Originally published February 25, 2016 on Suburban Misfit Mom.
What’s the old adage? Consistency is the best thing you can offer your children…or something to that effect? Well, if that’s the case, I’m the poster child for inconsistency. My parents divorced when I was seven, and following that, I had a new place to call home almost every year for 11 years.
I have two sons now, ages six and three, and I have started to think about the day when we eventually move from our first home. The thought of house hunting is at least a few years away, but I worry deeply about when that day rears its ugly head.
For some, this may seem like an odd thought, but there’s so much more involved in changing the roof over your head than just a new street name or the excitement of walking into a fresh space ready to be decorated. It’s the profound disruption that comes with it—the kind that can shake the routine and sense of stability in my children’s lives. When I think about the “what if’s” I’m flooded with a familiar sense of discomfort.
That may sound dramatic, but when I share some of my childhood moving experiences, you might begin to understand.
Move # 1
I was seven and it was a tough adjustment. Our new place was an apartment a few towns away from our first home.
There was so much going on with mom and the divorce that there was no time for get-togethers with brand new school friends. I honestly don’t recall having any friends in second grade. The feeling that I was a fish out of water never seemed to go away that entire year.
Looking back, it’s clear that a lot of that discomfort stemmed from the upheaval caused by my parents’ separation. We had left our adorable little brown ranch, the only home I had known, in a cute little cul-de-sac with kids in just about every house. We would throw a football around, climb trees, play tag, hide and seek, or walk to one of three large parks around the beautiful lake we lived next to until it got dark. The neighbors had become our close family friends who are still our friends to this day. School was a close walk.
Move # 2
I was nine and, for the first time, excited about the move. I had high hopes of making new friends in the next town we were heading to. Mom was marrying a man my sister and I barely knew—and didn’t really care for. But the new neighborhood had plenty of friendly kids, and I grew fond of my teacher, Mrs. Kandle, who was from New York and had a thick accent.
It was here, in this townhouse, that I met my best friend, Jamie, who would remain in my life for 24 years. She lived just behind us, and we’d chat through our bedroom windows late into the night. There were definitely some bright spots about this move, but it wasn’t all smooth sailing. There was this girl—who I can only describe as psychopathic—who smelled of cumin and rancid garbage. She would follow me home, never taking her eyes off me. She’d walk past her own townhome just to trail me to my front lawn.
One day, she accused me of stealing her cousin’s bike and beat the snot out of me. Following that, she would have notes passed to me in class, pressuring me to be her friend and then threatening to pummel me if I didn’t follow through. The one thing that appeared to do the trick was to agree to have a binder we would pass back and forth full of notes to one another. If I would just write her short notes about my day, she’d back off and not physically attack me again.
Over time, I did start to prepare myself for her attacks. I’d put rings on all my fingers and eventually succeed in beating her with some hair pulling and punches.
There was also a group of 10 or so kids that followed me home out of the blue, and about five of them took turns running up and clocking me on the back of the head or pushing me down and kicking me. It feels weird to use the word “jumped” but looking back, that is what that was.
I was the new girl, and I was beginning to see what that meant. There was a sort of hazing to be expected, especially if you made friends fairly easily and people came to like you quickly. That ruffled the feathers of the kids who had lived there their entire lives and struggled to make friendships. Frankly, it pissed them the hell off.
I chalked it up to it being a rite of passage that if you were the new kid, you just took crap, that was just part of the deal. This doesn’t mean I somehow grew a thick skin, although I wish I could say I did.
Move #3
I was 10 and angry. It was a crummy feeling leaving my friends. The boys from wealthy families that sat in the back of the bus teased my sister and me often. The bus dropped them off in front of large houses which were vastly different from the modest homes on our block. One of the boys once teased us for having the “smallest house on the block” and for being “poor”. Meanwhile, I was thrilled to be in a house again even though I was upset about the move overall.
I braced for impact as the new kid, waiting for the first attack to strike. The first month wasn’t so bad. My friend, Joe, from move number two, visited his dad every other weekend who happened to live on our new street. It was nice to see and hang out with a familiar face from time to time.
