Last week was a rough week.
For whatever reason, it seemed like everything was going wrong. I missed my bus in the morning three times. My personal life was dangling on a string, and I honestly believe the only thing that was getting me through was my pumpkin spice latte (embracing my inner white girl).
Thursday morning, I woke up and worked from home expecting to be filled with excitement about going to Texas–but I didn’t feel it. I was too exhausted to even be happy to go home. I attempted to make a pancake and nearly burned my kitchen down. I shrunk a brand new dress in the laundry. I burnt through my favorite candle. I needed out.
As I walked from baggage claim to the passenger pick-up area, I felt instant relief when I saw my parents’ car. I sat in the front seat with my mom and chatted about life lately and updated her on all things in the big city. I was spent, and needless to say–I slept hard that night.
Being home was a great trip, and not in the usual way. I didn’t go out much, or even get to see most of my friends. I stayed home and got to spend a lot of time with my mom and sisters. I got some retail therapy in. I drove my car for the last time before we sell it. I realized how much I have changed as a person since two years ago when I ventured off to BYU-Idaho. I’m not the same. I can’t relate to most of my friends there anymore. I didn’t belong with them. But with my family…I was home.
Monday was my last day, and it was also Labor Day. We had my grandparents over and cooked hamburgers on the grill and lounged around, and I couldn’t help but cry all day. I remembered what the last week in Chicago felt like and how difficult everything was. I thought it would be the same when I got back.
I was so wrong. Tuesday morning, I woke up ready to go back to work. I was ready to take the CTA and get back into the gym and stick to my routine. I was excited to start living a little and putting myself out there to try and make friends in a new city–on my own. On Wednesday, I got in a taxi and looked at the city as a tourist again and remembered why I came here in the first place.
This weekend, I made no plans in an effort to prepare for traveling for work. I spent my Saturday morning working out with my trainer, came home, and cleaned. Had a phone call with an old friend. Took a nap. Went for a walk. The weather was perfect–sunny and 75. The sun peaked just across the skyline, tourists were nicer than normal, I didn’t hit a red light…
I felt mentally healthy for the first time in a long time. It’s crazy how going home for just a few days can reset you and help you to remember who you are, who you aren’t, who’s there for you, and where you want to go–even if it’s just temporary. A two hour flight can change anything.