Wherever I lay my boots...
Nov. 6th, 2022 01:52 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cybermuleI've finished "Homesick - why I live in a shed" by Catrina Davies. It's really good. My friend recommended it to me and I nearly recommended it right back to them it was so good. It talks through the author's shitty experiences of the housing market and how they tease out what home actually means to them emotionally and psychologically. Which is interesting. I'm trying to work that out for myself.
I actually 100% fully own my bricks and earth and mortar now. That's a thing that happened that I've not fully assimilated. I feel a bit guilty about it, maybe? But I combined luck and hard work and it's all I'll be able to give the kid. But it's a good thing to give. Neither she or I will ever be without at least a pile of rubble in a patch of land that we can call our own and nobody can take from us.
I think that's important to me. My childhood home got wrenched out from under everyone's feet with very little to show for it. I was lucky my dad's family were generous in spirit when my grandad died and I'm not ungrateful, but that's my lot now. But it paid off the final transaction to get my sticky paws on my house deeds and I feel more free to fix it up and plant vegetables and just know my kid is never going to have to scrabble about for shelter.
Fingers crossed, anyway.
I think as I slowly rearrange my physical home, I'm learning to be emotional home to myself. I lost myself, with 10 years of parenting and a couple of years of relationship trauma and pandemic. And I was just raised and trained to not really have much of myself going on anyway. Add an autism diagnosis and the great etch a sketch in my head has been given a thorough shake.
It's ok. I'm grieving the trauma and the loss of bits of my life. But there's no point in that eating up any more precious hours. I've suddenly noticed how precious they are. I guess that's a midlife crisis but compared to the long string of crises in my life, it is not the worst.
So yes - I'm learning to be as familiar with my brain insides as with my domestics. And that's a pain in the arse.
Today was the saga of the leaky boots. I have boots as my everyday footwear - I'm heavy on my shoes as I walk a lot, weigh a fair bit, and have hypermobile draggy limbs. It's taken me this many years to realise that those composite layered sole hiking boots are a waste of time as I just scuff off the bottom layer and then they leak. Mine started leaking a few weeks ago. When the weather changed. And it's taken me this long to just not be able to cope with that any more. I suspect I may even be taking long random naps to avoid dealing with it. That's how rubbish I am at adulting.
I'm shit at wardrobe maintenance. It's girly stuff, which is complicated. It means spending money. On myself. That's another nope. And I have a fair bit of trauma from my last relationship around the way I look and dress.
So today was forcing my brain to acknowledge that a constantly damp left foot makes me miserable and I need to attend to it. And gently coercing myself into getting the army boots I'd abandoned because I just didn't have the energy to sort the laces out. And sorting that. And dealing with my ex's little snarks echoing in my head. And you know what? They're great and my feet are dry and cosy.
And I can just buy another pair when they're not that any more. I'm scared of fixing things or buying new things in case it goes wrong and I can't sort it out and then that's just energy or money resources that I can't afford to lose.
Honestly, the world is really awful right now. But I at least have dry fucking feet, despite the psychodrama of refurbishing my boots.
I actually 100% fully own my bricks and earth and mortar now. That's a thing that happened that I've not fully assimilated. I feel a bit guilty about it, maybe? But I combined luck and hard work and it's all I'll be able to give the kid. But it's a good thing to give. Neither she or I will ever be without at least a pile of rubble in a patch of land that we can call our own and nobody can take from us.
I think that's important to me. My childhood home got wrenched out from under everyone's feet with very little to show for it. I was lucky my dad's family were generous in spirit when my grandad died and I'm not ungrateful, but that's my lot now. But it paid off the final transaction to get my sticky paws on my house deeds and I feel more free to fix it up and plant vegetables and just know my kid is never going to have to scrabble about for shelter.
Fingers crossed, anyway.
I think as I slowly rearrange my physical home, I'm learning to be emotional home to myself. I lost myself, with 10 years of parenting and a couple of years of relationship trauma and pandemic. And I was just raised and trained to not really have much of myself going on anyway. Add an autism diagnosis and the great etch a sketch in my head has been given a thorough shake.
It's ok. I'm grieving the trauma and the loss of bits of my life. But there's no point in that eating up any more precious hours. I've suddenly noticed how precious they are. I guess that's a midlife crisis but compared to the long string of crises in my life, it is not the worst.
So yes - I'm learning to be as familiar with my brain insides as with my domestics. And that's a pain in the arse.
Today was the saga of the leaky boots. I have boots as my everyday footwear - I'm heavy on my shoes as I walk a lot, weigh a fair bit, and have hypermobile draggy limbs. It's taken me this many years to realise that those composite layered sole hiking boots are a waste of time as I just scuff off the bottom layer and then they leak. Mine started leaking a few weeks ago. When the weather changed. And it's taken me this long to just not be able to cope with that any more. I suspect I may even be taking long random naps to avoid dealing with it. That's how rubbish I am at adulting.
I'm shit at wardrobe maintenance. It's girly stuff, which is complicated. It means spending money. On myself. That's another nope. And I have a fair bit of trauma from my last relationship around the way I look and dress.
So today was forcing my brain to acknowledge that a constantly damp left foot makes me miserable and I need to attend to it. And gently coercing myself into getting the army boots I'd abandoned because I just didn't have the energy to sort the laces out. And sorting that. And dealing with my ex's little snarks echoing in my head. And you know what? They're great and my feet are dry and cosy.
And I can just buy another pair when they're not that any more. I'm scared of fixing things or buying new things in case it goes wrong and I can't sort it out and then that's just energy or money resources that I can't afford to lose.
Honestly, the world is really awful right now. But I at least have dry fucking feet, despite the psychodrama of refurbishing my boots.
no subject
Date: 2022-11-06 04:58 am (UTC)Much of this resonated for me. Thanks.
I think I'd like to read the book.
no subject
Date: 2022-11-19 12:08 am (UTC)The boots are a little stiff and battered but the joy of not having wet feet overcomes that 🤣