Periodically D goes through what I call employment mid-life crises. He is only 42 and has had a handful of these since we got together in 1995, so my terminology is far from accurate, but suffice it to say, he begins to think that perhaps the grass might be greener at some other company.
He is very skilled but where we live is definitely no mecca for software engineers. Neither of us has ever had any desire to move since we have lived here our entire lives (including college) and our entire family is here. I think I told him at some point that if he ever wanted to move us from here he better get paid TONS of money....because without my parents who help me out considerably I would pay a small fortune in childcare expenses.
The other night, though, he and I talked briefly about the possibility of moving away from here in order for him to find a better job, and by that I mean one that doesn't drive him bonkers and make him irritable and feel trapped.
As much as I would truly hate to move, I also have lived with him when he has been miserable at his employment and that is no picnic.
I was truly stunned that I would even broach the subject of moving and it made me think that maybe, just maybe, my medication and self-talk learned through therapy have really had an impact on my brain. Rather than thinking "No, no, no, it would be catastrophically awful to move away from everything I have ever known," I could actually think of some benefits to moving. (But I am sure a lot of this is because it would be our choice to move, as opposed to a company telling us we HAD to move.)
This evening I wandered around Target, picked up some cheap 5T summer clothes for G to wear next year, and thought about mine and D's discussion from the other night. As I held next season's clothes in my hands I realized another way in which my anxiety has lessened.
I no longer pick up clothes for the kids for the seasons into the future and think, "Maybe I shouldn't get this because they might die." I have concluded that if I spend $11 for two 5T t-shirts and a pair of shorts at Target and G does die, the least of my worries is going to be having spent money on clothes he will never wear. Life certainly isn't very much fun if you are constantly worrying that your kids might die unexpectedly at a young age and can't even enjoy the joy that is 1.) buying cute clothes for your kids and 2.) savoring cheap deals.
One of the strangest things about recovery (which I will always be in a constant state of) is how I can be hit suddenly by anxiety out of seemingly nowhere and feel I might be sinking back to the depths through which I once sludged. And just as suddenly I can be made aware of how far I have come, a process that slips by completely unnoticed because it is organic to who I am.
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