This past week I shared with you guys on downsizing from a home to an apartment and tips on how to do that because hubby and I have decided to move. What I haven’t shared with you are the reasons why.
I said I was moving because hubby couldn’t do the stairs anymore, neither could our son (both with disabilities) and have told people it’s because my parents can’t visit, not able to do the stairs either with the washroom on the second floor. But what I haven’t told you is how lost I feel. And how lost I have felt for the past five years.
I’m not alone. A good bloggy friend of mine just realized she is dealing with depression and anxiety. It’s something we just don’t talk about. The stigma attached to it is way too much to bear. Or maybe it’s the fact you don’t need someone else telling you the crazy thoughts in your head are because you’re just that–crazy. But you aren’t. And you aren’t alone either. Like my bloggy friend, over the past five years I have been hiding. I’ve become a recluse.
I don’t go outside.
I don’t spend enough time with my kids.
I stay upstairs in my bedroom all day long, blogging, being on the computer.
I don’t cook.
I don’t clean.
Hubby takes care of most of the things in this house.
I only venture out whenever we have to go somewhere.
I know that moving won’t be a solution to my problems. I’m working on those. But a big part of the problem is where I’ve been living. I’m living in a fishbowl and I hate it. People always judging you. Gossip mongering. Rumors and lies. It’s just become too much.
That and the guilt I feel having a special needs child. Always having to explain myself. The looks I get whenever he acts up. People thinking it’s my fault. I don’t punish him enough. And the failure I sometimes feel as a mother because he’s just like me. My son is ten years old and suffers from bipolar disorder.
Mix all that with having a hubby with a brain injury, a cancer diagnosis, and a teenager graduating. And life became just too much to cope with. All I wanted to do was hide away from the world, bury my head and sleep forever.
I know it might seem strange, but sometimes just a change of scenery can make a world of difference. That’s how I feel about moving to an apartment. Apartment living means seclusion. Sure, you know your neighbors around you, but nobody gets into your business. Not like a co-op or a townhouse. It’s just a different mentality.
I want to get back to a time where I am more present in my family’s life. To doing things I used to love. Without being mocked, judged, gossiped about or mistreated. I’m looking forward to doing new things, too.
I want to teach my youngest to cook.
I want to bake cookies in the afternoon.
I want to tuck my sons in at night, and help them get ready for school in the morning.
I want to blog when I want. Not just to hide from what is bothering me.
I want to spend time snuggled up on the sofa with my husband, watching a show. Instead of upstairs hiding away in a room and typing on a keyboard or sleeping my life away.
I want to get out and go for walks and explore my surroundings.
I want to change things.
I truly hope that is what this move will bring me. No more tears. No more crying. No more hiding. A new adventure. One that is long overdue. Something to being me out of my depression funk. Just me with my arms wide open, singing my favorite songs at the top of my lungs, embracing the world around me.
The simplest of pleasures. That’s what it’s all about.