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One sunny afternoon in the middle of May, an email notification popped up on my phone with the subject line “non-renewal of lease.”
My heart sank. The message was from our landlord’s rental company, informing us that our lease for her house would not be renewed for another year. I couldn’t imagine what we might have done to make the landlord want to kick us out. Our family consisted of me, my husband and our 17-year-old daughter, and we were normally quiet and didn’t ask her for much.
My fears were confirmed when my husband called the rental company a few minutes later. The landlord wanted us to leave so she could move back in, as she was going through a divorce. While I felt bad that her marriage had broken up, the idea of leaving the house I loved left me devastated.
I remembered how much I adored the place from the moment I first walked inside. It was small but cozy with a private backyard for our bulldog to play in and a front porch just begging for a couple of rocking chairs. I told my husband right away that it was “our” house.
Up until the email, I always dreamed that someday the landlord would sell it to us, and we could stay there forever. The house was full of memories like the wonderful early Christmas I had with all three of my grownup children and my husband and I dancing and singing in the kitchen and embarrassing our teenage daughter and a million other good times. How could I ever say goodbye?
She wanted us out by the end of the month. A lady named Lori from the rental company offered to help us find a new place, and we weren’t in a position to turn down her help. I hoped that maybe we could find a house that was even better so it wouldn’t be so sad to move.
Lori showed us a few places that we liked. Unfortunately, our bad credit soon became an issue in getting approved. Lori told us we would be better off dealing with a landlord directly, but we couldn’t seem to find one, and time was running out. We knew that legally our landlord couldn’t make us leave so quickly, but we wanted to cooperate with her to get our security deposit back.
On our own, we found a man who was renting out a renovated church. The place wasn’t fancy, but it had a ton of space and lots of potential. The rent was higher, but there was almost an acre of land with front and back wooden decks and an extra kitchen at the back of the house. Feeling the stress of being up against our landlord’s deadline, we rushed to secure the new place, signing a lease and making our first rent payment.
We spent the next three days moving from one place to the other. I begged my husband to ask somebody to help us like his coworkers or a couple of friends, but he was determined that we would do it ourselves even though we were both in our fifties.
I broke down crying several times, my body screaming in pain from my osteoarthritis, but I forced myself to keep going as he barked orders at me. I injured my neck/shoulder area at some point during the move, but it didn’t seem to matter. The work still had to be done.
The new house had a lot of problems we hadn’t seen when we first looked at it. The front door had no deadbolt with a neighborhood that looked questionable at best, another fact we hadn’t noticed in our desperation to find a place. Most of the doors were either sticking or not lined up with the doorknobs. Cabinets were broken with the doors missing, some of the floors were uneven and our front gate lock was impossible to close. I didn’t feel safe like I did before we moved, and it just added to my overall misery.
Still in considerable physical pain, I couldn’t help but feel angry and resentful at the situation we found ourselves in. Our daughter hated the new house, and I couldn’t blame her. My marriage was hanging by a thread by the time we were all moved in. Days of sniping and exchanging unkind words with each other had taken their toll. I wished we were someplace else, anyplace else besides there.
I had no desire to look on the bright side. Although I tried to act normal for my daughter’s sake, I felt both depressed and panicky during the day and couldn’t sleep at night. The tools I used every day for my mental health like meditation, breathing and even my self-hypnosis app, weren’t working anymore and left me feeling blocked.
Most of all, I forgot to be grateful.
I was too angry to see all the good things in my life. My heart was so broken over my marriage threatening to implode that I failed to see the good in my husband. I was so lost in my own grief that I couldn’t be a proper support to my daughter, who needed it more than ever. My depression had draped everything in a gloomy gray, and I failed to see all the brilliant colors that made up my life.
It was the perfect time to make a gratitude list. Here’s how it turned out.
1. Grateful for a roof over my head even if it isn’t perfect.
2. Grateful to have my family with me.
3. Grateful for never going to bed hungry anymore.
4. Grateful to be sober with a clear mind.
5. Grateful that my house has a private deck in back with nobody around.
6. Grateful for friends that remind me to be grateful.
7. Grateful that I have tools to heal myself and lessen my anxiety.
8. Grateful for the ability and gift of writing.
9. Grateful for a relatively quiet new neighborhood.
Upon making the list, I realized there was so much I’d taken for granted. For far too long, I stayed in my bubble of privilege and didn’t consider that others had troubles worse than mine, even some of the people who lived in my new neighborhood. When we took our dog for a walk down the street, everyone we met was friendly and curious about her. There was nothing to be scared about.
I finally started to relax when I let go of some of my fear. Sure, the new house wasn’t what we had hoped for, but I felt safe enough and still saw lots of potential in it. The living room was so big that we were able to set up our projector and watch movies on the giant screen. In our bathroom was the greatest shower ever, piping hot with amazing water pressure. There are always good things if you look for them.
Right now, I’m in the process of letting everything cool down and keeping things simple. We’re settling into a groove, although the damage done to our family is still evident. We’re looking for help with that, too.
Gratitude can be the hardest lesson to learn, but it is the first thing that will save us when we’re hurting. I know now that I don’t have to be angry, snappy and short with people when I want to stick up for myself. When I’m grateful, my tough edges are softer, and I look at the world in a completely different way.
Maybe I’ll never grow to love this house, but I can still love every day of my life no matter where I live if I stay grateful. It’s a lesson I hope I never forget.