Seven years bad luck if you break a mirror, or so the saying goes. Why seven? Well, the Romans believe that it took the body seven years to renew itself and that mirrors took a part of a person’s soul. Therefore, if you broke a mirror, you’d spend seven years without a healthy, whole soul. We all know better now but seven also has sacred meaning in sacred geometry for the feminine and masculine. So, it is with some thought that I am writing about the last seven years for me: seven years in Nashville.
This time passage struck me as I was looking at my trusty old backpack. I ordered it before I moved to Nashville, right after getting my acceptance letter to Vanderbilt. It has been carried across campus, across this country, and been the carrier of much wisdom and even more water almost every day of my life in Nashville. Since this bag and I crossed paths, life has completely changed for me. I arrived in Nashville wide-eyed and ready to conquer the world. I grew enough to make friends and become part of a community but I have gone through the crucible in this city.
I’ve told my husband that I must leave Nashville at this time. This city and my home has been the site of so much loss and death in the last seven years. My darling sweet cat, Sasha, died. My grandfather died. My dearest friend, my little sister, Chelsea, died. My baby, barely a fetus, died within my body. In that house I’ve been physically, emotionally, and sexually abused by one vile man. In that house I almost took my own life and felt the deepest despair I’ve ever known. I’ve also been sicker in that house than I’ve ever been before. That house has felt cursed at times and no amount of sage burning has relieved me from the ghosts that plague me there.
However, that house has also been the site of so much good in my life. I welcomed my friends there. I gathered all the knowledge I could from Vanderbilt within those walls and completed my master’s degree. I saw real snow (not just flurries) through those windows and watched hundreds of gorgeous sunsets through my kitchen window. I grew to become an excellent cook and a really good baker within those walls. I fell in love with my husband in that house and spent our first married days there. I welcomed in an epileptic kitten who brings us such joy with her energy at that house. I grew up in that house- became stronger, became financially resilient, became healthier (as healthy as I can be), became a better friend, and became a woman who can be a good wife to a wonderful man.
Yes, after everything I’ve been through, I’m ready to say goodbye to those walls and I’m ready to say goodbye to Nashville. Not necessarily to the wonderful people I’ve come to call friends, but I’m ready to leave behind the ghosts. I’m ready to set disturbed spirits to rest. I’m ready to be known by the name I carry now alone and not as the person I was. I’m ready to wipe the slate clean.
Tabula Rasa