It's been real... real dark and really beautiful.
It’s been a minute since I sat down to write, like really write. And I think there’s a direct correlation with the pause and the amount of upheaval that has occurred in my life since the end of March.
Now if you’ve been following my blog, you’ll know that in July of 22’ I left my husband and shortly after that, my job, and moved to Missoula to work as a nanny. I stayed with one of my best friends for about 6 months- 3ish months longer than I planned. After that I had longish stays with my godmother and another friend, but each one ended much more abruptly than I had planned. As my housing options were being exhausted and my lack of cash was becoming more bleak, I questioned if I had made the right choice. I was basically homeless, felt powerless over where I was going to stay next, completely dependent on others for support, and saw no end in sight with my divorce. But what I kept coming back to and what led me to leave in the first place was my desire, my longing, my need to create a life that was all mine. I’d answered to others, depended on others, needed saving from others my whole life. I always had options because I never truly ventured out on my own.
This time I decided to do this for myself. And while I barely made ends meet, often wondering where my next meal would come from; where I’d be living at the end of the month; or how the hell I was going to fill my gas tank up, it somehow always worked out. I learned to trust. Trust that if I showed up, in alignment with my higher self, uncompromising, and continuing to lean into the person I sought out to be in the first place, everything always worked out.
This time was no different. But the Universe really seemed to be testing me.
It started with the dog bite. I was living with a friend and writing all the time. I finally published my blog and, what a relief and accomplishment that was. But what started out as a promising situation quickly turned into a nightmare. Something shifted in the energy between us. I don’t know what caused it, but shortly after that, she asked me to be gone at the end of the month. We had discussed me staying longer originally and I thought the topic was still on the table. It obviously was not. I asked her about it and, hesitantly, how I could be a better roommate for the next time.
Now I pride myself on being able to take feedback well. Sometimes to a fault. I think my years in recovery have taught me to always see my part and, in true alcoholic fashion, I take it to the extreme often taking the fall for things I did not do. She told me I was lazy. And not just that, but that she had never met anyone so lazy. She also told me that I needed to quit chasing my pipe dream of being a writer and make a plan for how I was going to support myself in the future. I agreed with her other feedback- that I could have been a better roommate when it came to helping out around the house. Oftentimes I didn’t want to intrude or maybe wasn’t self-aware enough in that area to see that I didn’t add value. I took it to heart and made a conscious effort to be better at cleaning and helping out.
What caught me off guard, though, were the other two comments. I’ve been called a lot of things in my life, but lazy is not one of them. I racked my brain to think of examples of why she could have perceived this and the only thing I came up with were the hours I spent writing. I would sit on the couch or in my room, sometimes with the TV on in the background, for hours, typing away. This was why I moved to Missoula, this is why I quit my job and worked as a nanny. This was the “pipe dream” she was referring to. So that’s why it was so jarring. She and I would spend hours talking about our dreams and goals, and she had many, but I watched as she put those on hold for other, more stable options. And I don’t blame her. She had kids and a place to keep up with, she had student loans and a ton of responsibility. I was in a unique position where I could put more effort towards the dreams and goals I had, despite barely getting by.
But to the outsider, my life did look kind of like a mess. Like I said, homeless, no money and no real plan, other than my “big plan” of travelling and writing, once things settled with my divorce.
But that’s the thing, I chose this, I knew it would be hard. It’s been excruciating and humbling at times. It’s also been terrifying. Choosing to follow my calling has not been easy, but it weighs so heavy on my heart, that I have to keep my eye on the prize.
The beautiful thing about leaning into my authentic self, though, is that I've naturally attracted like-minded others. The friends I've made since moving to Missoula are ones I will cherish forever. But having an abstract dream, even if it feels very black and white to me, isn't always easy to articulate. So when people ask me what I'm doing with my life, it becomes obvious who gets it and who doesn't. Those who don't, I've found, subconsciously try to convince me it's not realistic and I end up some how defending my reasons for living. But that's the thing, I don't have to explain myself to anyone, and those I do are obviously not my people. This internal battle of proving myself to others while also leaning into my inner knowing has been the biggest hurdle I've had to overcome this year. I realized it's not my job to convince anyone to believe in me as long as I believe in myself.
