Twas Brillig

Others have mentioned the depths of despair and rage that home-selling can take you to. But, see, I’m very happy-go-lucky and ridiculously optimistic and little pebbles along the way don’t get me down.

Until last night.

I think Hubby can count the times on his fingers that he’s seen me cry–and almost every single time has been while I was pregnant or freshly postpartum (no, I’m not, so don’t even ask, because there’s no telling what I might do when pregnancy is insinuated.) I think last night counts as two. Hubby is a brave man. He has no idea what to do with a blubbering woman, but he handled himself with great dignity. He rubbed my back and listened to me blurt out stupid things during little breaks in my sobbing.

I’ve learned something about myself. I’m okay with hard work, I’m okay with having to sacrifice comfort and dignity, I’m okay with waiting and waiting for the right buyer to come around. I’m even okay with being broke because of it all.

But I’m not okay with being laughed at.

Hubby argues that I wasn’t being laughed at, but rather that I was the recipient of “constructive criticism.” And that, Gentle Readers, is a bunch of crap. This was an attack that was made personal and there was snickering involved–probably rather widespread snickering.

I screamed out, during this little breakdown of mine last night, that I’m doing EVERYTHING RIGHT!!! And when a trial is thrown my way, I get through it with kindness and patience. One blow after another, and I’m still a trooper. And rather than rewards, I get kicked a little harder the next time. And I act like a big girl and get through. So I get kicked even harder, as though the universe is searching for that one weak spot that will finally break me.

Okay, Universe! You’ve found my weakness! Kudos to you! You got me! Yes I’m a prideful, self-absorbed baby whose feelings have officially been trampled and broken. Now we all know. Well done.

And, suddenly, I’m NOT okay with the things I’d been okay with. The dream house being taken away from me? Nope. Not okay anymore. The sale price that has been lowered so low, despite all the money we’ve pumped into it? Not okay anymore. The hours of hard work I put in, and then the waiting and waiting and waiting? Nope. And, oh yeah, that baby that I lost, who I didn’t even know at the time that I was pregnant with, who surely died from all the heavy lifting and painting and crazy hours I was keeping? I handled that with the patience of Job, even through all the bleeding and hormonal swings and everything else involved. I was so okay with it. But I’m just NOT anymore!

But that’s not really me talking. Just my hurt feelings. Because I am okay with all of it. And I’ll get through this one too. Funny that this would turn out to be the straw that broke my back. I guess I really am learning a lot about myself.

And that’s probably the whole point.