What did me in was being the first girl in my grade to wear a training bra. One of the boys even spread a rumor that we had “hooked up” in the woods behind the school. I didn’t even know what hooked up meant, after all I was 10.
I prayed no one would believe this nonsense. My nickname became
“Slut” so it appeared they bought the story.
I didn’t understand why the kids were so mean, but what may have been worse was my teacher turning on me. She had thick, coiled hair and was slight with a Scottish brogue. Fun and young, she’d teach us songs and play the guitar daily- it was a total blast.
I came to find out she had referred to me as a “wench” to one of my classmates because I had made another girl cry. What my teacher didn’t realize or didn’t attempt to find out was that girl had cried as a result of me finally sticking up for myself.
This fifth grade girl teased me about anything and everything relentlessly on the playground. She’d cycle between picking on my clothes, my chest, my hair, my name. I finally snapped back at her about still wetting the bed. I had gleaned this intel from one of her closest friends, and honestly never intended to let that cat out of the bag. I was over being teased, and I used what I could in the moment to get her to stop. There was this sinking feeling that when you’re the new girl, even the teachers don’t know you well enough to give you the benefit of the doubt.
I felt jealous of the comfort she received from my teacher. This well-dressed, outgoing, funny girl had been at this same school since kindergarten. What did that feel like for people to have your back based on longevity within a school system? I certainly wouldn’t know.
I’d come to find a close friend in class eventually. We’d have sleepovers, movie marathons, and she had a gigantic, beautiful pool in her backyard. Everywhere we went people would ask us if we were sisters; we had a similar skin tone, hair color and length, and shared outfits.
That friendship went down in flames when she decided one day to preach at the playground that I changed my clothes in a weird way. Instead of pulling my arms in from their sleeves to remove a shirt over my head, I pulled the shirt from the sides up and over my head. This was apparently how “adults changed their shirt, not kids” and that kicked off months long feuds at recess with gaggles of girls teasing me about trying to be a “sexy adult” when I changed my clothes. They paired this with my previous “slut in the forest” rumor and it was game over for any friendships. This is hilarious looking back on this now. What kids will come up with, am I right?
Move #4
I was 11 and thrilled. We were getting out of this place! No more relentless teasing. I daydreamed the other girls would be wearing bras at my next new school and it would give me a break from my endearing nickname of the fifth grade forest slut.
The most wonderful news was we were moving just a few streets down from our previous condo. This meant my sister and I would be attending our old school! I’d also be reunited with my awesome neighbor, Jamie, who used to live behind me. I had never felt such a strong mix of excitement and relief.
I was quickly reminded about the new girl curse. My glee was short-lived when I realized the psychopath from fourth grade (please refer to move #2) was still very much a student at the school we were attending. Once again, she followed me home, and this time it was even more terrifying, as she had to walk an extra four blocks to get to where we lived. She’d often threaten to have local gang members beat me up. We didn’t live in the best neighborhood, so this wasn’t as far-fetched as it may sound.
There did end up being a few inescapable scuffles with the psychopath (it was sort of hard to avoid someone that followed me home so often). During one of her physical attacks, which would end up being the last one, she did manage to have me cornered and alone. The grassy area where we fought was a few yards from the surrounding condominiums and away from the busy road where people could have seen what she was doing to me. I was in over my head; this girl hated life and did not give a rat’s ass what happened to her or what kind of physical injuries she inflicted on me.
She had no friends, and I always questioned what kind of family life she had. A phrase she repeated often was something about her mother being best friends with a famous Chicago Bears running back’s wife. She had always smelled like garbage, drooled when she spoke, and had a set of braces on her that looked different than most. Her teeth were too big for her mouth and for that reason, her lower jaw always hung down, her mouth open. She had fixated on me for reasons I’ll never know, but whatever anger she had about her current situation, I was most certainly her chosen punching bag.
