Forgiving Myself

I'm about to get deep and squishy about my inner feelings. (I can hear you yawning from here) I wrote this a couple days ago, just because... typing things out is a process of mine. Most of the time I will hammer out my emotions in the form of a post and never post them, because really- do you come here for the pouring out of my most closely held emotions, making y'all uncomfortable and weirded out? Or do you come here to read about my Frightdome journey through parenting? That's what I thought.

I kept this post in the "unposted" pile, assumably to get deleted eventually. Except that I kept coming back to it, re-reading my thoughts and reaffirming that warm yummy feeling about this particular topic. So I'm posting it- for reals. If you find yourself rolling your eyes at any point, do not despair, I don't do this often.

I am at a point where I am willing to admit something, I have been a pinch... well, extra... grumbly as of late. Bordering on miserable? Yes definitely playing "chicken" with the miserable-line. It started out last year as The Husband and I took a hard look at the situation with our house and decided to make a firm, real decision about staying v. going.

It was a tough call. Severely underwater, (more than half) a baby sleeping in a closet, a freeway being built in the front yard, etc.

We decided to sell. It was going to have to be a short sale; As in handing our hearts and feelings over to a bank to decide our fate, all the while grinding in that guilt of "you made a binding agreement to pay this, you terrible, horrible, human beings." And it's been quite the downward spiral from there, in my opinion. I'm not in love with our rental, and spending so much time IN the house makes it worse. Then checking on the old house, which I am falling in love with all over again, whilst reminding myself what I had hated about it. Oh, it's been awful. A process I would not wish on my worst enemies.

I've found it physically impossible to stop looking at houses on the market, or other, nicer houses up for rent. I drool over the listings and mentally stab myself for not being in THAT house. I stress and anguish about it every night before going to bed. Maybe we should have kept the house? Maybe breaking even after 30 years? Cramming ourselves in there like sardines, with a lovely view of a major freeway feet from our bedroom windows? Maybe we should have moved into one of the other rentals we saw previous to this one? Was it a mistake to pass on the gorgeous kitchen rental because of some minor-ish details I didn't like about other aspects of the house? (I am SO missing my granite counters, the stainless appliances, having a solid surface floor downstairs...) Maybe we should have waited to find something we absolutely loved? Does settling for the cheaper alternative automatically suck? How could we have known the first offer on our house would back out at the last minute- that we had more time to find the perfect rental? Is this rental filled with bad karma? We seem to having some pretty "hard knocks" after moving. Were we doing better financially when we owned the sinking-ship-of-a-house? Was there one thing I can pinpoint responsible for this financial bath we're taking? Is it a good idea to find a nicer rental that I won't be so miserable in? Is it just vanity that makes me react so adversely to this house? Am I a "grass is always greener on the other side" person who can never be happy or content where they are? Am I that terrible of a person?

OMG. Just typing all those questions was exhausting- and yet I could still go on! Re-analyzing every step and decision made along the way.

The Husband had finally had enough. (and those poor confidants around me had probably had their fill of Majorly-Overanalyzing-Ashley after about five minutes of listening to me drone on) After the months of me obsessing about the situation, it dawned on him: (and me) I had not FORGIVEN MYSELF FOR MAKING A MISTAKE. (or a couple mistakes)

Maybe the short sale was a mistake! But you know what? We're so far down that road, there is no turning back. Yes, the house may just go into foreclosure. (the bank certainly seems to be pushing towards that end) The sale may go through, and we may still be making large payments to the Satan-esque-PMI company to release us from the loan. There is not much we can do at this point to stop any of it.

What will happen is just going to happen. I do not have a time machine, (no matter what my insane-brain seems to tell me) and thus cannot change the past, nor could have foreseen the future unfortunate series of events, some that were in our control and some that were not. (Hi, jerk landlord that basically stole our deposit and waltzed off into the sunset)

Sure, but guess what? I get to be a human being who makes the best decision I feel possible at the time, and it can turn out to be a big stinking pile of poop-mistake. AND THAT IS OK. Of course it's not ideal; everyone would LOVE to make the right call all of the time, but that I have decided, is impossible.

Is it sad that this is such a huge revelation to me? That I am allowed to make a couple mistakes in my role as fallible human? Perhaps. However, that knowledge has brought me tremendous amounts of calm and peace. I tried. I may have failed- the fat lady has yet to start up her concerto on that one. Whichever way it pans out, we'll be ok. I am doing my best.

So I can stop beating myself up searching for "the perfect answer" or "what we should have done," and enjoy the other things in my life that are fantastic... like the tiny little people that are running around the living room throwing Legos at me. I am also doing my best there- and I think that may just end up well. I will have awesome kids, something that no one can take away from me.