A Year of Resilience, Part 6

After almost a year of chronic illness for our 4yo son Theo (Part 1), converting to a whole new holistic healing path (Part 2), and discovering that the true source of the problem was mold in our home (Part 3), we moved out to spend a bittersweet summer living with family while the kids detoxed and finally got better (Part 4). Meanwhile, we were navigating mold inspection and remediation at home (Part 5), unsure if it would be enough to make our home safe again.

Should We Stay or Should We Go?

Again, I say “we” but it’s really my husband Sam doing everything at home. Sam is the one who’s been in the trenches with all of his free time going to moving things, cleaning, or throwing out any of our belongings we can’t trust anymore. So it’s no wonder that he was pretty jaded about our house and didn’t have much interest in staying there.

Meanwhile, I was always with the kids and we didn’t want to risk exposing them to any more mold toxins, so we kept them away and I was spared some of the trauma. I hadn’t been there for all the demo and destruction, so I was still holding onto this vision of what our home had been and the hope that it could be safe for us again.

We had replaced the roof, HVAC, chosen new flooring we loved, and planned on hiring a contractor to redo the bathroom right this time ( I already had a vision for it). This wasn’t how I imagined getting there, but in my mind we were purging what didn’t fit and transforming our house into what we really wanted.

I knew this was beyond difficult for Sam, but I honestly believed we could come back from this. It wasn’t until a phone call one day (while the kids and I were a state away and he was home solo-cleaning everything) where he mentioned “getting the house ready to sell” that I truly got a sense of where his head was at with the whole thing.

Yet again, like so many other times in the last year, I lost it and cried my eyes out. It was easy to romanticize our homecoming from where I sat, but I knew deep down that Sam had every right to want to move. I would too if our roles were reversed. Even though our house had been cleaned and so much of it transformed to what we wanted, we honestly didn’t know if the kids (especially Theo) would be okay there. So I scheduled a meeting with our realtor and prepared to say goodbye to our home all over again.

I did my best to make peace with the idea of us moving. Maybe finding a new home with the space we needed would be easier — maybe a cool historic house with the fireplace we always wanted. A clean slate and new potential might be nice after the year we’d had. We’d just need to make sure we could test the new house for mold before we moved forward, but we figured we could build some kind of contingency in for that.

Then we talked to our realtor…

She shared how competitive the real estate market was at the time, with low inventory, multiple offers, no inspection or contingencies, and super high interest rates. We knew our house would sell fast with our desirable neighborhood and school district, but we weren’t optimistic about finding the right (mold-free) home as quickly. And we hadn’t even considered if we could afford to buy a new house before we sold ours.

Suddenly we realized moving might be just as much work and money as staying, and we kept thinking of the phrase “the devil you know is better than the devil you don’t.” We had put so much time and money into making our house feel like us and fixing it the right way. We couldn’t guarantee that would be the case somewhere else, and even the thought of starting over at a new house was exhausting (especially after the year we’d had).

We went through the work of getting pre-qualified and what it would take to buy before we sold, but we weren’t optimistic and still had a long way to go. Sam kept saying that if the kids weren’t okay in our house, we could buy an RV to live in while we waited for the right new home. But with 2 small children, a large dog, and over a year of upheaval, I couldn’t get on board with the idea. Maybe if it was just Sam and I, but in this season of life I needed something stable.

Just when I had resigned myself to moving, I had to wonder again if there was some small shred of hope that we could stay. Our best case scenario would be that we could live in our house while we figured all of this out. But it all depended on one thing. Would Theo and Iris be okay there? After Theo’s reaction to the spores Sam’s dad brought back from cleaning, I was terrified to hope.

It was the middle of August, and Theo would be starting school again soon (as long as we could stay in the area). We needed to know one way or the other so we could begin to move on with our lives. So we made a plan.

The Long Road Home & Moving Forward

We were going to install our own flooring upstairs — our house needed floors upstairs whether we stayed or not. So while that was going on (and before we tried to clean and move anything back from storage), we decided to have Theo hang out at the house with us and do a sleepover there as a test — our own little canary in the coal mine.

Sam’s parents volunteered to help with the new floors and the big sleepover test. We packed what we needed, set up air mattresses, crossed our fingers and prayed.

And he was fine.

Better than fine, he was overjoyed to be home. Even with it being an empty shell of its former self, it was home. It was clean, and it was safe, and it was ours. Theo slept through with no night terrors, and we dared to hope again. We had done it.

There was still a long way to go before we could actually move back in — finishing the flooring, doing immersion days of “HEPA sandwich” cleaning all our stuff, navigating the remodel of our only full bathroom, and still throwing out more of our things because they just weren’t worth the risk.

We slowly cleaned, trashed, or donated every every one of our belongings, and began to replace the pieces of our home we’d lost. We invested in a new organic mattress, washable rugs for the kids’ rooms, and the exact same area rugs we’d thrown away for downstairs because we loved them so much. They made it feel like home again.

I mentioned before that we moved 10 times over our summer of detox. The tenth time, on September 10th, we packed up all our suitcases, our gigantic cooler, our medicine bin, and we moved home. And for maybe the 100th time this year, I cried my eyes out (the whole drive home). But this time, it was for a very different reason. After over 4 months, the kids and I were finally going home and our little family was going to be together again under one roof — our own.

The process of moving back in wasn’t perfect — far from it — and it’s a process we’re still in the midst of. Sam and I slept on an air mattress for a week in the middle of our living room and Theo started preschool the very next day after we came home.

We would have loved to move back sooner, especially to avoid the confusion, but it just wasn’t possible. Theo’s been sick a a few times since, and the PTSD has been real, especially at first. Each time he has a coughing fit or wakes up with a snotty nose or complains about his ears, we’re triggered and go into diagnosing mode.

