Now, here's the thing... I have always thought I loved moving. Always. In my first marriage, I moved every six months on average. I thought I loved adventure and new places and all that blah, blah, blah bullcrap. No, actually, I'm finding out that THAT was (yet again) me Pollyanna-ing a really crummy situation because I will find the happy goshdarnit if it kills me. It's a great part of my personality, but it didn't help things for me then, and it's actually leading to some PTSD triggers now.
Here's the thing about recovering from abuse: nobody can ever explain to you how much it creeps into your everyday life and your psyche. It's like roots, in a way. It snakes it's way around every little memory and detail and you have to separate it gently so as not to dislodge the good things alongside the crummy things. It is a PROCESS people, and not a very pleasant one at that. So when I started looking around at all the stuff I have to figure out what to do with (keep/move, sell, or toss) a LOT of old hurts came sneaking in like scary fog. (Have you read Catching Fire? That fog is the BEST analogy for PTSD ever. I digress, sorry.)
I am SO. EXCITED. to get our lives moving in a progressive direction. I still can't say I'm 100% excited to move to Utah, because I've never, ever, thought I'd live in Utah... But in excited to live in Logan. I'm excited to be around treasured friends and family. I'm excited about our super-cute apartment and our jobs. I am excited about new adventures.