There is a small child inside of me who can’t stand the sight of packed boxes, only to be outdone by the emptiness of a colorless structure that is supposed to be a home. Today this thirty year old woman crumbled, I walked into the kitchen after hours of being on the porch (to stay out-of-the-way) and was hit by the unexpected anxiety and fear.
The adult in me is excited and thrilled about this move, the child is terrified and some where in the middle is the truth. One day moving will not be tied to my past, one day I will know that I have worked hard to make my life a stable place, one day I will love myself enough to be kind when I see that small child staring back at me, afraid.
But today I am still shaken, afraid that she is here. Today I am disappointed that I am not stronger, today it is hard to remember how to be kind, to myself, my husband and that small child.