What It Takes to Make Big, Sweeping Changes in Your Life, Part 1

As we focus on our own self-care more and more, changes begin to take place in our lives. Sometimes even big ones.

Good energy naturally fills us up as we start moving our bodies more and more. We find we crave sugar less, as it disappears from our diets. We may find ourselves speaking out more and more on our own behalf. Even the toxic, gossipy ‘friends’ who used to be ever-present check in less frequently.

That’s the power of self-care to set things right. For it’s the natural way of the world to correct what is misaligned …if only we’ll give it a chance.

And so it is with big changes, as well.

In 2010, I left my 25-year marriage to a man, came out as a lesbian and moved from upstate New York to San Francisco. It was a break for freedom that had been fomenting for… well… twenty-five years.

Not that there weren’t happy times in my former marriage, mind you. There were plenty, not to mention the raising of two amazing children. But all the while, no matter how hard I tried to repress it, another melody kept playing in the background. It was the one that kept reminding me I was gay.

When you hold back from the natural order of things, life cannot move through you. You miss the chance to learn all the rich lessons of this lifetime.

Instead, you teeter on the edge of safety and reason, which turn out to be precarious places indeed. If you don’t, it seems like you will surely die. For why else would you hang on to such pain for so long?

Still, there always comes a time when you’ve finally had enough. The tyrant boss pushes you too far. Your mother-in-law (who knows no boundaries) goes completely off the hook. You wake up to the realization your clothing no longer fits. When seized, such moments truly can be life changing.

For me, I also had a significant dream in which my long dead father appeared (in a white robe!) and showed me a city street in San Francisco. I said, “I’m going to live there!”, feeling very excited at the idea. He nodded and smiled, affirming my next step. At the time, I was just beginning to get the idea of this big move.

On that August day in 2010, when I climbed up into my rented moving truck and drove west towards Ohio, it began to rain. I cried what seemed like endless tears as I pulled out of the tiny town of 500 we’d raised our children in.

Not only would I never live there again—I’d never be Soccer Mom Suzanne or Community Theater Suzanne again. I wouldn’t be invited to the pick-up games of volleyball, or take sunset walks past the fallow corn fields, the Adirondacks spread out along the horizon. I would also no longer be Larry’s wife.

Instead, I was just going to be me for a while. And who she was remained a mystery.

The rain was pouring down in sheets by the time I neared Cleveland. I could barely see past the windshield wipers as I drove my load. It was a very small moving truck—but still it was a truck and I was intimidated by it. Just as I was by the boldness of my move.

I ducked into a service station pay for some gas, and asked the attendant if he knew when the rain would stop.

He gave a dark grin, as if he knew just how fraught my life was at that moment. “Oh,” he said, “it’s going to go on all night long. Cats and dogs.”

Yet, ten minutes down the road the rain not only lifted, a beautiful rainbow came out. It offered me hope and encouragement, with a little nod to the rainbow flag as well. It seemed like a sign.

Suddenly I transformed from a lost, bedraggled ex-mom into Dorothy headed for Oz.

And as I drove those 3000 miles, past the sunflower fields, over the Rockies, through the arid flats of the desert, I began to get incredibly excited.

I was finally, actually, seriously DOING THIS. The timing was right. The kids were more or less launched. I really could do this thing I had craved for so long.

By finally putting everyone else’s agenda aside, I had given myself the greatest gift I possibly could.  It was the gift of being truly, unabashedly myself.

Creating a before and after ritual, like a drive across the country, was critical here. As was having supporters I could check in with along the way. My daughter joined me for half the drive, as did an old college pal for part of it. A whole fleet of friends were along for the ride by text and phone. I didn’t include one person on the list who was likely to ‘worry aloud’ or play devil’s advocate.

Instead, I enlisted a positivity team. And I had a new pal, Jeffrey, waiting to meet me on the other side.

So by the time I drove across the Bay Bridge, about to enter San Francisco, I truly felt ready for my brand new new life.

As if on cue, Aretha started singing to me through my radio.

Freedom… Freedom.. FREE-DOOOMMMM!

I had just arrived with nothing more than my intuition, my guidance to carry me.

And I was ready.

NOTE: Part II of this story will appear at this time next week…

 

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