So now that I’ve set the stage for where I was at, I’ll get back to the dog bite. Shortly after my roommate and I had our talk and I began packing up my stuff, with no real plan or option for housing, her boyfriend’s dog bit me. Now this wasn’t like an "oh we were playing and things got a little rough", he full on lunged at me, latched on to my chin and started growling and digging in like he had the intention of killing me. That sounds dramatic, but it was in fact very dramatic and quite traumatizing. The night started innocently, I came home to the dog in the yard, wagging his tail and smiling at me. We were buddies. I let him inside and he seemed a little amped up. He sat wagging his tail, grinning at me as if he was waiting for me to come over and pet him. I obliged. I was petting his face and got down to eye level and he started licking my face. Out of nowhere he snapped. He let out this deathly growl and lunged at my face. He latched on and wouldn’t let go. I was screaming as he did that head shaking thing dogs do when they are trying to take a toy out of you hands…but with my chin. I don’t know how they finally got him to let go, but I was in shock. My roommate was a nurse so she took me into the bathroom and looked at my face. I had to go to the hospital and get stitches.
The car ride there was strange. I kept reliving the experience over and over again, I couldn’t stop crying, and I had this death grip on the handle above the door as if I was holding on for dear life. I was terrified, but also sad and afraid for the dog and the owner. I felt bad. Had I done something wrong? It was the climax to what was already an increasingly uncomfortable situation at home.
My cut was gnarly. I had to get stitches in several spots on my chin and neck. I knew my scar would be bad. If he had bitten me two inches to the right on my neck, I would have died.
The next day I was in fight or flight mode the whole day. I was trying to pack up my stuff because I had to leave in a day or so, but the memory of the incident was seared in my mind and my brain would not drop it. I had an emergency call with my therapist and I worked with her on visualizing different outcomes so my brain could find some sort of acceptance and I could have a future relationship with dogs. That was my biggest fear. I was panicking that I would forever be traumatized and it would affect my relationship with my dogs, not to mention I was getting about half my income at the time from dog sitting.
The exercise worked. I was able to rewire my brain and move out of a constant state of sheer panic. The next few weeks, however, were a roller-coaster of emotions and my nervous system was on overdrive.
I had housing options fall in my lap and money making opportunities, my divorce went to mediation, and things seemed to be wrapping up quickly. I say the Universe was annihilating me with incredible opportunities, but after experiencing such trauma, my body and mind couldn’t handle it or tell the difference between excitement and terror. My anxiety was at an all-time high and despite all my plans and dreams seemingly getting closer, I felt out of control. I had to work, sometimes by the minute, on being where my hands were. I was bouncing from place to place- pet sitting and staying in Airbnbs, and traveling a lot more to Helena and back.
Sizing down from moving so many times, I had all my belongings in my car. I would stay at places for a week at a time, sometimes less, sometimes more. I continued to nanny and fight like hell for some semblance of serenity. I kept reminding myself why I was doing this, why I started, what my end goal was, and how far I’d come.
Tom* and I went to mediation a few weeks later. We had been surprisingly civil, friends even, leading up to it. It made me happy. I never wanted to hurt him. I love him still. I probably always will. At the heart of our relationship was a deep friendship, and as we stripped away all the marital ties, the friendship remained and I was so grateful. That day in the lawyers’ office, however, was not friendly. I had made my peace with my marriage ending, but no amount of healing and work could prepare me for the enormous loss I would feel when things were finally over.
For most of the day, we went back and forth, strategizing how to negotiate for what I wanted while being reasonable so Tom wouldn’t get pissed and walk away completely. Things got a bit heated and I kept asking the mediator how he was. I really care about him and this was incredibly devastating, even for me who had initiated it.
At the end of the day we came to a resolution. When the mediator came in with Tom's final offer, which included me getting custody of my dogs, I burst into tears. I was not prepared for that reaction. I had to sit for a minute, hyperventilate and wail while I reread the terms. I agreed. When we both agreed, that was actually the hardest part. I had to sign a bunch of papers, pick my new last name and officially end my marriage. I sat for a minute, unable to move or articulate anything. The physical act of signing away your marriage is a lot harder than I had anticipated. My lawyer said it was super common to have that reaction.
When I left the office, I was in a daze. I had not seen Tom all day and was worried when I saw him in the parking lot. He slowed down in his truck and I thought he would say some kind of farewell, but instead it was all business. He wanted the garage door opener back and guilted me about the dogs. I cut it short because I barely knew where my own body was, let alone had the ability to have a coherent conversation with the man I had just divorced. I left and I got in my car and struggled to even figure out what to do next. I drove around aimlessly listening to music, crying harder than I’ve cried in recent memory. After about an hour, I spoke with a friend, and we decided to get candy and go see a movie. It was the perfect distraction to such an emotional day.
