The process of moving forward is a tricky one.  Knowing when to hold tight.  When to take a leap.  It’s a constant struggle.  To be real, even baby steps often feel like giant leaps for me.

But it is time for a giant leap.

And to be fair to you as readers, I drafted a post on this topic months ago, because I knew it was time even then.  But I’ve delayed both the leap and the post.  Mostly, fear and anxiety held me back, made me feel unready.  Because I did not know where to leap to.

So this is the one where I tell you guys I’m moving.  While attempting to gracefully put into words how I’m embracing the past, the present, and the possibilities of the future.  Bear with me while I stumble through.

When we moved in to this house, Labor Day of 2012, I referred to it as my sanctuary.  Surprising, since when Chris first showed me this house, I was appalled.  We’d toured no less than 30 homes by the time we saw this one, mostly because we’d created a hefty list of “non-negotiables” that a house MUST have.  Our real estate agent was probably debating whether to fire us as clients.  And we had yet to find a house that met both of our “requirements”.

But after a walk-through of this unfinished house, I conceded that it might be a contender.  Maybe.  And after entering all the home’s aspects into our handy little “Potential Home Analysis Excel spreadsheet”, with a weighting system for all the things we deemed ‘necessary’ in a home, this house came out on top.  By a landslide.

We picked out colors and deck stains.  Added on a deck extension and hot tub.  Installed custom plantation shutters.  Created a home office/library and a home gym.  Planted 12 crepe myrtles, 9 dogwoods, and 20+ azaleas.  I even finally agreed to an in-home movie theater, ginormous projector and all.  All things that took a good deal of charming from Chris.

Nevertheless, as soon as we moved in, it became my sanctuary.  I loved sitting on my back porch, hearing the peace of the woods.  I loved decorating the balcony with garland at Christmas.  I loved how although there were almost a dozen rooms we could each be in, the open floor plan allowed us to never be too far apart.  I loved watching Chris play with Finley, sliding down our front hill in the snow.  I loved the reading nook we created for me.  I loved The Wall Family Travels wall we created (pun upon pun, there).  I loved the light coming in from the front door.  I loved the world we built within our home, because it was filled with love and memories and laughs.  Including the excessive scratch marks on the hardwoods from games of Tag, Chris vs. Finley.

But you see where this is going.

Because although this house holds memories filled with love, those are all just memories now.  Although this house has seen many friends and family walk through the front door, there are few who grace the front threshold now.

This former sanctuary of mine is now much less so.

It is still peaceful.  It is a wonderful place to collect my thoughts.  It’s a wonderful place for coffee on the porch, to chase Finley around the living room, and to fix a quick meal.

But my neighbors will tell you I’m rarely here to do these things.

Because, as you’ve probably imagined, this house is closer to a prison.

Not the kind we normally think of when we think of a prison.  Most prisons have big metal bars, and wardens, and no Netflix.  Mine has Netflix.  And no warden.  But what it does share is the cement to my footsteps – it prevents me from moving forward.

I’ve struggled for almost two years to create new memories in this house.  I struggle inviting others over.  I struggle making it feel like my own.  I struggle feeling like it’s any thing but “our’s”.

And so, I’ve let it become just a house.  A house that is much less loved in the present than it was in the past.  A house that sometimes brings temporary peace, but more frequent nights of unrest.  Frequent reminders of what was.  A gallery of memories ready to jump out at any moment and cement me to a place I can no longer go.  Because I cannot live in the past, and I cannot move forward from here.

This house of mine needs someone to love it the way I used to – the way we used to.

So, yes, friends, I will have to sell this house.  I will have to let go of the home I once called a sanctuary, so another family can fill it with their own memories, their own laughs, and their own love.  So maybe they can find their own sanctuary within the walls built.

I’ve feared and fretted this decision; emotions that can stem from lots of places.  Mine stemmed from both a fear of letting go, but also a fear of what would be on the other side.  Making the choice to jump is one thing.  Making the choice to jump because you see land on the other side of the leap is another.  So before making the choice to leap, I needed to see the land.  To put my fear and anxiety at ease of where I would find new footing.

No, I’m not moving to the beach.  The Triangle remains my home, and sanctuary.  The beach is solely my escape.  If it’s details you seek, I am happy to answer privately.  Not all business is for the world wide web of information.

It’s heartbreaking at times, to let go of the house I loved so much.  But it’s also a chance to re-bloom.  A chance to let my legs stretch in a new way.  A chance to embrace the world I love in a way I haven’t yet been able to while still here.

This change is necessary.

It’s okay to disagree with my giant leap.  I disagree with God on many a day, so far be it from me to discourage disagreement from others.

But I must continue forward.  We can all agree on that.  And I must re-plant where I see the most promise.  So leap I will.

I’m not moving on.  We move on from bad break-ups, let-downs, and things we’d rather forget.  This is not something I’m trying to forget.  I cherish every moment of those 15 years. Every day.  And I cherish every moment in this house.

Rather, this is me moving forward.  With the memories, with the experiences, with the wisdom, and with love.  And with hope for the future, for new memories, new experiences, and new laughs.

But, forward.

So that I may find a sanctuary again…