Getting cosy in the unknown
Admitting I was unhappy in the dream home I'd chosen was the scariest - & most transformative thing - I've ever done
I am living in an in between. A period of transition, of one chapter ending, and another beginning.
Yes, this applies to my work and creativity, but also to my personal life, my family, where we are living. To be honest, I haven’t wanted to share about it, or at least I’ve felt awkward, even ashamed. That is exactly why I’m writing and sharing this essay now.
I was compelled by a remembering of a universal truth: that owning our shame and the messy in between is the source of our greatest power. Further, reading the essays of
on her families own transition inspired in me the courage to start sharing my own messy in between.If by sharing I can help anyone else feel less alone, like I did when reading Annie’s words, then it’s worth the vulnerability hangover.
So here it goes.
A year ago I sat in a cafe in Naples, days before my 35th birthday, sobbing. It was like a dam had broken within me, of all the thoughts and feelings I had been holding back for months flooding forward over brunch with my husband. It didn’t help that I was severely sleep deprived, going on roughly four hours of sleep for the last eight months since our third son was born.
I know it first hand - the true cause of postpartum depression isn’t hormones, it’s disconnection and isolation. There are other prominent circumstantial risk factors I qualified for this time around.
For example, I had anxiety and what was likely a bout of depression in my early 20s, that made me a likely candidate for possibly struggling with my postpartum mental health. But I had twins (twins!) and I had not had any symptoms of PPD, despite the challenge of raising, nursing, two babies at once (while starting a brand new business).
I had thought, “just one baby this time? I’ll be totally fine, I can do this on my own.” In three letters: LOL.
The combination of twins and entrepreneurship had forced me, a chronic “do it myself-er” to ask for help. With the twins, I had cultivated a network of support for us postpartum, from my manager at my business to a postpartum doula who made Mary Poppins look like a slouch.
Then, there were our parents. When I had the twins, we lived near both of our families, in the same area we grew up in. I’ll never forget those dark days of colic when our parents would trade off who filled in the gap between when my husband went to work and our doula would come.
Four years later, I gave birth to our third son, and by then we had followed our hearts to move to our dream home in the countryside. A move that I pushed, with my desire to be in nature, my childhood dream of having a horse of my own, and our combined vision of a slower pace of life for our children than that of the intense vibe of the NYC suburbs.
I still don’t know why I held it in for so long. For months I was trying to reason myself out of how I felt, the deep sense of loneliness and longing for community, for support, my body was crying out for.
But this had been my dream!
I was the one who initiated this brave, possibly insane, move to a small town an hour (plus) up the coast from our hometowns. I was the one who decided that rescuing a horse, my life long dream, was aligned, even with two little babies at home.
This home, this property found us - an experience laced with magical synchronicities. Not to mention, it was on my husband’s ancestral land, once a part of the acreage his many times over great-grandfather had purchased from a Native American tribe in the mid 1600s.
We took a leap of faith, together, pouring our hearts into renovating this old home and updating the property to bring our family, horse included, home to it. From the start, there was difficulty - a dishonest contractor, a kitchen flood the day we moved in, and then there were the horses. Caring for my horse, plus another (horses can’t live alone so we took on boarders) at home was very different than riding or boarding a horse at a big barn. The full story on my horse is a tale for another day, but suffice it to say that caring for him, plus another (as they can’t be alone so we took on boarders) was an immense load to carry on top of being a full time mom to little boys.
Almost as soon as I gave birth to our third son, I realized that I had to move home. I began to wake up to the loneliness I had felt for the last two years, which had been shadowed by the general chaos of the pandemic period. But to admit that I was unhappy, burnt out beyond, living what I had dreamed of for so long - the horse, the nature, our view of the river - felt impossible.
To admit the truth was to let everyone else down.
I was letting down my kids, who were happy here. My husband, who loved this home. My horse, who I’d committed to care for. My self, most of all, and this notion I had built up about the life I wanted.
