Day 1: Homesick Already
I finally let myself cry. After all of the traveling and goodbyes and life-gathering. After hauling 11 suitcases and duffles and boxes from one side of the city to the other. After a hot shower, I cried. I went into the spare room to hide and cry. Like a frightened kitten in a new home too big to comprehend, I found the smallest space possible and curled up.
The tension in my chest and throat simultaneously eased and intensified as the tears fell. I could not feel the relief of letting it all go; only the crushing realization of my life changing decision. I felt the distance too. Every excruciating mile, now kilometers, between me and all of the people that I love. I squeezed myself between the bed frame and the wall, trying to make myself small so it wouldn’t hurt so bad. I also wanted to hide from my girlfriend, afraid of her seeing me in such a state. She had already done so much for me it seemed unfair to unload all of this when we had only just returned home.
To her home. Everything here still felt foreign to me.
Of course, she eventually found me by process of elimination and by the sniffles and sharp inhales emanating from behind the closed door. She stood over me watching as I clutched my shower towel around me and trying to wedge myself further into the corner.
“Oh baby,” she whispered kneeling down at my feet.
Fresh tears streaked down my cheeks as hot shame washed over me. This was all the crying I had not done, she knew. She had commented on it when we were at the airport. I blamed my exhaustion but had felt tears prick my eyes at several moments between then and now. Even the Qantas on-flight marketing video had made me tear up. I was simply tired of crying in public. At all, really.
The bed frame creaked as she sat down. She lay on the mattress, stretching out above me as she gently rubbed my shoulder.
“It’s okay, baby. Let it out,” she said continuing to soothe me with soft touches.
“I’m sorry,” I replied through sobbing breaths, “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”
“Please don’t apologize. It’s okay for you to be sad. You’ve been through a lot in the last 48 hours.”
We lay like that for a little while, me quietly crying as she soothed me. She let me stay in that corner for as long as I needed.
“What do you need,” she asked after some time, “what can I do for you?”
When I didn’t respond immediately she ventured further, “maybe come out of the corner and up here so I can hold you?”
I nodded my head feeling our rough brown carpet scrape along my cheek. Taking a deep breath I pushed myself up, to take up space again. My girlfriend moved to the other side of the bed opening her arms to me. I placed myself between them putting my head under her chin. These were the moments when I most appreciated our height difference. It made me feel like I fit with her perfectly.
I sniffled for a few minutes, taking ragged breathes as I tried to get my breathing back to normal.
“I miss my family,” I said trying not to start another bout of tears.
“I know you do. It’s okay for you to miss them. This is the first time you’ve moved this far away from them.”
My throat began to tighten and hot fresh tears began to form. I pictured my family in California, wondering what they might be doing right at that moment. I imagined they were out enjoying the warm sun, before remembering that it wasn’t Friday afternoon where they were. It was Thursday night and it was cold and probably raining. My entire world has been reshaped, I thought.
Closing my eyes tightly, I took a deep breath. “I feel like I’m supposed to be happy and excited to be in this new place. And I am. I’m happy to be here with you,” I said reminding us both that this is what I wanted, “but I feel so nervous and scared and homesick. Already.”
“It’s normal to feel conflicted,” she responded pressing a kiss to my forehead, “Moving to a new country is really exciting, but it’s also really scary. Everything is new and overwhelming, you’re not sure how to make friends or if you will at all.”
She paused seeming far away, like she was reaching for a memory.
“When I first moved to SF,” she continued, “I was alone. I had a job, sure, which got me out of my apartment and allowed me to meet new people, but it was still lonely. It took time before I felt settled. Eventually I made friends and I felt like I had a life there. But those first three months were some of the most difficult of my life.”
Her chin brushed against my hair as she moved to look down at me. She rubbed my arm doing her best to put me at ease.
“You need to be patient with yourself. You’ve just moved across the world, give yourself a break.”
Her voice was gentle and coaxing. I repeated the words in my head. You need to be patient with yourself.
The sentiment made sense. I could feel the right cogs turning in my brain, reminding me this was a logical response to moving across the world. My anxiety refused to let the logic settle and allow myself the space to feel it. What lay before me was more than I had imagined in my perfect San Francisco bubble. I felt afraid. I didn’t tell her that.
“I know,” I finally replied, “I just need to make myself believe it.”
