Change travels with loss

The Moving Out Diaries: Vol. 1

Hi friend,

Three weeks ago, Tall Man and I decided to move in together this summer. (As per last week’s note, I’m trying not to bury the lead. Am I doing it right?)

This has been a topic of conversation for a while, and something I’ve alluded to more than once here. Sharing that I had a growing sense things would be changing this year, and that I’d been having to remind myself to not detach from The Lighthouse too quickly. I spent most of May at home, and finished it feeling more connected to the house—and myself—than I had all year. And, my time here is officially coming to an end. I gave two months’ notice, and will be moving out of The Lighthouse and into Tall Man’s house in August.

We don’t plan on getting married and we won’t be having kids together. So you could say this is my version of an engagement or pregnancy announcement. My BIG life event… one people all around the world make every day! But not me. I haven’t lived with a partner since I was 23. And I have not moved quickly in this relationship—and I’m glad for that. Moving slow and paying attention helped me discover many of the things I find challenging about relationships, and learn how to talk about it. It showed me that I had a lot of trust issues. Not commitment issues, like I once thought. I am a committed person. But I was afraid to trust.

This is why I was single for most of the ~14 years before I met TM (and most of the years I’ve been writing/sharing stories with you). I didn’t know what complex-PTSD was during that time, or have any idea that I might have it (more things I’ve learned since being in this relationship). I just took care of myself, and built a nice little life as a single woman. I loved those years, and all the travel I did and friendships I built along the way. But as my old therapist once said to me, “There’s only so much growth you can do on your own. The rest is done in relation to others.” I think even more work was done by slowing down—both in this relationship, but also the pace at which I moved/travelled around.

Together with TM, we moved at the speed of trust. And now, after 3 years of living near each other and building a solid foundation for our relationship, we are moving in together. I’m excited! I feel excited for us, and hopeful too. But for the first week or so after we made this decision, I was mostly sad. That’s what I want to write about this week—and I want to document the whole moving out experience here this summer. Because it’s really easy to look forward and rush towards what’s in front of us. But moving out of a home and saying goodbye to a place is a huge part of the process. Especially when that place has been special to you. I want to honour what’s been true here, and the transition of going from one home to the next, in a way I haven’t done for any of my moves before…

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If you’re new here: hi, my name is Cait. I’m 39 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. I love this house and love the version of myself I became here. (I love it so much, I named my newsletter after it!) It’s simply time for a new chapter. Before I start writing that one, I want to close my chapter at The Lighthouse with intention. I don’t want to rush. I want to leave slowly…

Welcome to The Moving Out Diaries. This is Volume 1: Change travels with loss.

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Two weeks ago, I went for a long walk through town and decided to make a pit stop at my coffee shop. “Hi Kate with a C!” Amy said, as I walked in the door. Ryan and I exchanged our usual “hi friend” and “hello friend” greetings. While he made me a drink, we all got caught up on recent events. Their trips away, how amazing the weather had been, and so on. Usual topics of convo in England. I asked a lot of questions, and didn’t offer much about myself, because I could feel my sadness on my lips. But I wanted to tell them my news…

“I’m moving in with [TM’s real name] this summer!” I shared. “So I’ll be giving notice soon and leaving town in a couple months.”

This got a reaction of “oh wow!” and “that’s huge, congratulations!”

And then I started crying.

Both Amy and Ryan came around from behind the counter and hugged me. “I’m sorry!” I said. I don’t like apologizing for crying, but it feels like an appropriate thing to do in this country. People joke about how repressed and unemotional the Brits are. From my experience, it’s just a stereotype and one you can’t apply to everyone (though you can definitely apply it to some). And yet, there’s still something inside me that says: don’t cry in front of anyone here, they won’t know what to do! “It’s fine, Kate with a C!” Amy said, and I could feel that she meant it.

“They say moving is one of life’s biggest stressors,” she added, and I agreed. I’ve done this enough times to know how disruptive it is. How your regular daily life can become consumed by doing things like closing accounts, changing addresses, decluttering/packing/selling/donating things, and getting organized for the Big Day. And how long it takes to settle and get into a rhythm/routine in your new environments (home, town, places you will run errands, etc.). But I wasn’t crying about that part. I know how to move. I can deal with all of that. I was crying because of everything I’ll be leaving behind. Everything I’ll be losing.

