The Trailer – Part Two – The Ego

Previously on The Trailer

*insert shitty recap montage here*

So we know the facts of why I live here. Turns out, living off of student loans and an entrepreneurial spirit doesn’t pay much.

Now on to all the feelings.

Fine Print

Also, I wish I didn’t have to give this disclaimer but – I’m not trying to offend you. Believe it or not, this blog that I write about myself on the domain that I pay for is in fact about … me. My feelings about my living situation are, crazy as it may seem, not about you or your living situation.

I’m using this space as therapy to process my feelings.

Shame

Let’s cut to the chase. I have deep embarrassment over living in a crappy old mobile home. To the bone, shame.

Hey Jessica, tell me about your childhood. Mkay!

I grew up poor. Not poverty stricken – just good old fashioned, God Bless America, clawing-to-be-lower-middle-class-but-at-the-end-of-the-day-still-white-trash, poor.

I spent part of my childhood living in a trailer. Several of my good friends growing up lived in trailers. I spent many happy hours in crappy old trailers not once realizing they were crappy old trailers.

I remember being jealous of my friends that lived in trailers because for some reason all of them were only children of single mothers and I thought that was the BEST THING EVER. I wish I were an only child of a single mom! You get to eat macaroni for dinner and do whatever the hell you want! 

Plus, in my experience single moms of only children were like, the coolest. Think trailer park Lorelai.

Lorelai and Rory

But I digress.

*dream sequence flash forward*

I moved out the day after I turned 17 and never looked back. Never went back, I should add. I severed my relationship so cleanly with the first 17 years of my life, that it might as well have been someone else’s childhood.

Not only did I move out (let’s be honest – sneak out in the middle of the night), I skipped town soon after. BY-EEEEEEE.

I got married, had some babies, and moved around the world a time or three.

Danger, Will Robinson

When you chop off your childhood and cauterize the wound you hobble through life with phantom family pain. Something hurts but it couldn’t be my past because – look! – I don’t have one!

tis but a scratch

I am deeply ashamed to live in an old trailer, to raise my children in an old trailer, because it means that I’m no better than where I came from.

Or it feels that way, at least.

There’s more to say. But I think I need to leave it there today. Sit in it for awhile. Listen to this song by John Paul White on repeat.

Jessica