For someone who professionally creates change I am remarkably inept at coping when it’s of the personal variety. And bloody hell, this has been a year of change, and we’re only half way through. Without even factoring in the pandemic, 2022 has seen me quit my job, come off antidepressants after 13 years*, get married (twice) (same guy), see my baby sister (ok she’s 31) get married, and finally say goodbye to our family home.
Good changes and sad changes and thankfully no terrible changes, but changes all the same. Much of this year has either felt like dragging my feet through treacle, bogged down by waiting for things to click into place, wishing for this milestone or that, or else overly exposed - too much too quickly - feeling like I’ve shed a skin and haven’t grown a new one in time (most likely that one’s due to having to learn to live without sertraline.*) I suppose there’s no one way to cope with change but my coping has often felt protracted and loud and embarrassing.
It’s saying goodbye to our family home which has been the hardest to accept. Though I’ve lived in London for 12 years, and before that studied in Newcastle and Leeds for 5 years, I grew up just outside Manchester in a home that always felt like an open house and a place for everyone. In 2 weeks it’ll be knocked down to make way for a new build, and my parents will move to London to be nearer me and my sisters.
Our home was always full of cousins and friends; you’d never find it empty on a Sunday morning after nights out in Manchester, and summer evenings truly tested the elasticity of the Costco trampoline as at least 10 teenagers piled on to catch up after summer camp. It was unusual architecturally, apparently modelled after the Singapore style randomly plonked in the middle of Cheshire. It was a place that always had M&S teacakes in the cupboard and not enough hot water for 6 people.
But as I packed up my bedroom this weekend, and sifted through decades of photos and keepsakes it struck me how permanent that home has felt to me, even though I haven’t really lived there for over 17 years. It’s always felt like actual home, the place I belong and feel safe. It’s the place I would retreat to when my bad mental health felt insurmountable or just where I’d bring my uni friends for a weekend break from halls. It’s seen births, bat mitzvahs, birthdays and even a betrothal. Even though I manage to make every place I inhabit feel like home, filling my flat shares with far too many shmancies, never managing to move flats without a van plus man, Manchester was always home home. Double home, real home.
And though it’s slightly embarrassing to admit I still feel that way, aged 35, I think that it’s a good thing. I think that’s what my ancestors would have hoped for. To be three generations deep into a country that’s never been too sure about us Jewish people, and to thrive here regardless. It still hurts to leave because forced leaving is in our bones - it’s what our great grandparents had to do. But to have the luxury and privilege of leaving your home home because you can, not because you must is a powerful thing.
*I came off my medication over a year, with the support of my GP and therapist.
Thanks for sharing Gabby! You’re an inspiration! I wish you strength to cope with your latest change and come out stronger! Life is full of changes. I’ve had a fair share of those this year, some good and some not so good. I’m hoping I can come off anti depressant too after 10 years, and hope to get married some day! All the best to you!