This town. How walkable it is, and how my lifestyle will have to change. All the people (and dogs!) I chat with on my walks. All the different routes I take, and that are accessible from my front door. The quick pit stops at the coffee shop. My neighbours, including the young boy who shovelled my driveway this winter and who opens his window when he sees me outside and yells “Hi Caity!” which is the nickname only my family calls me. Ziggy, the cat next door who has chosen me (I would choose her and adopt her if I could). The animals in my garden. Birdy and her third husband. ❤️ And this house. I need to say goodbye to The Lighthouse.

The place I was terrified to rent. Terrified to slow down and stay in. And the place that quickly became my favourite home of all the ones I’ve lived in. This was my first home base in the UK, and it held me during some really hard times, in a way that only a home base can. I learned how to express myself in this house. Communicated in new ways and built relationships within the safety of these walls. Embraced my love of animals and lived my Snow White era with the hedgehogs and birds and a little bunny who came around last summer. I put my hands in the soil outside, and even bought gardening tools and a freaking lawmower, and tried to take care of this place… because it took care of me.

I was scared to commit to The Lighthouse in 2022. Three years later, I feel sad and scared to let it go.

I shared some of this with Amy and Ryan. They didn’t try to talk me out of my feelings, or point to the silver linings, or tell me it would all be ok. They said things like “that makes sense!” and “it’s A LOT, Cait!” Leaving the first proper home and community I’ve ever had in this country is a lot. And they validated my feelings by saying so. It was enough to dry up my tears. I thanked them for listening and told them I knew this was all part of the process. That I’d felt this kind of anticipatory grief before many of the moves I’d made in the past. This one felt more intense, but the sadness shouldn’t have surprised me.

Then I shared a quote I’ve shared a hundred times before, from Lori Gottlieb’s book, MAYBE YOU SHOULD TALK TO SOMEONE. “Change travels with loss.” I think this is one of the main reasons people don’t make changes in their lives—because they know their life will change, which really means: something will end. That’s scary and sometimes too sad to even consider. And, if you want to make some kind of change (and I do—I want to live with TM and the kids), it’s part of the process. I need to accept all the losses. But it’s ok for me to have big feelings about them all too.

“I don’t this want to sound insensitive but I’m glad you cried,” Ryan said, as I was leaving. “It made me feel like we are friends.”

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One week ago, I answered a knock at the door and found a real estate agent on the other side. He had come to do an appraisal of The Lighthouse. When I told the landlords I might be giving notice, they said they’d been thinking of selling it, but wanted to know what it would be valued at and if any work needed to be done first. Would you mind if we sent someone over? Not at all.

“Can you give me the grand tour!?” the agent asked. I started in the living room, then moved upstairs to the bathroom and two bedrooms. He pointed out a few spots that needed to be painted, but otherwise agreed the house was essentially in turnkey condition. Then I took him back downstairs and through to the dining room, which opens up to the kitchen. He looked over and saw what I saw in the cover image on the original rental listing in April 2022. “WOW, it’s bright in here!” he said. “There’s SO much natural light!”

I smiled, feeling as though I’d come full circle. “That’s exactly why I wanted to live here.”

When I first decided to rent The Lighthouse, the story I told myself was that it would be good for my mental health. It has been. It’s also been good for my creativity. Good for my self-expression. Good for my relationships—with myself first, and then others. I love this house, but I also love the version of myself I became here. The person I let myself be. This house was safe to simply be in. And I love that a few people came to visit and got to experience the house, and me in it, too. I feel a little sad more people didn’t get to see it. I had images of having tea with my dad in the living room, and taking my niece on walks (she’s not even 2, so I might’ve been a little premature with that dream lol), and some other friends coming to stay and showing them around. But instead we’ve all had lots of video calls from here, and I’m grateful for those too.

Now that I’ve given notice and started the moving process, I feel excited about what’s ahead. More excited than I am sad/afraid. But I’m not going to close this on a high or with a positive takeaway.

The truth is that when we first decided to move in together, I felt really sad about all I’d be losing in the process. And that’s ok.

Living here and staying put for 3+ years has been one of the most important chapters of my life. I built a beautiful little life in a beautiful, bright little house.

Of course, I’m sad to say goodbye to it.

xx Cait