The Best Kind of Hangover

Yesterday, I woke up feeling groggy and tired, and those worn out feelings stayed with me throughout the day. My head felt thick and my eyes heavy, but I didn’t have anything to drink except water and La Croix the previous night. And I’m fairly positive they weren’t spiked.

I realized I had to be feeling the effects of the aptly named “vulnerability hangover,” a phrase I heard and loved for the first time at my small group I joined through church. I remember, when I was in high school, crying to my mom on many nights about some fight I was having with a girlfriend or some unresolved feeling of anger toward a family member. Every time, I would wake up the next morning drained, bashful, and embarrassed that I had caused such a stink about whatever problem I was facing.

Even though I probably needed to hash out all my emotions in that way, it always felt overwhelming the next day. I didn’t know the feeling yet, thankfully, but it was pretty close to the emotional and physical symptoms of a hangover. You know that achey and awful beat-up feeling after a night of over-indulging, that hangover.

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The Tough Stuff

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I have no new Nashville photos to share and also just found these pictures I had from when I was a LiFeStYlE blogger extraordinaire that I never published. So! Enjoy this super-oversharing blog post with some old, lifestyle-y photos of me. Ooph, if this blog wasn’t already going downhill…

A while ago, shortly after arriving to Nashville in a 14-hour caravan from Dallas, I wrote about how overwhelmingly happy John and I were to be here and be moved in together. We were, and we are, but now several weeks in, the sparkly newness of it has dulled some. What I’m saying is, it’s not all rainbows and butterflies and Music City honky-tonks day in and day out over here. Duh.

There are tough parts about moving with your significant other to a brand new city, going from separate apartments to the same home, and settling into a different version of life from here on out. It is a bizarre experience, one that I am still sorting through and will be, I’m certain, for a while.

Not writing about this sorting-through period would be the easier choice, for sure, but I have been vocal about wanting to share both the highs and lows of this transitional period, and one thing I am not is a liar. There’s not a ton of preparation material out there for this situation, so it’s a lot of learn-as-you-go—my favorite…

Something I have certainly learned, and been smacked over the head with, during this transition is that John and I have different communication styles. Like, way different. You would think I’d have already known that from dating him for two years, which, in hindsight, I sort of did, but there’s a new level of daily interaction we now have by sharing a home.

I grew up super close with my mom and sister, so, as you can imagine, as three close female family members, we did a lot of in-depth talking about important life topics, asked questions, listened intently, and offered kind feedback and advice ever since I was a kid. This sort of intense, honed-in communication is what I’m used to and crave in any and all of my relationships (#needy), where as John is more stoic, thoughtful, and reserved in conversation. (This is what I get for going for the shy, good guy. JK love you, babe.)

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