Recovery

I only recently realized that moving house in June was my seventh move since retiring at the end of 2018 and my 13th in less than nine years. And that’s not including the many moves further back in my lifetime.

Previously moving was fun and exhilarating, a punch of excited energy full of fresh starts and new adventures. That enthusiasm was distinctly lacking this last go around, probably because of the abrupt circumstances that were out of my control, forcing me to move. Not that it was all bad - it was empowering, if stressful, looking for a home where I was the only one whose opinion mattered. I also wanted to choose right, since I suspected this was going to be a long-term home for me. No wonder I wanted to plant roots - between a painful, hostile, messy ending and a predominantly nomadic life, I just wanted to rest, feel safe and comfortable, and feel like I belonged somewhere; essentially be at home, both within and without.

The word recovery has a variety of meanings. Cambridge Dictionary defines recovery as “a process in which a situation improves after a difficult period.”

What I’ve been doing these past months is a form of recovery. I’ve been putting the finishing touches on my new home; exploring the surrounding area and meeting people; spending lighthearted time with family and friends; consistently writing every day; and savoring leisurely mornings and new routines with my cat Bella.

To celebrate autumn, which is my favorite season, I’ve been taking local field trips to relish being out and about during the gloriously crisp, cool weather. I crocheted pumpkins just for fun to decorate my home and shared the extras with family and friends. I’ve thoroughly been enjoying my personal downtime, and most of all, my beautiful new home.

Now that my outer, physical world is in order and within my control (as much as any of us can be in control, that is), I’m spending more time going within. Not that I’m new to self-reflection, quite the contrary, but I’m finding hidden nooks and crannies that I hadn’t realized existed, and others of which I was aware but falsely accepted and assumed that was just the way it was. Not unlike previously believing daily stomach aches were a normal part of life until I’d had one too many and decided to change my diet. Who knew I could feel so well? So from discomfort, and if we’re unlucky enough, trauma, we are given an opportunity to give ourselves something better by changing habits, obtaining something new, or sometimes leaving something or someone behind.

Whew. That’s how I feel some days thinking back on this past year and on certain times from the distant past that are emblazoned in my memories decades later. The mental and emotional breakthroughs are inspiring, sometimes even revelatory, sad and painful, but mostly useful. My logical self is learning to step aside and share space with my uncomfortable emotions and allow and accept them. And that allowing leads to guidance greater than we can conceive on our own.