As you know, I’m in a new romantic relationship. I could go on and on about all the great things that revolve around this life change, but this is a widow’s blog and I want to be real. I want to talk about what all of this means, how it has affected me, how I’m handling things as it pertains to my past and my pain.
The news isn’t all good.
It’s been a bit of a whirlwind, happening really quickly. It feels unbelievable at times. But beyond that, as I am getting to know who I am now I am discovering that I have lots of emotional and mental issues. SURPRISE!! I already knew this much, but I wasn’t aware of how things would play out in terms of being with someone new. I have had a couple really intense breakdowns and I discover new triggers and observe my reactions to things quite frequently.
DOGS: There are two roommates here, and I’m very mindful/ self-conscious about the dogs. They’re barking omg. They’ve run off omg. Someone peed in the house omg.
My dogs aren’t bad dogs. They’re undisciplined. They’ve lived their whole lives with a completely fenced and closed off yard to play in. Not here. The property isn’t secured around the edges and my dogs take off all the time. Mostly Walter and Rosie.
Walter is at the end of his rope. Resident boy Django is a DOLL but he won’t leave Walter alone. This results in Walter being on edge and pissy a lot.
SOUNDS: This is what I would consider a loud house. It’s not really LOUD, but there are lots of moving parts and the sounds get completely overwhelming. One roommate is a musician and plays the same music over and over again as he mixes and tweaks things. Dogs. Music. Conversation. People. It’s a lot for someone who has social anxiety and has been living alone for almost 3 years. A lot of peopling.
NUTRITION: This has been tough. I’m not eating properly. Not really eating much at all tbh. Roommates present a challenge with kitchen space, therefore presenting a challenge with grocery shopping or meal planning. This is really hard for me. REALLY hard.
COMPROMISES: Yes there are quite a few for all parties. I guess my biggest compromise is giving up having my own kitchen, and allowing my dogs to be dogs. I know Scott has made FAR bigger compromises. He moved me and the dogs in, for fucks sake. So his adjustments and patience are plenty.
Other compromises? I miss eating what I want when I want. I miss watching what I want to. I miss having space that is all mine. I miss the things that make a home feel like home to me, like pictures on the walls or anything that resembles my taste or decorating stuff. These are all just adjustments from being alone to living with someone. But for me, they sometimes eat me up. I literally cry sometimes because I just want to meal prep for the week, or because I can’t find something, or because this house doesn’t feel like “me”.
SHAME: Did you know that I am singlehandedly responsible for every bad thing? It’s true. If the weather sucks, I’m sorry. If you lost your keys, I’m sorry. If you had a bad day, I’m sorry. You’re angry at me? It’s my fault. You left me? My fault for driving you away. Things could be so much better if I wasn’t such a fuckup and a loser. I try to take up as LITTLE space as possible so I don’t “intrude”. Welcome to my brain!
LIFE: Scott has lived in the area for a long long time. He knows everyone. His kids are here. His friends, his childhood memories, all of it. Flip the coin and I have none of that. I’m completely a guest/ newcomer into his life and his world and I feel a little like I’m tumbling through space. Trying to navigate and reconcile that none of our shared experiences are new to him and that none of what we see is remotely familiar to me has been tough. It’s not easy to be the newcomer in a club of peeps who’ve known each other for years or even decades.
EMOTIONS: Wow. Where do I start. I feel all of the following things, even though not one person has done anything to make me feel this way.
- Like he’s mad at me
- Like he’s losing patience with me or the dogs
- Like the roommate situation might be too much for me to deal with
- Always on edge making sure the dogs aren’t making a mess
- Always on edge making sure I do enough around the house
- Unable to trust myself
- Like I’m wearing out my welcome
- Like I’m a crappy partner
ANTSY: Scott is afraid I’m going to run away. Sometimes I feel like running away. Not because things are bad – they’re not. They’re pretty wonderful except for my meltdowns. But I don’t trust myself. My fight or flight struggle is real and something I’ve never been really good at overcoming.
QUESTIONING MYSELF: Man. For almost 3 years I’ve worked on shedding my possessions. Minimizing my baggage (mental and literal baggage). Becoming more light and readily able to move or travel. And now I’m settling into a big house with a huge piece of property, and I’m wondering who the fuck I am. I was “domesticated” while married, but I’m a bit more “feral” now. I want to LIVE. I don’t give a FUCK about money (I know, immature or unrealistic right?). I don’t give a fuck about a job. I have the smallest wardrobe I’ve ever had or ever known anyone to have. I don’t want to spend my life doing household chores and tasks. I went through hell, and I’m still climbing out. I didn’t go through all of this to end up back in the grind. I have no desire to be back in any grind. I just want to LIVE life, every single day.
Yes, there are a lot of challenges – mostly self-made. But it’s the bigger picture here. Fear of losing control of my life and my choices. Fear that my mental health will drive him away.
Now, the good stuff?
It feels really good to be loved and needed.
Scott is a wonderful sweet man who treats me (and the dogs) so well. He’s kind, respectful, and understanding.
The dogs and I are safe.
The roommates are cool people.
I’m living in a beautiful home on a sprawling piece of land, because I met a man who opened his heart and his home to me and the dogs.
I’m living in a beautiful area that is rich with gorgeous sunsets, peace and quiet, cool outdoor activities and a 2 hour drive to San Francisco.
There is life, and love, after loss.
And in reality, all is well. I know this is just an adjustment and lots of growing pains. I’m not unhappy at all. I’m content and happy overall. It’s just a reminder that loss is heavy. PTSD is real. Mental illness is pretty scary. And ultimately, I got this. Everything is going to be okay. ❤
Peace, friends. ❤