This new place I’m living has a lot more quiet. Once you take out the eleven-year-old niece, the fairly-dysfunctional grandparents who are raising her, and all the noise I kept going in my head to keep their noise out, it’s really, really quiet.
And that’s good.
And that’s also a little uncomfortable.
The quiet isn’t just the house, which is a lot more quiet. It’s also my life here (so far anyway). Without any immediate family to speak of, save Miss Famous, my interpersonal obligations will be kept to work and whatever friends I decide to see.
And so far, not too lonely, but there is a smidge of discomfort somewhere in the background.
So what’s that all about?
Well, once I got back into the quiet–which I am definitely, definitely happy about; I would not go back to my parents’ house if you paid me–I felt a bit assaulted by memories and associations. I moved quite a bit in my years with Mr. X (4 times, give or take). This is my first “real” move on my own. (I’m not really counting when I left him, though I guess I could. I was so shaky and out of it–it felt more like extreme lifesaving measures than simply “moving.”) Somehow I kept imagining what it would be like making this transition with him. Suddenly, he (who had been gone for quite a while) was around every corner and in every other box. Suddenly, I was pushing him from my thoughts again, finding myself saying, “I don’t care what he thinks,” or “he’s not here.” (I use a lot of italics when I talk to myself.)
And today, in the middle of the HR orientation (which, I must say, was much less boring than I expected), I realized what was going on. Without the distraction of my family’s dysfunction to focus on, I could finally get back to my own stuff. So here I was. Here I am. And I have realized, in meeting new people and being thrust into new and exciting situations, that I feel much more fragile than I would like to admit. I feel very vulnerable in a deep way.
I want to write for all of you, who have been my stalwarts, my cheerleaders for so long that I’m jumping up and down with joy every moment of the day. I want to tell you I’m all better, so you can keep making those happy comments that make me smile. I certainly have those moments, and I certainly can’t think of anywhere else I would rather be right now. But I know that I’ve been wounded in a deep place, and that fragile feeling may take a while to shake off.