Exactly one year ago I knew I had reached a point where it was time to try life on my own. I hadn't made any major decisions yet, I simply knew I needed time and space. I signed a six-month lease on a small apartment in an older, but otherwise charming complex.
And then the roaches showed up--with all their extended relatives.
Initially, I naively thought I could handle it. Surely there were protocols in place for this. The apartment management could knock this out quick--a simple oversight of an unknown problem, right?
And then I realized I was terrified of these suckers. Not because I thought they could hurt me, but because they could seemingly apparate out of no where, including but not limited to: the computer, my ceiling, inside the refrigerator (and still quite alive). I grew up in the sticks. Give me snakes, giant spiders, scorpions, I know how to handle these. I have no understanding of what to do with roaches.
The management assured me they had no idea; the previous tenant had never mentioned there was a problem. It's bullshit, but they were nice enough people. They promptly sent an exterminator who told me that treating them was a process and not to expect to be bug free for at least three months. On a six month lease. Where the legal jargon indicated I could not get out of the contract as long as the complex was "taking steps to remedy the problem once they were aware."
So I went on the offensive and defensive. This was to be my first place in this brave new world I found myself in, and I would not let bugs dictate my space. Out of my own pocket I bought caulking, bug bombs, and everything else I could find that was supposed to work. The bug numbers reduced dramatically, and I was almost ready for a victory party. And then. While my precious child was taking a bath, a rather large roach crawled across the tub wall behind her. I was able to intercept it without her knowing, and in the time it took to send it to bug heaven (my vegan integrity is low here), I knew I was done.
I sent a polite, yet firm email to the office manager and cc'd the owners of the complex themselves. I indicated I would move without a fuss, no drama, no bad reviews, I simply needed out. Email sent. Prayers sent. The roach above me bowed his head in solemnity. "Look dude, it's not personal," I muttered as he scurried away from my broom.
A prompt reply the next morning said I could leave without penalty. They would even write a letter stating I had not broken my lease terms. 12 days from beginning to end. In 12 days I signed the papers, moved in, waged WW3 on vermin, packed, and moved back out.
I journaled a ton during this time, so I have direct insight into what all was happening in my head. I'll spare you that circus, but it wasn't pretty. As I sat back in my house, with my stuff half in boxes, half out of boxes, my vacation time almost over, and finding myself at square one, I felt directionless. Christmas and New Year had passed in a blur, and I was days away from returning to work where I was knee deep in my Standards-Based Grading pilot and trying to not appear like I was about to explode or implode.
I did the only thing I knew how to do. I acted. I double-downed on my apartment seeking efforts, broadening the distance I was willing to travel away from the house (this was also when the medical center rapist was rampant, so my options seemed few in that area). A relocating company helped me find Boulder Creek Apartment Homes, got me an astonishing deal on my unit, and I moved in MLK day of 2017. This complex is everything I could have ever asked for in an apartment. The apartments are nice, the grounds are nice, the management staff are all personable and attentive, I've had zero issues, and best of all, no roaches!
A few days ago I received my lease-renewal paperwork--a reminder of how much time has passed and how far I've come. I've not made my 2017 journey a secret; this year is a clear demarcation of my life. I sought healing and understanding through counseling, got into graduate school to begin changing careers into mental-health counseling, met a life-coach turned friend who changed everything for me, explored parts of myself that were dormant, started a new job at a brand new school, began the conscious uncoupling divorce process, and I'm now house hunting for 2018 and making plans to create awesome things in the world.
Oh, and I did all of this with depression waxing and waning as it saw fit.
I'm hesitant to end this with a predictable, see-you-can-overcome-challenges-too sentiment. 2017 was for all intents and purposes, terrible. All of those things above hurt. A lot. In between every small victory was heartache, tears, frustration, and lot of expletives. The fact I started the year fighting roaches, and I'm ending it on a positive event horizon, speaks to so much more than me as an individual. Many of these things happened in spite of my own efforts and attitude, not because of them. I came close to giving up more times than I care to count. I almost hate to admit it, but I respect the indomitable nature of roaches--their resiliency is impressive.
This past year I overcame obstacles because I was able to admit I needed help. I was authentic and vulnerable and the universe showed up for me in a huge way. We cannot complete this journey alone. We weren't designed to. My "why" for 2018 is predicated firmly on making spaces for people to be authentic and vulnerable with themselves and others in order to expand our awareness of who we are individually and collectively. I can think of no higher purpose.
"We're all just walking each other home."
-Ram Dass
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