Speaking my truth, messily, in broken sobs, in heated arguments, over the following months was - and still is - the bravest thing I’ve ever done.
This past fall, we moved in with my parents, back down in the suburbs, all five of us.
Within a few days, my nervous system downshifted dramatically. I was able to take a deep breath for the first time in months.
I began to cultivate the support I needed. Finding a babysitter had been challenging in our rural area, but here I found the most wonderful nanny to help me with our very active toddler (plus the physical and moral support my parents presence added.) This was essential as our move meant I was endeavoring to try out another dream of mine - homeschooling our six year old sons.
Yes, I’d been on a spiritual journey for years now, but I doubled down on my growth and healing in a new depth of devotion. As these things normally go, it was when I felt that the bottom was endless that the light started to shine through. The Universe placed the most loving life coach, and soul friend, in my path, and she supported me as old stories rose to the surface, and I shed them, one thought at a time.
Slowly, after many months of confusion, countless hours of tears, and a good deal of hopeless wonderings, I felt a new sense of calm, trust, and alignment begin go take hold.
Still, I’m here, we’re all here, in the messy in between.
Sometimes I wonder what it must feel like to know where you’re going to live, what the cadence of your days will be, where you’ll send your kids to school, those kinds of stabilizing factors that most people have. I wonder what that must feel like, a little envious.
But then I remember that I’m not here for a normal life. Not that normal is bad, I’m just an outlier, always have been and always will be. If I didn’t dream big and take risks, I wouldn’t be fully alive, I wouldn’t be living my unique design.
Even if this state of unknown is uncomfortable as all hell, even if last year kicked my ass and then some, I trust that I am, we are, right where we belong.
I know that the pain has been worth the way I’ve been forced to face old patterns of thought and ways of living that didn’t serve me any longer. I am grateful, bone deep, for all I’ve been able to transmute and let go of.
I have had to take radical self-responsibility of my life that I never did before.
I thought I was sovereign, awake, aware, in my healing work, but there are so many ways I was avoiding the truth and just scratching the surface. That wasn’t possible anymore. The unknown has a funny way of bringing awareness to everything that you don’t want to look at - and then some.
There is a coherence that’s beginning, I can feel it in my heart.
I can see it playing out in how I’m responding to situations, even those as simple as the kids arguing and the baby crying in the car.
I have a sense that everything is coming together, even though I cannot see it yet.
It’s not that the unknown isn’t still wildly uncomfortable - it is, it’s not that I don’t continually wonder about how it’s all going to play out - I do.
But I trust my self, my life, my husband, our vision for our family, our values, our hearts. I trust Life itself.
To be honest, I only wanted to share this story when I could wrap it up in a pretty bow. When I could say, see! It all worked out perfectly! But that’s a form of perfectionism, if I’m being honest.
The beauty and the magic is in the messiness of the unfolding.
P.S. - I would love to know if any of this resonates with you and if you’d be interested in me sharing more personal essays like this one, in addition to my pieces on mindset shifts and love consciousness. Leave a comment - or you can always reply too! I love hearing from you so so much.
P.P.S. - I’d also love for you to subscribe and support my work and become part of this community. I have such a big vision for where it’s all going, it’s my greatest joy for you to join!
By the way, the photo at the start is of our family, back in 2020, right after we bought our home. It hurts a little to share it here, it’s the most beautiful property I’ve ever been on, and though we’re planning on keeping it, renting it, I still feel such a push pull around choosing to leave it as our primary home. It was taken by my friend, Victoria Gloria of My Motherhood Story.
I could write my own messy in between story right now. Reading yours made me realize I too am reluctant to share without the bow. Who knows where these ideas of what the dream looks like come from. Until you are there lost and unhappy needing to make a brave change. I tell myself frequently this is the middle of the story. It is the part that makes the end seem inevitable and worthwhile. If it were fiction it would be the interesting part. But no one tells you how hard living through the hero’s journey is, because who would do it? Keep being brave. Keep loving.
There in the messy in between with you. ✨