Everything about this week followed a theme: a new beginning.
As spring is beginning to dawn on England, I felt like I was finally finding my groove, my own spring, fresh start; finding the stability I’ve been looking for since I got here.
This week felt like a fresh start, like I got to try this whole Auckland thing again, and with Zac and Mama G less than a week away, there’s all kind of exciting things to look forward to next week.
After last week’s admission and coming to terms with my anxiety being a problem, I knew what the biggest trigger was, and I knew exactly how to fix it.
The only problem was being brave enough to actually do it.
As the week went on, I’d lost another layer of skin on my knees, my arm hair had vanished and my feet were now so raw I couldn’t walk barefoot to the kitchen because it was too painful.
I started the week with a yeast infection because of prolonged time in moist bathers and chlorine, twinged my neck again and by Wednesday Mother Nature had decided to come and have her moment.
When that same day I got told that my reports would be ‘edited accordingly’ if they didn’t match up with what was already on file, because it’s ‘not a good look’ if children aren’t progressing, I was so furious I was actually at a loss for words.
No. I knew that this was it. Now or never, and if I chose never, I was doing myself a disservice.
After summoning up the courage to leave my job, I was sky high all day.
I rang Mum and Dad, rang Lorna, rang Zac, spoke to Peeves. I overshared with all of them. I’d got life admin (like booking a physio because I’ve really screwed my neck) for the day bossed out and before I knew it it was nearly 1pm.
The day had whizzed away from me, and as I was making myself some toast, I realised I’d forgotten to eat; still elated from my new founded sense of spring, I simply wasn’t hungry.
When Lewis called, distraught from a rough morning of lessons and I crashed back to earth.
Of course I was glad I’d ‘got out’, but he was still there, still doing all the hours and would now have to take on my lessons, which in itself would be an arduous task, let alone after a morning’s worth of schools.
I was torn. On the one hand, I was doing what was best for me, and the nature of being selfish is it’s not always best for anyone else and on the other hand it felt like I was screwing over a best friend.
The same moral conundrum rallied back and forth in my mind until I focused in on what he was saying again: “I’m so happy for you, I’m so glad you’ve done it and got somewhere different, because I could see how miserable you were and it wasn’t right, I’m just a little jealous.”
“Not jealous, Lew, you don’t hate me, you’re envious.”
“Aren’t they the same things?”
“Semantics. Come round after work, we’ll go to Crave and get a pint.”
When he arrived I was singing Nancy Mulligan and dancing around my bedroom.
We headed out to Crave and I couldn’t hide how happy I was feeling, even when he’d had a rough day.
We gossiped and laughed, and bitched and moaned and after a pint, some delicious food and a sneaky dessert, I hoped he was going home feeling a little better.
As we went up to pay, I opened my purse on the counter and the magnetic clasp once again stuck to the top.
Laughing I was showing Lewis and the guy serving us that it was magnetic, that it always happens to me, and as I was saying: “I’m lucky everything hasn’t fallen out and gone everywhere yet!” everything fell out and went everywhere.
It took me a moment to realise that everything in my purse was now out of purse and it was only when I saw Lewis on the floor picking things up for me that my brain switched in to gear and I bent down, laughing to help.
Undeniably, this has to be quitting my job.
It’s selfish, I know, they pressed (a little too much, if you ask me) that they needed us to commit to a full term if we accepted the job, but I stayed to assess the kids, and really that’s all they needed me for.
I’ve written lesson plans for the next teachers, and made some notes about certain tactics for certain children.
I wasn’t teaching with passion, I wasn’t enjoying myself and staying out of guilt made me start to resent teaching.
I need some time out for a while, to reconnect with why I loved the job in the first place.
In some respects the hardest part about leaving was admitting to myself that the one thing I’ve always unequivocally loved was making me miserable.
I bought myself some flowers to brighten up my room, and as I type this, it’s only 5 days, 16 hours, 47 minutes and 30 seconds, 29 seconds, 28 seconds…until Zac gets here.
Facetiming him last night made me so impatient for him to get here and I had to make a sturdy pillow man in the bed last night to help me get to sleep.
I’ve got a full week of training, both on the job and for myself (perks of working in gym sales, is you get to try what you’re selling), I’m slow cooking enough veggies, chicken and mince to see me through and I’ve got my regular Sunday date with Lewis.
Today, I feel back to me.
I feel positive and strong, like I could take on the world and smile while I was doing it.
I don’t feel like I’m serving a sentence here, and while I obviously can’t wait to get home, I think starting over is the best thing I could do.
We’re planning for our future, for our lives, not just for the next month, or 6 months, or year; in the grand scheme of things, this is just a little blip.
I’m not shuddering at the thought of someone telling me it’ll all be worth it, because it will be; the heartache, the missing each other, the wonky schedule and not getting to talk on a Tuesday, or not being able to talk properly in the week, the lack of cuddles, the late nights, the tears and the bittersweet weekends together, few and far between though they are.
When we have forever, what’s a year?