Oh, where to begin.
Against my best intentions, right when the most (read: nothing, like usual) has been happening, I have lost all desire to post anything. I have been too depressed, or grieving, or something. It has been a difficult summer of lots of peripheral difficult things, and I’ve been crying about all or some of them for a few weeks now.
In the midst of all of that, I started and finished foster care licensing classes. This isn’t the same as finishing the licensing PROCESS – not even close. But I finished the classes. Two weekends and 36 hours of training. I scheduled the first home visit.
During one of the classes, we talked about misconceptions and stereotypes about foster parents. People mentioned the idea that they do it for the money among other things I can’t remember. No one mentioned the one that I keep thinking of, which is that I am doing something special. Something along the lines of “oh, I could never do that.”
And maybe that’s true. Maybe the myth is more that I am in any way special or that I in any way have my act together. Because I don’t. My house is a mess and all I do is sit around my house and watch the Netflix. I can’t go to bed on time and I can’t get up on time and I can’t find my keys and I don’t have any grownup clothes and I don’t care, my phone never leaves my hand and yet I still can’t answer phone calls. I don’t suffer from insomnia but in the few seconds before I fall asleep, the thought that comes to mind is What am I doing? I like my irresponsible life! Because oh. I do. So much.
I don’t know what I’m doing. I never have.
And yet I know a few things. I know that my tendency is to look at everyone else and think they have it all together. I know my tendency is to feel inferior when the young couple beside me at classes has their forms all in order, medical forms filled out and paystubs collected and manageable student loans, and I am just sitting there wondering where I even put the informational brochure and realizing I have no idea what class I am even attending. But at the same time, the next weekend the new caseworker sat beside me and commented, regarding that couple, “Oh, to be 22 and fresh out of college” in a way that made me realize I wasn’t anymore, thank God. And when the instructor commented that if you are really in a hurry to begin this process, he will ask you why, because it’s a lengthy process and not something that moves quickly, and other reasons I can’t remember, I felt better, because I am the opposite of in a hurry. Everyone else is talking about setting up bedrooms and I am thinking, “Maybe I should move all those boxes out and think of actually getting a furniture.”
I started classes because I could. And because I knew it would happen faster than I had planned. It is happening faster than I had planned, and I don’t need it to speed up.
But this is how I bought the house: stupidly, blindly, quickly and slowly all at once. With panic and anxiety and uncertainty in every moment, and a greater sense of calling. I was the least prepared homebuyer, I did everything wrong, I hadn’t saved for a down payment because I hadn’t planned on buying a house but here it was and here I was and here we all are. And at the same time, I had planned, for years. Underneath everything.