Confessions of a Concussed Cyclist: moving

May 25, 2025

I am writing this Confession because I have to, for me, not because I’m looking for sympathy.  I never write looking for sympathy.  

Recently, the apartment building that I’ve lived in for a total of 19 years, was sold.  My rent went up and I could not afford to stay.  Thankfully, a family member quickly found me a new place to live.  A miracle based on the severe lack of affordable housing where I live (probably anywhere really).  So began an inner turmoil, part of me excited for something new and something better, but a bigger part of me afraid to leave the safety of a place I called home for nearly two decades.  

I immediately told my therapist how afraid I was to move.  She had me list my fears.  Things your average person wouldn’t even be worried about.  For example: I am no longer on the fourth floor.  Most people would be excited to not have to climb three flights of stairs every time they go home, but for me, there was safety in being high up.  Another fear of mine was I now had a front door AND a back door.  That’s double the entry points I need to be vigilant about. My new doors have glass on them, whereas my old door was metal.  Someone could break the glass at my new place and enter.  I could keep going, but I think you get my point.  In therapy for the past few weeks we talked about how to make me feel “safe enough” in a new environment.  I kept saying I needed to feel safe and she encouraged me to think about “safe enough”.  We came up with things to do, to put into place, to help me feel safe enough.  I thought I was prepared.  

I got the keys to my new home on Wednesday.  I started moving things in on Thursday.  Come Saturday I thought I was ready to sleep here.  Sunday morning I was even thinking “I just want to be there.  I’m ready for this next chapter.”  I told my family I was fine being here.  I even convinced myself for a minute or two.  I truly thought I was ready and ok to be here alone. Then, the hectic pace of moving stopped.  For the first time since getting my keys, I was alone here. My new home was empty.  And I freaked out.  I had a big cry, and ironically enough, on a gloomy, overcast day, the sun actually started to shine and I laughed and felt better.  I continued to unpack.  Then I freaked out again.  Again, I had a big cry, and again, the sun started to shine.  I thought “I see you universe.  Thank you.”  I then went back to my old apartment to get a few more random items left behind but also needing to get a break from being in my new environment. Needing to be somewhere familiar.  Of course, when I arrived at my mostly empty apartment it wasn’t home.  And as I arrived back at my new place, it wasn’t home either.  That’s not a good feeling, feeling like you are neither here nor there.  I told myself, “it will feel like home once you are unpacked.” When I got inside, I once again started to unpack. I have been surrounded by boxes for a few weeks now, and it has been proven that being around boxes and clutter is very dysregulating and heightens your fight or flight response…mine is already heightened enough.  But then, night fell.  It’s dark.  The sounds are different.  And I thought “I CAN’T do this.  I DON’T want to stay here.  This is NOT my home.”

Will it get better?  Of course it will.  Will I adjust?  Of course I will.  Will this be extremely hard and scary until then?  Absolutely.  

I want to end this by saying please DO NOT ever tell someone with PTSD, high anxiety, and a huge problem feeling safe in places to “calm down”.  To “just breathe”.  To “just think positively”.  To “relax”.  Don’t downplay their fear by saying “it will be fine”.  I’ve heard these things a lot recently and 1. It undermines what I’m actually feeling and 2. It’s not helpful at all! Trust me, if I could calm down, if I could relax, I would.