During this fight, she was out for blood, maybe even death. Just when I thought I might pass out from lack of oxygen and a throat full of grassy dirt, an off-duty police officer happened to see her stomping the back of my head into the ground. He leapt in, ripped her off of me and sent her home. From what I remember, I do believe my mom called the police, but I don’t remember how it was handled. I still had to ride the bus with her and she did manage to climb over the bus seat and attack my best friend at one point.
In seventh grade, things began to take a tough turn. My mom divorced again and worked crazy long hours as a hairdresser. She wasn’t home much and money was beyond tight. We depended on food stamps to get by; spaghetti, macaroni and cheese, and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches were the regular rotation.
The junior high I went to was a tad rough and the bus rides to and from school would sometimes consist of fist fights, hair being torn out, a fist or a foot to the head, or on some occasions gum mixed with phlegm dripping from the back of your head.
Move #5
I was 14 and it was dramatic. We were moving in with our Dad. There was just one inconvenient problem-Mom didn’t know.
Dad told us to each pack a suitcase and meet him in the apartment complex across the street from Mom’s townhouse. He picked us up and off we went.
A new home, new school, and his new fiance were all substantial changes to try to adjust to. A custody battle ensued and things got ugly. We ended up remaining with Dad and our new soon-to-be Step-monster. One fun realization I had was all the kids from the fifth grade school where I was deemed the “forest slut” went to this high school.
Freshman year was pretty much the same as fifth grade. Rinse, wash, repeat. I daydreamed on the bus ride home everyday about graduation and when the time would come that I would leave home and make my own decisions.
Move #6
I was 15. After one year, Dad changed his mind about custody. He kept my sister, but drove me to Mom’s new apartment and said goodbye to me forever. There is a lot more to this story, which you can read in my blog post: “To Spy or Not To Spy, Respecting Your Teen’s Space Is Dire For Your Relationship.”
The amazing news was I was back to the high school I had spent my first three days as a Freshman! I was relieved and overjoyed to see my long time friends again. The crazy thing was just about every elementary and junior high school I had attended was in this high school’s district. I felt like I knew everyone. This high school felt like home. I tried out for the cheerleading squad and made it. Things were looking up!
Move #7
I was 16. Mom was having a tough time making ends meet. Dad’s unexpected disowning of his first born sent her finances into a tailspin. When he decided he didn’t want to be my father anymore, Mom was living in a small apartment in Schaumburg, Illinois. She was not expecting me, nor was she anticipating another roommate with just a backpack of items to get by on.
My mother had to buy me clothes, eyeglasses, contacts, a mattress, food, and spent lots of money on gas to drive me a town away to the school district where most of my friends lived.
Money ran out and we got evicted. Mom’s plan was to have me stay at her close friend’s house while she stayed at another friend’s house. She would try to find a second job and save up enough money to get us both back under the same roof.
My new digs were in the same town as my high school from move number five where most of my friends were. I finished up the school near Dad’s house around Christmas and transferred back to the high school where I had spent my first three days as a Freshman.
This meant I could walk to school which was a bonus. I was so done with the bus. Also, the psychopath had either moved away or been sent to a mental institution, I had heard both of those rumors but didn’t ruminate long, I was free from her once and for all. This was an immense breath of fresh air.
The home I stayed in was a lovely split level situated just one house away from the cute ranch on the lake that my parents had lived in together nine years prior. The home belonged to my Mom’s longtime friend and previous neighbor, her husband, and two sons.
Her son and I were close friends and the same age. Having known them my whole life, it was probably the only home with friends I was comfortable staying in for an extended period of time. They were so much like family. More than anything, I was thankful for a roof and the home-cooked meals his mom provided. What was supposed to be just a month or two turned into seven or eight months. Mom continued to stay at her friend’s house in Palatine until she had saved enough money for a new place. I got a job at a movie theater a few miles away and started to think about what my future would hold.
