Hi friend,
I’ve been trying to write the next instalment in this series for the last week or so. Scratch that. I have been writing. Every single day. I have sat on the couch and opened my laptop and started a draft newsletter and typed a few hundred words. Then I’d read it back to myself and think: none of this feels true anymore. It was honest and raw in the moment. It felt true. But by the time I finished writing, the feelings had softened. I could see the stories I was telling myself and decided to let them go. Then I’d hit delete and commit to trying again tomorrow.
That is how it’s felt inside my body/mind recently.
I’ve entered the emotional stage of a move. With the highs that come from feeling hopeful and loved and even celebrated, and the lows inspired by grief and all of my anxious thoughts and fears. I was also triggered for a couple days. Complex-PTSD threw me overboard and into the Sea of The Past, which I was convinced was the Land of the Present. I’ve had enough emotional flashbacks now that I can notice and name them earlier on. But I couldn’t escape the dysregulation (or the exhaustion on the other side).
I wanted to write about it. I tried to write about it. Because it all felt true in the moment. But it wasn’t true long-term. So the only thing I can be absolutely certain of right now is that I have been riding on an emotional roller coaster or surfing the emotional waves or doing whatever other metaphor you might use to describe this part of making a big life change. And when I take a step back (or write a few hundred words) I can see: I’ve also been telling myself stories about what it all means. That’s not meant to invalidate my feelings. They are real! But the stories aren’t… I’m just really good at writing them in my head.
Thankfully, I’ve gotten a lot better at recognizing when I’m doing this—and trying to stop myself mid-sentence. It has made writing and publishing anything a challenge. But it’s been a gift for my mental health.
And I learned how to do this at The Lighthouse.
If you’re new here: hi, my name is Cait. I’m 40 years old and I’ve moved 31 times in my life. My last move was into my first home in the UK, which I named The Lighthouse. I’ve lived here for over 3 years, which is the longest I’ve stayed anywhere as an adult. Now, I’m getting ready to move into my partner’s home. Before I do, I want to close my chapter at The Lighthouse with intention. I don’t want to rush towards what’s in front of me. I want to reflect on all this house meant to me, and do this 32nd move slowly… and document it too.
Welcome to The Moving Out Diaries. This is Volume 4: What I mean when I say "I healed here.”
One of my favourite prompts to include in journalling sessions is a word association. I think the first time I included them was in the original Explore Money series, back in… 2022!? Each week, I would include a list of words (some examples: budgeting, retirement, investing, capitalism) and give everyone 8-10 minutes to write the first thing that came to mind for each one. I love this kind of prompt because it’s so clear and direct that you can’t help but write the most honest thing—and the answers often surprise people. At the very least, they tend to reveal some of the complicated feelings we have about certain words. (And when it comes to money, this can also show us why we might be avoiding certain topics/aspects of it.)
Unrelated to money, healing is one of the words I have complicated feelings about. It’s similar to how I feel about words like abundance and manifestation. They aren’t “bad” or “wrong”—but they are often used (at least online) in a mystical way. And that’s just not how I’m wired.
I am practical and pragmatic, and tend to steer away from any kind of instruction that feels otherwise. So even though I know there are practical things you can do to feel abundant and bring more of what you want into your life, most of the content I’ve seen over the years feels like spiritual bypassing to me. As though you can just “believe” or “affirm” your way to getting what you want, instead of doing the difficult but necessary work of having to face your patterns and wounds—and find new ways of doing things. For this reason, I’ve struggled to say things like “I’m healing,” even though I am. I have been healing a number of my emotional wounds while living at The Lighthouse… and there has been nothing mystical about it.