All That Therapy's Really Coming in Handy...

So we've been here in LA for about, what?  400 days?  And remember how for the months leading up to the big move, I was breathing into a paper bag, waking up at 2am in tears, whipping out the full-on brat routine for Husband and refusing to pack even one box for the move because I. did. not. want. to. move.   Did I not share all those specific details? Did I protect you, interwebs, from some of my more hysterical and embarrassing behavior during that time?  Maaaaaybe. 

But I didn't hide it from my therapists.  Both before the move and after, I sat on soft, cushy couches (one fading floral upholstery, the other buttery beige leather), spilling my swirling-in-doubts-and-resentment innards to the therapists in hopes that they could "fix" me.  The one in Virginia?   You might remember this entry, in which at the end of our first session, she basically recommended that I switch to decaf.  She was not the most helpful of therapists, in my sadly vast experience, but she was kind-hearted and I enjoyed kvetching to her on the Friday mornings leading up to our move to Los Angeles.  She seemed to totally "get" that I could be terrified and miserable about leaving the home I loved while at the same time feeling a flicker of excitement for the adventure that lay ahead (and don't forget the guilt I felt for feeling that flicker of excitement because I had really, really committed myself being miserable, you know?)

Now, my therapist in Los Angeles?  You may recall this doozy of a post in which I recount my first meeting with her.  And how she totally brought it with the tough questions from the get-go.  And how at first my brain went all out of kilter and spit venom, but upon further reflection I realized that THIS is what therapy is all about--not just chatting over coffee with a commiserating girlfriend.  If I was going to let her fix my life (or, more exactly, fix it myself with her help), I was going to need to get down and dirty with the tough questions and take good look at myself. 

On top of that pretty beast-master, chronic depression, I have what I think they call an "adjustment disorder."  Essentially I don't "do" change.  At least not without a lot of anxiety and tantrums and self-doubt and general drama-queen antics.  Because I freak at the existential concept of impermanence.  If "this" ends (and "this" could be anything from a friendship to a romantic relationship to a living situation, blah blah blah), then who's to say anything will last, be of value, can be trusted?!!  Suddenly everything is a big dizzy mess of anxiety and black-hole emptiness and "why bother if nothing lasts?! Where's my paper bag???"  Oh yeah, it's pretty.  

But this year?  Has changed everything.  Putting myself out there, forcing myself to make new friends, going to BlogHer, facing the tough questions of my life, finding greater sense of purpose in my role as wife and mother, realizing that life IS about change, not about avoiding it.  All of these things have switched something on (or maybe off) in my brain.  And I'm not afraid of change anymore. 

Or, maybe it's the Zoloft?  

Which is why, it is actually with genuine excitement that I share this bit of news with you, blogosphere--we're moving.  Not down the road or across town.  

To the San Francisco bay area, baby!!!   San Francisco!!!!

Husband, it seems, is a rock star, and has been sought out and hired by what we will refer to as Wicked Cool Tech Company in Silicon Valley.  And people, when Wicked Cool Tech Company comes pounding on your door, you don't turn it away.  

How I feel about this move is so entirely completely different from how I felt last year.  I know it really could be the fabulously mellowing effect of the Zoloft (in which case I will be on it for the rest of my life, and happily), but I also believe it's because I have worked so hard this year to understand the meaning of change in my life and how it can be such a positive thing.  And really, as much as it is hurting me to think of saying goodbye to the good friends I've made here and how I will miss so many things about our life here, the idea of the adventure to come is enough for me to keep my balance and not fall into that pit o' despair that I know has set up my room for me and is waiting anxiously for my return.  

But?  I won't be going back there this time.  I will be holding fast to what is permanent in my life, and moving forward with my family on the next leg of this amazing journey we're on. together.