Have you ever had to navigate a change in your life that felt like the rug had been pulled out from under you and you struggled to stand on solid ground? Girl, I’ve been there too.
March 10, 2024. Gels ready, bib safety-pinned, running shoes tied. I get to the starting line, the shot goes off, my legs start moving, my music bumping. A couple grueling hours later, I crossed the finish line with my best friend, my parents, my husband and sons, and my mother in law all beaming at me as proud of me as I am of myself! My first half marathon, accomplished. That was one of the most amazing feelings I have ever had.
I did not know that the strength and resilience I had needed for that race was going to be needed for what was coming in my life. A couple weeks later, we got a call that changed the direction of our lives. My husband got a job offer in Colorado.
Emotions were all over the map. My husband, discontent with his job for many years, was elated. This was an amazing opportunity, and after years of job searching–a literal godsend. On the other hand, we had lived in Arizona near family and friends for 9 years. We loved our town, family dinners and our amazing village.
I was immediately swallowed up in grief. Knowing that accepting this opportunity for my husband and for our family would mean a huge loss in other areas. Loss of village, support, familiarity and belonging. I knew it would mean years of establishing new connections, having to go to a place where people already have their groups and their family–would they even need me?
I’ve experienced depression before, but this was a different kind of grief. I felt immobile in making decisions of such big consequence–do we sell the house, rent the house? Where do we live? How do we pick in an area we have never been? Will this area be good for our children? I felt paralyzed and numb. I didn’t feel like I could make any of these decisions in my current state of mind.
Days went on, and tears, fear and anxiety dominated most of my days. My village surrounded me with support. My mom helped me organize. My best friend would just sit with me. Other friends brought dinners or helped me pack.
Finally, moving day came and our house was packed up. We said our goodbyes, including to my parents and mother in law who had come to every baseball game, had our kids over for sleepovers, helped with house projects and gave us support with whatever came our way. It felt like my heart was being ripped into pieces. What would the future hold? Would we have happiness or support like this again?
We arrive in Colorado and feel like foreigners; outsiders. We move into our house that doesn’t feel like home. Nothing and no one is familiar. We unpack our boxes–full of longing for our old life but at the same time–dare I say, hope? We were encouraged by new things to explore, new people to meet, and a new climate to experience.
Fast forward, we have been here for 4 months. For the first time, we are navigating family life without the support of family close by. We are extending social invitations and reaching out. We are working hard on weekends to make this house a home. Periods of loneliness are punctuated by feelings of hope: a coworker I make a connection with, neighbors who invite us over for tacos, a couple we meet for regular game nights, playdates with other moms, joining a local book club and going on hikes that help me see the beauty of this state. Slowly but surely, our sadness is side by side with hope and joy and connection. New memories are added to old ones. New friendships emerge and deepen.
You may have never experienced this particular brand of change, but life brings change to all of us, big and small, in all different flavors. These changes may trigger depression, anxiety, grief, feelings of destabilization. But change is inevitable. Changes may be brought upon by our own choices, or brought upon by no fault of our own. What we do with these changes is where our power lies. They will never be easy. But there will always be periods of learning, growth and even unexpected happiness. And just know–I’ve been there, too.
