On being a trailing spouse

Recently, I found out my husband’s job is transferring back to our hometown. As someone who is perpetually homesick, you’d think I would have jumped with joy the moment he told me. I didn’t.

Let me back up a bit. In 2013, I was working as a mental health counselor at a nonprofit domestic violence agency . After just completing all the requirements from the state and obtaining my full license, I was excited to begin my life as a private practitioner. I had been interviewing different offices, trying to find a practice that I wanted to make that leap with. You see, I had already switched careers. Working successfully in higher education for years I wanted a career that focused more on the skills that came naturally to me and helping people work through their issues was one of those skills. I also wanted to be more in control of how much money I made(because higher ed be like we ain’t got no money but we want you to work 365 days a year for peanuts.) I thought private practice was a real way to go in to business for myself without feeling like I was really “selling” something. Well, while all of this was occurring, my husband was trying to break into a new field within his industry. To do so, he’d have to move around, like literally, around the country. So, I decided to be completely selfless and suggest that we take a few years and do just that. We could move around the country for different jobs while he gains experience in his new field. Sounds so selfless, huh?

Well it wasn’t long before he found a great gig. A few weeks later we were off to the Midwest. Ugh. Did I mention we’re from Dallas. We were moving to St. Joseph, MI.  I did freak out a little because I wouldn’t be five feet from a Target but there was one within 15 minutes and their natural hair product section was decent. So you know what? It’s cool. I’ll volunteer and go to the gym and realize my life long dream of becoming a hot philanthropist. Because helping people while feeling beautiful is the stuff dreams are made of. I sound like a great person, don’t I?

Obviously these are the things I’m telling myself, right?

Hey Imposter, girl! There you are!

Fast forward to present day (four years later) and here’s what I realize was happening back then. During all the job change and excitement, we were also struggling with recurrent pregnancy loss (i.e. a bunch of miscarriages in a row) I was constantly trying to keep myself afloat while remaining faithful and keep from slipping into full on depression. (Okay no, let me not sugarcoat that. I totally fell face first into depression following my first miscarriage.) However, the excitement from my new career (and the fact that all of my coworkers were counselors so my sessions were free) kept me from sinking down too far.  With no real resolution to this sadness in sight, moving was a good idea. I just wanted to get away from this town that reminded me of the one thing we hadn’t been able to do. Besides, in the back of my mind I knew I was becoming a counselor because I was good at it and because others thought I should. But not because it’s necessarily my thing. But did I really even have a thing? See, this is what I needed to get a way from.

Leaving allowed me to have an acceptable reason to not have to care about my career. Not have to have a trajectory, or to dress for the job I wanted. I didn’t have to network and make fake friendships just to get ahead. I didn’t have to have children to rely on as a buffer from the world. I didn’t have to explain why we didn’t have children yet. I could just exist in a life centered around my husband’s career and that my friends, is socially acceptable. Unfortunate, but true.

So for the first few weeks after he told me we were going home I was anxious and not excited. Everyone picked up on it, but no one knew why. I mean if you’ve ever spoken to me you know I long for nameless donut shops on every corner,  and kolaches, and black bean dip, tacos from the gas station and ALL the margaritas.

But now I know, I’m grieving. It’s the end of a life where I’ve been living expectation free. I could make decisions free of judgement and just go with the flow. It was completely liberating, I could interview for a job with the absolute most confidence because our life wasn’t centered on my having a job. When I got offered that job I could approach that position from the perspective of my true self and not someone seeking to get ahead. When I took that job and found out two weeks in that I was pregnant (successfully this time), I didn’t have to feel bad about what that meant for my career trajectory. When I got pregnant again shortly before our second move, I didn’t have to worry about choosing to stay home. I was free. I would later even go back to work part time just to flex old muscles and gain some new skills without the commitment. Like seriously, I never knew I could feel this free.

I’ve been viewing this move as a return to responsibility (as if I’ve been free of it some how. Hello, two kids!)  I’ve been feeling like I have to have the answers. What are you going to finally get that PhD. in? What career field are you going to go back to? Counseling? Higher Ed? Something else? Do you pick a career for money because daycare or a career you’re passionate about because life is short? Is staying home an option? Do you even want that? Nope, nope, nope definitely not! We’ll maybe just not full time. I don’t know. Well, look at that. I almost have a piece of an answer.

So I’m training myself to view this move as an opportunity and not the end of an era. Throughout these last four years, I’ve given myself permission to learn new things and be brave enough to do things I didn’t think were acceptable. Maybe I left as a trailing spouse, but I’m returning home as a renaissance woman. I like the sound of that. Maybe I’ll make that my headline on LinkedIn.

BTW, I’m still posting recklessly to get over my fear of writing. Forgive the oopsies.