So I'm officially moved out of my apartment and into my house. Many emotions surfaced as I reflected on the year I spent in that apartment. I closed the door to it for the last time much happier than when I opened the first time, and that is a good feeling, but I also feel like I'm parting with a friend.
It was in that apartment that I rediscovered myself, forced to take the time necessary to closely examine my life, what it had become and what I wanted it to be. When I separated from my husband and sought out my own domicile I wasn't able to put words to my feelings, only able to act on them. I had lost the ability to ask for the things I needed, and I made the choices I felt necessary to calm the incessant chatter in my mind. I find it hard to say I regret the pain experienced in that process, even though I do feel guilty that my son was caught in the midst of my troubled mind, but looking back I still feel the experience was important and that I wouldn't be sitting here so calm, peaceful and overwhelmingly happy if I hadn't acted on those impulses a year ago.
That apartment was my haven, my sanctuary, my place to reclaim me. I hibernated over the winter, cried many, many bitter tears of loss and loneliness, forced myself to discover again what fulfilled me. I resumed my knitting, watched more "chick flicks" that I care to truly own up to, journaled, read many books, crafted, and have I mentioned I cried? It sounds almost boring to see it in print but for me it was an awakening. And in the midst of that awakening, I fell in love with my husband again because I fell in love with me again.
So thank you, tiny little apartment on the east side of town, for all you provided for me in the past year. Part of me will miss you and always reflect fondly on our time together. Many blessings on the next tenant. My hope is you will bless her life as much as you blessed mine.
