But. But. But.

Welp. It’s official.

In the weeks since my last post, we: packed up our house, participated in a wedding, painted and cleaned our new house, and packed up a U-haul, two pickups, an Expedition, and a Buick LaSabre and moved across the state.

It was exhausting. Emotional. Overwhelming.

I can’t seem to get my feet back under me, actually.

We’ve been in our new house for one week and two days. We’ve made progress: the living room upstairs, kitchen, and the boys’ rooms are basically ready to go. Our bedroom too, mostly. Wait…most of the rooms are pretty well going, pretty well…finished? We still have some boxes in the garage to go through, and the boys’ rooms need reorganized. But, overall, it’s definitely livable.

And my kids have adjusted so well to it all. They’re doing great! They made friends with the neighbor kids, destroyed their rooms, the living room, and the bathrooms. (Enter motherly eyeroll.)

Nate and I on the otherhand? Not adjusting quite as easily.

We’re both stressed, tired, and overwhelmed by the amount of life changes and decisions that are happening. Emotions are running high, and we’re not communicating well.

And me, alone? Worse. I feel disoriented, restless, snappy. I’m constantly touched-out, in sensory overload, and I know damn well that I’m shutting down.

I know that in a couple weeks, as the new wears off, and we get even more settled, that I’ll shake this feeling.

I know that all the negative thoughts in my head right now aren’t true. They’re not real; they’re not truthful.

Honestly, I’m hoping these feelings go away soon, because I’m not sure I can keep going through the motions and telling everyone everything is going great.

I feel like I’m in limbo. And I feel like I can’t talk about it with anyone because this is what I wanted. Right?

I wanted a different school district, a fresh start. I wanted a chance to fall in love with teaching again: to rejuvenate my teaching and classroom.

But now? I feel like an imposter, like I can’t do the good, engaging lessons. That I never could. That I’m a fraud. That I’m in the wrong field, and that they’ll see after a week or two that they made a grave mistake in hiring me for this position.

I feel nauseous at all of it: the house, the kids, the school, the relationship. I miss my friends being right there, I miss being two hours from my parents.

I’ve been so out of it, and physically sick: nausea every day, heartburn, headache, stomach problems, etc. that I actually took a pregnancy test this morning to make sure that wasn’t the cause of all of this…offness, because that’s the best umbrella term for how I feel.

Unease. Anxiety. That’s what it really is. My brain making my whole body literally, physically ill, because I don’t know how to cope with my emotions in a healthy manner. Because I can’t see my own worth. (But even in typing that, my brain is going…because you don’t have any. You’re not a fun teacher, a good teacher, an up-to-date teacher. You haven’t done cute classroom decor or blackout poetry or a google classroom detailing your daily plans!)

I’m working on telling that little voice to “SHUT THE EFF UP!” because I’m afraid if I listen to her, she’ll be proven right.

Self-fulfilling prophecy or some shit.

I don’t want headpats and empty, “but you’re so good at your job!” Am I? Or did I work in a district where I stood out because most of my coworkers were jaded and apathetic?

Am I actually a good teacher?

Can I actually do this?

I guess I don’t know today.

And maybe that’s okay. Maybe I’ll come back to this tomorrow and be like, “Girl, get your head out of your ass.”

But today? I’m acknowledging my thought process, acknowledging how unhealthy it is. Acknowledging my fears, my weaknesses, my flaws.

You can’t grow if you don’t recognize and acknowledge the things that hold you back.

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