A Move

This was one of those very bad days. Let’s be clear, it was a historically bad day in the history of my bad days, and that’s saying quite a bit. Where to begin? Perhaps with some context …

Moving, any kind of moving has been a trigger for me for the longest time. I don’t know if it has to do with my childhood fear of homelessness, as that’s the only clue I have as why moving is so upsetting to me. Moving a residence, an office cube, even a bedroom is triggering for me. I wish it weren’t. Honestly, I do. Truly, I feel like a nut case that needs to be put away because this is such an issue for me.

So, where am I moving? Out of the state? Across the street? No, that would actually make a bit of sense. I am moving from one office cube to another on a different floor, and I was a basket case today about it, an authentic loca woman. I’ve been freaky friday stressed about it with all the packing and distraction from my work. However, today was the breaking point with the discovery that the area that I indicated would be best for me was given to another colleague who was asked if they wanted the very same cube. Yes, for normal people this would not be a breaking point. I get that completely. However, when I saw that I was sitting right in the middle in the midst of racket and noise I just fell apart. I felt disregarded and dismissed.

I started to get that feeling like I was in a tunnel of which I could not escape. I’ll spare you the details except to say that I melted and cried and felt floaty.

I wish I could have remembered how to do the tapping technique during this mess, and a mess it sure was.

We just have to get though this. I can get through this.

I have to convince myself that moving my cube is not homelessness. It’s not. It’s just moving from one work space to another. That is all. Nothing more.

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