I don't know how to start writing. I've had so much to say, so much to share, and just haven't had the time or the means to say any of it. The best thing I know to do in cases like these is just to begin. Because every little bit you accomplish is that much more you no longer have left to do.
The most important thing, and if you know my heart well you'll know what this means to me, is that I have my beach back.
Yesterday, we just drove. We went. I knew which way to go but didn't know where the access points were. I didn't think it would matter. And it didn't. It was evident, it was everywhere. It just was.
We weren't there to swim. I just had to go, it was time. I couldn't wait any longer.
We climbed the wooden stairs over the sea oat-covered sand dune, and walked out on to the beach itself. The tide was high and outgoing. It was cloudy and grey, it had been stormy earlier in the day. The breeze was a cool one. Pelicans sat in the water past the breakers, which were choppy. I stood there. And as soon as I really breathed in the salty air, taking it all in, tears welled in my eyes. I have missed this so desperately.
The kids began digging in the sand with their hands, Ava trying to make a sand castle while Isaiah continuously ruined it like a good little brother should. I put my face in Josh's chest and, hugging him, I cried. Not from sadness, but from relief. Relief that the last 4 years of my life are really over now.
Because they are. And I survived them.
It isn't just that I had missed the water, it's that I lived among so much death. I cannot describe it with any other word. A community, an environment, so stunted, so polluted, so painted on the surface. Appearing alive, but dead on the inside. No ability to grow. No ability to breathe unrestricted. Nature itself was toxic. And I am connected to nature, particularly to the water, which was polluted with oil and other things.
We tried to go to the "beach" there. It wasn't a beach at all. Beyond that, it felt dead to me. Both times we went, I spent the majority of the time picking up trash compulsively because I couldn't stand it. I couldn't stand it because of the mess itself and how it naturally must impact wildlife, but also because it was unsafe for my own children to play there. I couldn't even stand to see it. And other people? They looked at me like I was crazy. They simply accepted their environment. They sat back and did nothing. They probably even had contributed to what was there, some of which had clearly been there for a very long time.
Complacency. The enemy of life, the enemy of growth.
Unwillingness to move. The enemy of progress, the enemy of change.
These things kill me on the inside.
Life, the chemical and physiological properties of life itself demand movement and change. Breathing requires the intake and output of air, the movement of your diaphragm, your lungs, and many other parts, microscopic and large both. Procreation demands movement and change... Our species requires change! Not just our species, all life does.
That is why the last 4 years have been such a struggle. There have been rewards in it, mostly involving my children. But overall, if I look at my former blog, I can watch myself slowly fade. From a cheerful, upbeat, positive person... to someone more prone to sadness and stress. And it's because it's been a heavy burden.
I mostly carried it for my family by myself. It was mostly necessary. Yes, I believe I should have had more help from my husband.
The truth is, he was struggling himself in the same environment.
The truth is, I'm older than he is. Even beyond that, I grew up in a supportive family that encouraged individualism and being true to yourself, whatever your path is. He did not. He grew up with a very (overly) controlling father. And while I've come to understand some of the reason for his father's desperate need to hold so tightly to that control over everything, it didn't help Josh to become a man himself. It wasn't until Josh left home and joined the military that he was able to become (and find) himself. Even then, it took a long time to learn to make his own decisions independently. His father hadn't taught him that he could, rather, he taught him that he couldn't. All of this to say that I have many, many more years of stability in myself when the rest of the world around you is not understanding and not accepting of who you are.
It, in retrospect, is not a surprise that I had to bear more of the burden. Even the majority of it. I had the most strength.
I did not come out unscathed. But I am still who I am and who I always was. Even broken down. Even in tears. Even sick. My heart is still my own. I am still tender...
And that is why, when I finally saw My Beach (which is only a 20 minute drive away) I cried.
I cried because I knew it was over. I really knew. I am surrounded by life again. It has been proven.
Things can only get better from here. 
