So. I don’t know why stuff happens. I just don’t. I have just under 5 months until I graduate. I’ve knocked this out, and I’m almost there…. almost. Then I got called in to talk to my bishop on Sunday. I haven’t cried so much since…. oh yeah, TUESDAY, when my heart nearly broke into a thousand brittle pieces.

Long story short: My bishop, a good guy, caught between a rock and a hard place I can only presume, had the clearly unpleasant task of telling me the church was not going to able to continue helping me and the kids. After the waves of panic and sobbing (mine), he was super clear that I had done nothing wrong and he was so sorry, and he admired what I’ve done and and and… And I don’t know what I’m going to do…. I don’t have a clue.

Now, not only am I facing the last several months of school, writing a more than 100-page capstone, taking my last math class, applying for grad school, but I’m also looking at having to move and not having the resources to do so. If I think too much about it, I start to panic. I don’t know how I’m going to do this. I honestly have no idea.

The last two days have been a swirling vortex of panic and tears. I had a test last night that I know I bombed on- went utterly blank and copped to it and wrote that for one of my essay answers. I didn’t know what else to do. Everything hinges on my graduating, keeping my GPA up, and getting into grad school. Everything. And I can barely even think right now, let alone write a coherent paper.

All the schools I’m applying to are out of state. No matter what, this is going to be an interstate move. How am I going to drive my car, and a moving van, and take three kids? HOW? How am I going to hold onto Little House until the end of June so at least my kids have that stability- and I cannot even fathom if I have to move in the middle of my finals before I graduate. What if I implode?

When I look back at the last five years, it makes me want to curl up and sob. I’ve always kept getting back up. Every. Single. Time. In retrospect, I’m kinda proud of that. But this last one? It feels like I’ve had the wind knocked out of me, and I’m seeing stars. I want to curl up and cry. I want to close my eyes and have someone else make it all better. I want someone to say softly to me “I’ve got this one, Trace.” and allow me to  see what it feels like to be safe. Even if just for a moment.

Yesterday, I honestly doubted my ability to do this for the first time. I felt so flattened that I had to lay on the ground for a while and remember how to breathe. Today, still raw and sucking for air, I found that tiny spark- it’s way fragile- moreso than it’s ever been- barely sputtering… but it’s there. I’m going to nurse it for a day or two, and hopefully, with a little care, the spark will turn back into the fire I need to finish this fight.

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