger. I was angry with myself because I buckled under the pressure. Its a universal feeling that moving just sucks. There is no if, ands or buts about it. Packing your stuff up in boxes, shipping it and then having to unpack and reorganize is not at the top of my list of fun things to do. But it was what I needed to do in order to get home. Yet, the failure of acceptance that moving is hard, and the impact it had on my mind was what disappointed me the most. I felt myself fall down the rabbit hole, and I was unable to navigate my way through the emotional wonderland that was my life. I was angry that I was unable to see the excitement of finding my happiness, and making a decision to put my best foot forward in the place that I felt the most like me. I was angry that I was unable to not snap and be angry with my sister at times where I was beyond exhausted because I wanted to savor all of our remaining time living together. I was angry that I wanted to cry 24/7, and that I couldn't put my big-girl panties on. I was angry that I felt like I let my momma down because she moved for 22 years with three kids by herself. I was angry that I felt like I had receded back into the shell of a person that I was that let everything around her bother her. My anxiety had reached peaks that I didn't know existed. My momma joked that my phrase of the move was, "I know but it just makes me nervous," because I said it about EVERYTHING. I was worrying about the smallest and most distant of things, like if my suitcase would fit in my best friends car. My anxiety feeds on fear, and I was terrified. I was terrified because I was in territory that was unknown and unchartered for me, and I felt like a failure. 

But mostly, I was angry that I caved. I caved and let the pressures of moving push me back into a corner and capture my spirit. I felt that guilt of not being the perfect me creep up behind me, telling me, "See, you can't do this. You haven't gotten any stronger, you just have gotten better at putting on a face." I felt defeated because I had started to make decisions to try and fix the big tears in my spirit, yet I was unable to find any joy in the move. So of course what did I do? I beat myself up about it. I had a mental loop of feelings where they would just repeat back the little ideas that verified my self-defeat. 

You couldn't do this.

You let this overwhelm you.

You are so dramatic.

So many others have it worse, you are just complaining to complain.

So I cried. I wallowed. I wailed to my mom and sister. And nothing seemed to fill that void. I wanted my heart, soul and mind to be healed through the idea of moving. I wanted it all to be fixed because I thought this was the solution. It pulls in the idea of expectations, and the abnormality of the pressures that I put on myself and the feelings I have. I put an expectation on myself, and if I don't feel it or see it, then I feel smothered by defeat, failure and sadness. But my momma kept saying, this is the right choice for all of us. And I know it is. I know that I made the right decision because slowing down, breaking from social media and being around people that love me for the person I am and the family that I come from will heal me. 

But something I talked about in my last therapy session really stuck with me. I was recounting my experience at Anthropologie, and my last day of working there. My journey at Anthro was really an up and down experience in that it taught me a lot about the boundaries that I have to set for myself. That I should value the things about myself that others may see as a crutch. That I have to be able to learn from those who frustrate me the most. But it was a consistent factor that added to my anxiety because it was the largest time commitment in my life other than school. I constantly felt that I was either doing too little, succumbing to the pressures of feeling like I wasn't seen as the person I am, or working towards something that was just not my passion anymore. So it weighed on me. I talked about it for hours on end of my frustration and sadness that it bloomed into. So when I decided that it was time for me to leave, my sister kept reminding me, "Dude, your days are numbered. You just have to keep your head down." And she was right, but no matter how much longer I had, I still wanted out. I needed that last day to happen. So the days passed and the last day at Anthro came upon me, and guess what I felt? Nothing. I didn't feel like a weight was off my shoulders. I didn't feel overwhelmingly happy or excited. I just said my goodbyes (with a couple tears for my coworker that made my experience a little brighter) and left.

So of course, I overanalyzed that. Why was I not relieved? Why wasn't I just so much happier? So I brought this feeling to therapy, and Alyssa (my therapist) said, "That's called contentment. You are content with leaving your job, and thats the best feeling you could have. You have moved on emotionally, so it doesn't hold any weight on your heart." That word, Contentment, stuck with me. I never thought about having a feeling of contentment and its correlation to emotional peace. To be content with being happy and independent. 

So of course, I had a week of cleaning and moving after leaving Anthro which was an experience in itself. Lets just say the amount of tape that I bought is absolutely obscene. But I tried to tell myself, When you pull up that driveway and see your pups, you will feel content. So my plane took off, my momma picked me up and I drove home to drop my stuff off, and nothing. I was happy to see my dogs, but I could still feel the darkness. I could still feel the sadness. And then Guilt popped up and said, Miss me? This move was emotionally and financially taxing on my whole family, had I made the wrong decision? So of course I tried to put a face on and be excited for all of 12 hours until I confessed my feelings to my momma. She said, "MF, you can't expect to feel rooted and grounded on your first day here. Those expectations are unrealistic and its ok to feel out of place." Which as we all know, having your momma tell you its gonna be ok is about as great as taking a bubble bath or getting pedicure: a sigh of relief. 

My journey is far, far from over, but my mind just doesn't know that. My life is a constant war zone between Contentment and Expectations, and all I am trying to do is navigate my way through the ruins. I may not feel better next week, or next month, but I am trying. I will say that being home with my animals and sleeping for a solid 9 hours has made me feel physically better, so maybe the green grass and the soft patter of rain with allow my mind to slow down one day. 

Until then.