Move #8
I was 17, a senior in high school. Mom had saved up enough money and we were able to be together again. It wasn’t too far from the other two streets we had lived on in earlier years. This was also a blessing because there was no need to switch to a new high school. I had a nice, fun group of friends, dated various sweet boys, and eventually fell in love. The movie theater gave me lots of hours and I was able to buy food and clothes for myself as needed. My closest friend’s parents had become like second parents to me. Life was pretty good. There was a roof over my head, I was not invading anyone else’s space, and my independence was a short time away.
Dad abandoning me, Mom and me getting evicted, and then having to live apart for the better part of a year had me a bit out of sorts my junior year. The universe works in mysterious ways because my senior year felt like a dream. It was a year full of so many positive surprises.
I called my sister from a payphone while I was at Prom and told her to rub it in Dad’s face that I had been crowned Prom Queen. If I was a child unworthy of his love, I wanted him to see that other people thought I was worth something.
That night I walked on air in my thoughts. A year ago I had been tossed out of my father’s home like yesterday’s trash, and here I was in one piece feeling stable and happy.
Move #9
I was 18 and finally headed off to college. It was exhilarating and I was scared as hell. What was I going to be when I grew up in a few years? I would put that out of my mind and think about it later. I had to think about my life in the present moment due to so much of the unpredictable nature of my immediate surroundings and family situation. That left little time to nurture ideas about a dream job or my future.
California was calling my name, but mom insisted I go to an in-state school due to our money situation. I moved four hours away to Macomb, Illinois where I attended Western Illinois University. College was a rich experience that I’ll never forget.
Move #10
I was 20 and participated in the fast-track program so I could complete school a semester early. I was eager to get out into the real world and make a buck. There was a deep-seated anxiety about never amounting to anything and I wanted to jump start some kind of career as quickly as possible. After graduation, I moved back in with mom who was at a new residence.
Move #11
Shortly after moving in, a situation presented itself and I headed out to live with my sister in Boston. While I was keen on heading out west to Cali, my sister had an unfortunate roommate situation befall her, and I decided to help out. This meant foregoing my west coast dreams and heading in the opposite direction.
Ready to take on my adult life, I beamed at the idea of a place I could call my own. In this case, it was shared with my sister and cousin, but still, I would truly be far away and on my own. The idea of this adventure filled me with joy.
Reflections:
These experiences I’ve detailed are not the norm for most, but I imagine people from military families have similar stories to share.
Do I think my children will be traumatized by one or two moves in their young lives? No, probably not, and I firmly believe growth stems from hardship. However, it does not mean I don’t worry about how they will feel if and when it happens.
Dissecting each move brings me to the realization that the places which truly felt like home weren’t the actual bricks and mortar I slept beneath. It was without question the people and the rich relationships cultivated along the way that brought about that “home-like” feeling.
As an adult who experienced so much inconsistency between the ages of seven and 20, I crave change often. Constant change was my normal. This is why now, as an adult, change excites me, where for most people it is usually a big scary monster.
I’ve been in the same home now for many years, longer than any other place I’ve ever lived, and I’d be lying if I said I’m not antsy about it. I frequently paint the rooms, re-decorate, and often daydream about moving. However, my husband and I have decided we don’t want to uproot our kids, and we will save our dream of moving until they graduate high school.
At the end of the day, the constant exposure to different environments rounded me out in many ways, making me adaptable to difficult situations, and strong in terms of being able to pivot gracefully when there is a hurdle in life’s road. Contrary to what most fairytales will tell you, it did not give me a thick skin. My therapist would tell you my childhood experiences gave me a large threshold for being mistreated, but I just call that good old fashioned patience.
Without a doubt these obstacles taught me solid life lessons.
If you’re a parent stressing about a decision to move, you can always forge ahead and not worry about it, reminding yourself that life is a journey, and it would be pretty boring to stay in one place for all of it.
Remember to talk to your kids about their feelings surrounding the move, as well as their friendships and their hardships. If your kid’s outer world feels scary and unknown, then it is imperative their world at home with you, the parent, is on solid ground. This will allow your child to feel heard and validated and that goes a long way for their overall stability as well as navigating the uncertain challenges they may face.
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