Is it the stuff we’re cleaning and moving back making Theo sick or is it really just another normal cold for a kid in preschool? We wait to do anything else until he’s well again, and the whole thing is drawn out even more. Even then, it’s so hard to know for sure.

As I write this, we’ve been home for almost 5 months and things still aren’t easy or normal. I’m honestly not even sure what normal would look like at this point. Sam and I have still been sorting through what to donate or throw away after the kids go to sleep and cleaning things in our driveway or garage on the weekends. We’re still battling paranoia during months of back-to-back colds and viruses while we wonder if that’s all it is. Our oven failed, then our dishwasher, and then our hot water heater, on top of a fire at Theo’s school right after Christmas break that means he’s been home for over 6 weeks.

We’re still hesitant while reintroducing gluten, dairy, and eggs since, ideally, Theo would be perfectly healthy before we started trying things. But that could take months and even then — between preschool, cold season, and kids being kids — there are no guarantees. We’ve started with some gluten and then some dairy, but every time Theo gets sick, we pause and wait to start again. Even now, I’m still nervous the germs aren’t the only problem.

The reality is, we don’t live in a vacuum and conditions will never be perfect. After what we’ve been through, I’m sure we’ll be looking over our shoulders, always a little worried, for a long time. But I’ve realized we can’t let that stop us from living. Sure, there’s fear (definitely more than before), but we can’t let that be what controls us and keeps us stuck. We must move on to whatever awaits, and why not start today? Each day is filled with uncertainty, but also so much potential for joy, wonder, laughter, and so much beauty.

No, I wouldn’t have chosen the path that brought us to where we are now, but upheaval and trauma aside, I love where we’ve ended up. I love our new holistic wellness path, our clean house with its beautiful new floors and bathroom we always envisioned, the priceless summer spent with our loving families who supported us through our darkest days, and finally being back together in our home — a home I now see and appreciate with new eyes.

With Time Comes Clarity (& Eventually… Peace)

With distance and time, all things become clear… eventually. That Halloween when Theo was 2 and the night before we left our home. Theo’s allergy to Amoxycillin and, therefore, mold. All Theo’s symptoms, the slow leak, and the proximity of our bathroom to Theo’s room and the living room.

Some realizations are more painful than others, like how we would hold Theo in the steamy (moldy) bathroom during his night terrors — thinking the hot shower and steam would help his cough. Or when we realized all of the rounds of antibiotics for misdiagnosed ear infections ended up giving Theo leaky gut and, hence, the food sensitivities.

We can’t go back and undo any of it, but with time we can see that all those little pieces were part of a larger puzzle. Moving us forward, toward where we’re meant to be. Eventually, after plenty of time, comes peace.

I don’t think I’ll ever be the same again. I don’t think anyone in our family will, but I think that’s how it goes with earth-shattering life-changing events. What’s new is I’m not bitter anymore. I’m crying a lot less these days and I can finally step back a bit to see the beautiful yet simple new way of life that’s been forged in the fires of this bittersweet season.

While writing and reliving this — the story of the most difficult days of my life so far — has been tough, it’s also been cathartic. It’s reminded me of just how much we’ve been through, and just how much we’ve overcome as a result. A journey that started with new life, evolved to more than a year of sickness, healing, and resilience. Most of all resilience.

My hope is that anyone reading this who’s navigating their own most difficult season will be reminded that your intuition is more powerful than you know, healing isn’t always linear, and often the most challenging times can unlock beautiful new possibilities you never imagined. Hang in there, friend. Breathe, and take one thing at a time.

As Rebecca Campbell wrote, “I believe that your tragedies, your losses, your sorrows, your hurt happened for you, not to you. And I bless the thing that broke you down and cracked you open because the world needs you open.”

Almost 2 years later, here we are — cracked wide open, still standing, and forever changed with a brand new beautiful way of living for our little family. It’s not the way I would have chosen to get here, but I’m thankful to be here all the same and looking at all the same old things with brand new eyes.

Most of all, I’m ready to turn the page and see what exciting new chapter unfolds for us next. What that may hold, well, I guess we’ll find out.

Thank You

I want to end this on a note of thanks.

Thank you to our parents, for being the support we needed when the floor fell out from under us again and again, and the home we needed when we had none. We can never truly repay you for all you’ve done for us, but we will be forever grateful. We’ll never forget the beautiful summer we spent together, and the priceless memories you created with our little ones.

To our holistic care team, Shea and Dr. Mike, thank you for being the ones to finally identify the source of Theo’s chronic illness, introducing us to a whole beautiful new path to wellness, and patiently guiding us through as we detoxed and healed and learned. I know we were meant to find you both, and we’re so thankful to be on this path with you.

To my beautiful babies, Theo and Iris, I am constantly amazed by both of you — by your strength, your bravery, your resilience, and your ability to find light and joy in even the most discouraging places. While part of me wishes I could have shielded you both from the hardships of the last couple years, I know you’re both stronger and better for it. Through these dark days, you’ve grown even more into the amazing people I know you’re meant to be. We’re so very proud of you both and love you more than anything.

To my Sam. My love, my husband, and the father of our wonderful wild children. You are the strongest man I know. I can’t wrap my mind around all you’ve done for our family, over the last year especially. I couldn’t have made it through this without you. Please know that we see all you do and we are so grateful to call you ours. There is no one I’d rather build (and rebuild) a life with, and I’m so thankful to have you by my side.

To our family and friends, who helped us move or clean or take care of the kids. Who lent an ear to listen or a shoulder to cry on when we needed it. We appreciate it all.

Thank you for being here, for still being here after all this time. Thank you for reading our story. Your support means more than you know.

I can’t wait to share what comes next. ✨