Settled (or settling in)


I can’t believe it’s been over a month since I’ve written here.  February came and went, and I’m finally in our house.

Our house.  Not “our” as in my mother’s and mine, but “our” as in my boyfriend’s and mine.  The house I left never felt like mine, even after Dad passed.  It was always “Mom’s house” or “the house”; rarely did I use the term “my” house.  And now I’m in a place to say “our” house and it’s been incredible.  Things are turning out well, and I finally feel like I’m in a relatively stable place in my life.  Living with someone who cares about me and whom I care about immensely has definitely been fun so far – even when we have our small tiffs (as all couples do).

We were stressed to the max trying to get the money up for it in time, but caught a lucky break.  And soon taxes will be coming in, so that will help immensely.  But it’s been a journey complete with thieves, reports of crazy neighborhood folks, and struggling to leave even earlier for work in the morning (spoilers: it’s not going so well).  We didn’t have heat for the first 2-3 weeks of being in there, but finally got that turned on and it’s been even cozier since.

Since October, I’ve had six seizures.  Usually the cause is medication withdrawal because of missed doctor’s appointments and yadda yadda blah blah my fault, I know.  But seizures…man, lemme tell ya.  They suck.  Not just for me, but for everyone involved.  I’m pretty sure everyone at East Lake Library is well versed in seizure first aid by now.  Definitely not my intent, but honestly, seizure first aid should be something covered way more often.  According to,

  • About 1 in 100 people in the U.S. has had a single unprovoked seizure or has been diagnosed with epilepsy.
  • 1 in 26 people will develop epilepsy (which is the tendency to recurring seizures) in their lifetime.

Time to get more educated.

Anyway, these increased seizures have put a lot into perspective.  It’s been a long journey of self-love and I still have a long way to go in that area.  It’s helped me realize what’s important, what I shouldn’t keep to myself when I feel something coming on, and who’s there for me in these times, who cares enough to stick around and make sure I’m okay.

It feels so strange to call somewhere aside from the place I lived in for almost 28 years “home.”  It’s definitely a process I’m still transitioning into, and probably will for a while.  But stepping inside fills me with a peace I haven’t felt in years, if ever.  It really has become home, and I have zero regrets about flapping my wings and leaving the nest.

My 27th year has been such a year of growth and change, which is unsurprising as one of my “numbers” is 27.  I’m so happy for this phase of my life; it really is what I make of it, and I’m determined to make it the best ever.  28 won’t disappoint either – I guarantee it.


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