A Challenge...

A week ago today we pulled into L.A. and unloaded the huge mounds of furniture and boxes from inside the 16-ft. Penske truck, making Hermosa Beach our new home. My fiancé had already moved in the week before and then flew up to Seattle to help me. Daily during his move he sent photos so I could see the progress of his unpacking. With only 750 square feet we knew we were going to have to be creative with space. I watched all of his boxes diminish on film until it was my turn to fill it up again. The only problem being that after 1000 miles of travel in a bouncing truck with my dog in my lap, I learned that every closet and drawer was already full to capacity. I must admit, I began spiraling into a major meltdown. “Don’t lose it on me, baby” he said, “It’s all gonna go.”

For the next few days we rifled through boxes and became masters of space and disguise. Now, one short week later, it is nearly done. There are flowers in window boxes, art on the walls, an IKEA writing desk and chair built for me, and a recording studio constructed for him. Five years we have waited for this day…wondering what it would be like to share a life, a closet, even a frickin' gas bill. I envisioned the whole thing over and over...making all those months of different zip codes make sense. Well worth the wait. Only it didn't play out that way because there is one very large problem. The move happened 9 months too early. I had every intention of waiting until my youngest left for college but money ran out.

I sold real estate for 14 years, with one break about a year ago to help a friend write his memoir. I was paid for my part of the book, but not enough to keep the lifestyle afloat. In hindsight, it wasn’t a smart move on my part, but I also knew that my attitude was in the tank. I lost my drive. I was hoping that if I had a moment to do what I love…namely, write, that maybe my outlook would improve. After the book was complete I dove back into the housing market. Naively, I thought I could dust off my Open House signs, cold call a few loyal customers and be back in business. What I hadn’t anticipated was how seriously the real estate market was in the toilet and how far my clients had roamed. Even the best agents were struggling to make a buck.

I gave it six months. Hit the ground running like a rabid dog. But to no avail. By the end of the summer I was financially sucking eggs and had to make some hard choices. I spoke with my 17-year old daughter about the need for a change. She had no interest in moving to California, which I understand as it is hard to leave your senior year of high school. But she also didn’t want to move out of our rental to something a little more affordable. In her mind, she has watched me downsize before and she’s tired of moving in the wrong direction. I heard that she feels I have not worked for years. She wonders why I can’t hold down a job like other people. Knowing that the dreaded change had to take place, she decided that she didn’t care if her dad or I stayed with her as long as she could remain in the house and finish high school. I took her at her word and began making plans to move to California, where I could share the financial load with my fiancé.

The day before the move we took her to dinner. She seemed so matter-of-fact about it…saying things like, “it’s all for the best.” Then, with a sheepish little grin she asked if she could stay home from school and have a mental health day. It was an old trick she used to play when she had a lot of homework and hadn’t had a chance to finish it. I told her that if this wasn’t grounds for a mental health day I don’t know what was. Her plan was to sleep in, clean her room, and pick up her dad at the airport. Even though I woke her early in the morning to say goodbye I think the realization hit her when she eventually woke to a quiet house and picked up her dad at the airport, carrying a huge suitcase.

Since then I have tried to speak with her but she doesn’t seem to want to talk with me on the phone. I get a text every few days telling me how busy she is. I think she feels that I abandoned her, which we all know is something mothers just shouldn't do. After raising kids for the past 26 years I will now be known for this one “selfish, self-serving” act. It seems that from this day forward everything else that I have done for my kids is just another thing to poke holes in.  

I cannot tell you how sad I feel. I am hoping that in time we will find some common ground again but in the meantime, I can’t seem to find a good place for my thoughts. The guilt is overwhelming. I also feel sorry for my fiancé. He knew this would be difficult and wanted the move to happen after she was out of school, but it just didn’t work out that way.

I don’t know why I wrote this. Maybe because I need to put words to this terrible feeling. All I can do is try to be there for all of my kids as much as possible. Visit as often as I can. But I am still left with the pain of not being there for my youngest until the final cap and gown. My whole life has felt like I would do anything for them, even at my own expense sometimes. The first time I try to do something that might work for me too, it feels awful. I’m wondering if parenting truly is the role of sacrificial lamb. All I know is I ache inside and I want to make it right for everyone.