It’s Saturday morning. One week ago, after two months in the Florida sunshine, I used a broom to lift the basketball goal net so BF could back The Freedom Express into her spot at the edge of our driveway. As I’ve shared before, I lack the “it’s good to be home” gene. Considering how much I love my home and my neighbors, it makes no sense, but no matter how long I’m gone, I always want to stay longer.

After a week of malaise, I decided to stop it. I’ve also decided to silence the voice that tells me not to write about this because people will think I’m a spoiled brat and not like me. Just in case there’s something in it for others, I’ll disclose.

It always starts with an overwhelming feeling of loss. BF and I are nesters and we create “home” quickly. When we leave, it hurts. This time, loss was compounded by the sadness of not playing with Katie and precious Lily every day and the abrupt dive in weather conditions. And the early mornings I spent alone at the beach journaling and watching the waves. Sun-drenched exercise. Family time.

I spent six days denying my loss. Feeling shameful for not appreciating all I have. Wondering what’s wrong with me. Feeling tired. Missing my energy. Walking around my house wondering what to do next. Feeling guilty for doing nothing. Picking at BF. Reminding my friends and family I wasn’t happy–just in case they’d forgotten. Avoiding the things I knew would make me feel better. Not gleaning the usual joy out of  . . . well, anything.

Thursday evening, we watched a silly movie that highlighted pure, serendipitous fun. I whined to BF, “I’m living in a fun desert.”

Friday morning, the first words I spoke were, “I’m going to have fun today.” I drank my morning coffee with a fresh attitude. I treated myself to avocado toast with a fried egg on top. I lit incense and journaled for the first time since March 12th. I turned to Melody Beattie who wrote when we are sad, we ignore ourselves, shut down. Go numb. But, she reminds, we can step back into our power by stepping back into our body, ourselves. Trusting God and the Universe to help us.

She wrote that for me.

I bundled up and took a walk around the neighborhood, despite the frigid air. I could feel myself coming alive. I stopped blaming myself and others for my funk. I acknowledged why I’ve been feeling like a kid who has just been told she can’t have ice cream. I can’t and it sucks. I left the shame on the sidewalk. I forgave myself.

I feel better. I feel the power. I trust.