Blame it on the rain

Why do I feel uprooted (panicked, dismayed, trapped)?

I blame a four-letter word: Rain.

Remember Milli Vanilli? I was nine when “Blame it on the rain” came out. We weren’t supposed to listen to “secular” music but my big sister sneakily tuned in Casey Kasem’s Top 40. The chorus never left me: “Blame it on the rain/that’s fallin’ fallin'”.

 

Growing up on the central Oregon coast rain was a constant. The occasional days a high north wind pushed away the clouds were bitter. Wet and cold were the warp and woof of my childhood. They crept past windowpanes and under doors of the crumbling ex-holiday cottage where we lived. The small, square black wood-burning stove and ancient electric heater never made a dint.

The other constant was the wild fluctuation of my father’s moods. Fear permeated the air like water, raised goosebumps like a chill.

The things I carry

My brain learned, fast and young, to blur the present and project itself to the safety of the future. This let me survive and escape. It also sapped my ability put my experiences and emotions in context, leaving vast gaps in my self-awareness.

It took moving to Glasgow in an unusually cold, wet year to acknowledge rain’s hold over me. Rainfall elicits anxiety, hopelessness, depression, anger, helplessness. I feel like a child again.

Living in Glasgow catapulted me into clinical depression. I wanted to die; also, stubbornly, I wanted to live. Which, at that point, meant leaving as quickly as possible and promising myself to never again live somewhere that required GoreTex.

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Photo by Milada Vigerova on Unsplash

Plotting the resistance 

Now, I’ve broken that promise in style, husband and cats in tow.

Maybe it’s a dumb risk to leave a lazy, sunny town for a cold house in rain country, thereby putting my mental health and relationship on the line.

How else can I overcome my fear of rain?

I don’t want to be a prisoner of my childhood anxieties. Avoiding uncomfortable emotions and circumstances is a strategy, not a solution.

To be happy anywhere, I need to cultivate my capacity to be happy everywhere.

As Rainer Maria Rilke wrote:

People have (with the help of convention) found the solution of everything in ease and the easiest side of easy; but it is clear that we must hold to the difficult…. We know little, but that we must hold to the difficult is a certainty that will not leave us; it is good to be solitary, for solitude is difficult; the fact that a thing is difficult must be one more reason for our doing it.

Whatever the year brings, I want to live with intention and integrity, in the rain.

 

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Uprooted

Life in motion

My husband and I just moved house. Actually, moved to a house across the country, with our three cats and a motley assortment of possessions in a hired camper van.

Haphazard, yes, but not the worst of my moves. That would be the time I had to drag my possessions across town in a suitcase because I didn’t have a car; or the time I had to leave my cat with my ex-boyfriend because I was moving across the Atlantic.

This move was anticipated and embraced.

Until it happened.

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My road warriors

Feeling the fear

No single thing triggered the panic. It is the house’s accumulation of dust, spiders, cobwebs; the discarded shoes in cupboards and underwear jammed beneath beds. It is lukewarm water, cold floors and incessant rain.

Panic started in my belly, rose, rolled around. For my husband’s (and cats’) sake I’m trying to quell it but the effort is short-circuiting my brain. I can’t understand simple statements, nor follow directions.

It took all my willpower to not utter the phrase “I want to go home” — that and the knowledge that I can’t. Not after quitting my job, ending our lease, and spending all our money to move here.

Get up, or give in

Right now, I want nothing more than to curl in a ball and weep. I want to tell someone, anyone: “I’ve made a mistake, please let me go back.”

But of course, that’s not an option. Chris is already back at work. The cats are doing their best to acclimate. It’s still raining.

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Three’s company

I’m scared. But somehow, I have to keep moving.