Waiting for Answers Without Breaking: It’s Harder Than You Thank

Today is January 5th, and we are still sitting here waiting. Waiting to hear if we got the place. Waiting for a call, a text, anything that tells us what happens next. At this point, waiting for answers without breaking feels like its own full-time job.

What makes it harder is that the landlord was so confident he wanted us moved in by today. January 5th. And yet, here we are, with no approval, no denial, just silence. My partner’s mom is handling the communication, and she plans to reach out this afternoon to see where things stand. I’m grateful she’s willing to do that, because I don’t think I could handle being the one to ask.

Hope Feels Dangerous Right Now

I want to believe this place will work out. I really do. On paper, it feels too perfect. The neighborhood is quiet and generally free from criminal activity. The school district is one of the best in the state. It’s close to shopping, doctors’ offices, and everything we actually need. Most importantly, it would get us out of the toxic living situation we’ve been trapped in since August.

But hope feels dangerous.

Every time I let myself imagine us there, I catch myself pulling back. I don’t want to get my hopes up. I don’t want to get the kids’ hopes up. If we don’t get approved, the fallout would be brutal. Another emotional hit we’re not equipped to absorb right now. So instead, I hover in this uncomfortable middle space, waiting for answers without breaking, trying not to feel anything too strongly.

At the very least, I hope we hear something soon. Even a no would be better than this limbo. If we don’t get the place, we need to know so we can move on and start looking elsewhere.

School, Stress, and Survival Mode

Today is also the teenager’s first day back at school after Christmas break. She’s in online school right now, not because it was the best choice for her, but because we weren’t allowed to register her for in-person school when we moved into this basement.

She hates online school. And honestly, I don’t blame her.

While it works for some kids, it does not work for her at all. Her grades have taken a hit, and so has her mental health. Last semester, it felt like she just gave up. Between the chaos in this house and the isolation of online classes, her motivation disappeared. I’m hoping this new semester brings some improvement, but I know how hard it is to care about school when everything else feels unstable.

She’s dealing with more than any teenager should have to, and it shows.

Parenting Through Tension

The four-year-old has been acting out more and more. It feels like she skipped the terrible twos and threes and decided to unleash everything at four instead. I know a lot of it ties back to our living situation. Kids sense tension, even when we try to shield them from it.

She doesn’t have the words to explain her fear, frustration, or anxiety, so it comes out in her behavior. I understand that. I really do. But understanding it doesn’t make it any less exhausting. Parenting feels harder when you’re already drained, already overwhelmed, already stretched thin.

Potty training has completely stalled, and with school starting next fall, the pressure is mounting. She won’t be able to start if she isn’t potty trained. I keep telling myself that once we move, once we have our own space, we can really focus on it. Right now, everything feels stuck.

Small Things I’m Holding Onto

One thing I cannot stop thinking about is food. Real food. Home-cooked food.

For months, we’ve been living off microwavable meals because we’re only allowed to use the kitchen at certain times, and our schedule doesn’t line up with theirs. I miss cooking and normal dinners. Having food that feels comforting instead of functional would be a luxury.

I want meatloaf. Or burgers. Or pot roast. I want something that didn’t come out of a cardboard box.

It’s a small thing, but it represents something bigger. Normalcy. Control. A sense of home.

Right now, all we can do is wait. Wait for answers, for movement, for life to shift. I’m trying my best to stay steady while waiting for answers without breaking, even though some days it feels like that’s asking a lot.

Question:

How do you protect your hope when you’re stuck waiting and don’t know which way things will go?