We Moved. I’m Not Okay. (But We’re Working On It.)
Hey fam! I know, I know — it’s been a while. I haven’t written anything since we got back from Portugal, and honestly, Mom has been hogging the blog lately. But this one felt like mine to tell. Because this last month? Whew. It’s been A LOT. For both of us.
We moved.
Now before you say “Luna, moving is exciting!” — I need you to understand something fundamental about me. I have an irrational fear of, well, everything. Car rides. Unfamiliar sounds. New places. Anything that isn’t exactly where I left it. So yeah. A whole new home, in a whole new city, with a whole new everything? Not exactly my idea of a good time.
But let me back up.
The hardest part of leaving wasn’t the packing or the chaos — it was saying goodbye to Vovó. Mom had been caring for him and seeing him every single day, and I had my playmate. We’d both gotten so used to that rhythm, that routine, that comfort. And just like that, it was gone. Change is always hard. Even when you know it’s coming.
The move itself took almost two weeks. Mom knew she was downsizing from a house to a two-bedroom apartment, but what she did not account for was just how much stuff she’d accumulated over ten years of running her candle business. She had to rent storage space just to handle the overflow. And every single day that week, she’d leave me in the morning with Vovó, and not come back until right before bedtime — exhausted, stressed, barely holding it together. I could see it on her face every time she walked through the door.
She waited until the apartment felt livable before she brought me. She didn’t want me to be more overwhelmed than she already knew I would be. That’s my mom — even in the middle of her own chaos, she was thinking about me.
And yes. I was overwhelmed.
The walks? Dreadful. The sounds? Terrifying. My appetite? Off. My bathroom schedule? Don’t even ask. I know it’s stressing her out, and I hate that I can’t just snap out of it. But I’m a big old anxious scaredy cat and that’s just who I am. She told Vovó she’s so worried about me that she’s thinking about taking me to the vet. She even teared up talking about it. Which made me want to cry, which I can’t do because I’m a dog, so instead I just stared at her with my big sad eyes and hoped she understood.
The good news? She takes me to visit Vovó at least once a week. The car ride is still dreadful. Seeing him is still everything.
As for Mom — she’s been doing a lot of reflecting. This move cracked something open in her. She realized, maybe more than ever before, just how alone she felt going through it. And not just logistically alone — emotionally alone. She looked around and realized that the people she thought were her tribe… weren’t. That the people she loves all have their own tribes, their own circles, their own lives — and there she was on the outside looking in. The way she’s felt, she said, pretty much her whole life.
It’s a heavy thing to reckon with.
She’s so grateful for Vovó, Tia, Tio, and my primos. She truly doesn’t know how she would have gotten through it without them. But beyond that small circle? She’s still figuring out what this all means. Does she build something new? Does she go find her people? Or does she lean into it just being the two of us for a while?
I don’t have the answers. I’m a dog. But I’m her dog. And I’m not going anywhere.
She’s also not fully settled yet — there’s still some organizing to do, a few more things headed to storage. The apartment isn’t quite visitor-ready yet (her words, followed by a very tired laugh).
But we’re here. We’re adjusting. And I really, truly hope my next post has better news to report.
Until then, give your humans an extra snuggle tonight. They probably need it.
With love (and anxiety),
Luna 🐾