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.