The next few weeks were weird. I was now in a position to make the concrete plans for the abstract dream I’d been working towards for the last 10 months, but I didn’t have my money yet. The time between the finalization of my divorce and the actual getting of my money allowed me make plans and figure out logistics, but not actually act on a lot of it because I needed the money to do so. I did finally have some wiggle room because of an immediate advancement, so I could, for the first time in a long time breathe.
Tom and I went back to being friendly and the transition was surprisingly smooth. I stayed in Missoula while I wrapped things up and made plans for when I got the boys so we can start our life together.
When I finally got my settlement, I was overwhelmed. Just like that day in mediation I was at a loss for where my body was and what I should be doing. I wanted to go to the bank, but I had had my account closed by the bank, months prior, because I had overdrawn my account one too many times. I went to three different banks before I was able to open an account and get my money squared away. The process was exhausting. I think part of it was also the idea that, for the first time in my entire life, I could be self-supporting.
Part of the money in the agreement was for paying off all my debt. I had medical bills from the last several years that had piled up and, because of little income and financial fear, I ignored them. Some went to collections, and some were just outstanding. I spent a whole afternoon going down the list paying each one off one by one.
It was liberating to be able to call the numbers I’d been avoiding for a year. To have the money to be able to pay the balance in full and check another daunting thing off my list.
I started to find my stride. I started to actually make plans. Where would I go next? When would I leave? I bought a new computer, something I’d been dreaming of doing first thing when I finally could. I’d been working on a 2013 MacBook that was barely compatible with anything and worked about 70 percent of the time. The feeling of walking into Costco, having done my research, and be able to pick out the laptop I wanted and buy it outright was also liberating. It’s funny how, when your in survival mode for so long, simple luxuries are monumental.
So it’s been a couple months since I’ve written anything substantial, but here I am, on my new MacBook typing away.
I put my notice in with the family I nanny for. I was so sad. I’ve been with them since early September, the full school year, which is significantly longer than I ever anticipated. But when I started, I told them my plans, so when I spoke with them about being done, they were obviously sad, but supported my decision because it’s what I was going to do all along.
So I've finally found my stride and my nervous system doesn't feel like it's on overdrive anymore. My last two weeks in Montana were bittersweet. Montana is my home and Missoula has become a special place in my heart. I will feel forever grateful for the friendships I’ve made and the people who have supported me. We say it takes a village, well it’s taken a village to get me to this next chapter.
So I’ve been writing and documenting my journey towards my calling, my inner knowing to travel and write, and I’m finally here!
The first thing I did was book a two-ish week trip to Sandpoint, Idaho. I rented a tiny cabin on the lake, pseudo camping, just me and my dogs. After that, for the next nine-ish months, I will be traveling the US exploring the country with my dogs and writing about my adventures. I'd been debating on whether to buy a camper or stay in Airbnbs, but after crunching numbers and realizing I wanted a home base and the freedom of no schedule, I bought a camper. The camper was in Portland, so I took a couple days of my Sandpoint trip to pick it up and haul it back. This first stop has been the perfect kick off to my adventure. I wanted it to coincide with both my 36th birthday and 15th year of sobriety. From there I'll figure out where I'll go next. I want to explore the UP in Michigan, the Blue Ridge Parkway and possibly Cape Cod before the summer months end and I head down south.
I've been settling into my solitary life and I couldn't be happier. I'm sure it will be lonely at times, but I've also learned I can make friends anywhere, plus being alone, just me and the boys, was the point of all of this. I'm learning more about self-love and embracing the fearlessly independent woman I knew was in there all along.
It's been a dream of mine, since I was a little girl, to travel by road and see the country. I've fantasized about #vanlife and I can't even believe I'm making it happen. My camper is just the right size, with all the amenities for long-term life on the road. I can't wait to make it my own.
At the end of my time, if I haven’t figured out how to make a living as a writer, I will decide what to do next. For now, though, I’m leaning in, and leaning in hard to this way of life, because I’ve waited my whole life to do so.
*I changed my ex-husband's name, as a courtesy to keep him anonymous.
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