I’m having a hard time knowing what to write. A hard time putting thoughts into words. A hard time capturing feelings and holding them still long enough to assess what they are, much less describe them here.
I don’t want to sound like a broken record.
Somewhere along the way though, moving got hard for me. Moving to Minot was easy and hard. Easy because B was there waiting for me along with out future and all it held. Hard because saying goodbye is never easy.
Moving to Germany was more difficult. So many new roles and I lost a little bit of myself in that shuffle. Moving to Turkey was rough. I completely lost myself in the hopelessness of starting over in a place we didn’t want to be.
I don’t want this cycle to continue. But not acknowledging it doesn’t change it.
I struggle with depression when we move. When I don’t have any friends in town. When I don’t have a job. When I’m completely dependent on B for in person interaction and he’s tired from a long day of work. When I’m scared of repeating the past. I struggle.
I’m fighting it the only way I know how. Texting my sister to talk about my nephew. Planning expensive dream vacations via text with my SIL. Setting up phone dates with friends. Running in circles on the track at the gym, chasing every tear away with every step that I take. Writing about it here.
It isn’t easy to say goodbye to four homes in three and a half years. It isn’t easy to walk away from four jobs in that time.
It isn’t easy starting over every time. New friends to make. New job to find. New home to unpack. New routine to settle into.
And always another move looming on the horizon.