Moving to a new city automatically changes your identity. 

In my old town, I was the girl who always brought really fabulous desserts to a party.  The girl people asked to take photos of their babies, their families, and even their corporate executive husbands.  I threw parties, and luncheons, and always made too much food.  I was the girl who texted everyone once a week to organize a girl's lunch out.  The girl who was known to stay the longest at get-togethers and laugh until I peed a little.  You could count on me to be the chubby friend you would gladly sit next to because my plate would be full and my smile always ready. 

I was confident in that identity.  

It was woven into the very fabric of my character, its threads strong and confident.  It was my heart and my soul.  It was who I am. 

Suddenly, I am not that girl here in Texas.  I find myself always in a room full of strangers, my heart pounding and insecurities coursing through my veins.  None of them know that I am a really good baker.  Or photographer.  Or laugher (and pee-er). 

None of them know just how desperately I love to host parties. 

And when I'm struggling to help my kids cope with the loneliness and heartache that comes with this crappy business of starting over, I put on a brave face and strap a pep talk to my belt.  Constantly pulling that pep talk out, telling them things I hardly believe myself, I keep moving blindly forward.   We are all struggling, and it's just plain hard.

I fall into bed at night, exhausted and emotionally wrought, and just pray. 

Pray that soon it will be easy and natural. 

Pray that it will feel like home. 

Pray that I will feel like me again.

Because I desperately miss that girl.