If you’ve been following me lately, I’m so obsessed with my plight that I didn’t see the brick-wall in front of me. When I smashed into it I became fully aware how burnt out, and drained I am. Today, I faced the writing on the wall. At this present time there is nothing I can do to solve my living situation, short of spending my life savings to hire an over paid realtor who will show me apartments that don’t suit me or the rent is above my pay grade. I’ve gained 15 pounds, cancelled two trips, put all writing projects on hold and ended a very promising relationship. I’ve helped people in my same situation, that was all good and dandy until I found myself in the same predicament.
No one told me that life still goes on. And to continue to live as though I’m still living in my own space. My biggest problems is trying to deal with the feelings of shame and embarrassment. I want this darkness to be over tomorrow but it won’t. My belongings are in storage, and so on and so on…….
So, I decided to listen to the voice inside my head that keeps whispering, ” stop beating yourself up.” To kick-start my road to recovery I created a list in the order of importance. Of course locating a new place to live is at the top. But in the meantime, I’ve secured more of my belongings from storage, re-booked both trips, and completed week one of a two-week fitness camp, working my way to a healthier life. And I stopped ignoring my family and friends for expressing their concern about my pity party.
Today is Sunday, I attended my first family dinner. It’s amazing how good food, great wine, laughing, smiling , getting much-needed hugs helped me to realized how good life is.
Does it matter why or how people are displaced from their home, apartment, hut shack or igloo? The space people personalize with a favorite chair, coffee or tea-cup; and an old creaky bed that sleeps comfortable. The walls painted with colors that reflect the celebration of life and love. Pictures hung in the right places capturing silent stories, moments of laughter and sorrow. HOME a scared abode, where children are raised, grandchildren visit, where parents and grandparents are nurtured during their golden years.
For the first time in my life I am lodging in someone else’s space; having been dislocated from my corner of paradise. I sit in my room, where there are no pictures of familiar faces, sleeping in a strange bed, sitting on a wooden chair, one single lamp, void of a writing or vanity table. My belongings are stored in suitcases and an overnight bag. Such strange and uncomfortable feelings because I don’t know how to be in someone else’s’ space. They say that I should “make myself at home.” How Can I make someone else’s home feel like mine? Is this possible?
I am deeply grateful to the family for their kindness during this time of hardship. But I worry about proper etiquette. I lay awake at night thinking did I clean after myself? Or would it be insulting to my host family if I slept in on my days off? Can I have a cup of tea and a snack in my room before bedtime? I don’t know how long finding my own space will take. I am told “There is no rush take your time.” How much time are they referring too? This is all so unsettling?
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