I’ve never been good at math. And I don’t mean “Oh, I’m decent but it’s not my thing. I’ll make good grades and hey, I loved algebra, but I’d rather do A, B, or C.”

No. I’m just really straight up terrible at math. I’ve got 2+2 down but I had to retake algebra and don’t even mention the word trigonometry.

There’s one math problem that makes a whole lot of sense, though. It’s a little hard to live by, but it adds up (hey, see what I did there?).

Joy shared is joy multiplied. Grief shared is grief divided.

Joy shared is joy multiplied. Grief shared is grief divided.

It’s hard to live out because, well, at least for me I like to handle it all on my own. Asking for help is not weak, but it often feels it. Admitting I’m not doing well can feel like I’m not only letting my guard down, but I’m letting myself down by not being strong or capable.

It’s false. I know it is. The walls we put up are the same walls that keep community out and lock us in.

And, oddly enough, sharing joys can feel like bragging. But when friends share their happy things and reasons to celebrate, not for one split second do I think “Oh wow.. that was a little prideful.” Yet sometimes that’s what keeps me from sharing joyful news.

So maybe we could just share. The sad and the happy and the mundane in the middle.

Tonight I invite you to share in the comments wherever you’re at, whatever you’re thinking, whatever page your story finds itself on tonight.

I know it’s hard. I know. Here, I’ll go first.

Today is my last day at home. I’m currently sitting indian-style atop my bed typing this out. It’s been over two hours since I’ve cried and that’s about the longest I’ve gone so far today. Tomorrow I’ll leave bright and early to head to the other place I call home for my last semester of college and the weird thing is, that isn’t what’s making me so sad. All it takes is thinking about pulling out of the neighborhood or a quick look around my empty room for the tears to start pouring out.

My home of so many years feels like a house. I’ll leave one last time and next time I come back my room will likely look quite different, as one of my brothers will move in and paint, changing things around. It’s how it should be, but that doesn’t make it easy. I’ve spent the past two days cleaning everything and sorting into the piles we all know – keep, donate, throw away. I’m a memories person and everything in here is a treasure to me because of the memories each item holds. But now it’s all packed up in boxes because I won’t be coming back except for visits. I’ve packed for a chapter I’m not even in.

My walls are bare. The pictures have been taken down. All that’s left is to grab my pillow and computer bag in the morning. It’s empty and my heart feels the same.

There is great joy waiting for me in Birmingham and I know that these four walls will hold joy again. But right now, in this moment, I simply feel sad. One chapter is closing and it won’t be opened again. I’m hopeful and anticipating the chapters to come. Truly. But sometimes it’s just hard to turn the page.

Now, friends, it’s your turn. Share with me in the comments?

Every Thursday night the prompt goes up and #fmfparty slows down. We write. We breathe out our hearts, sharing the hurts and the joys and splitting hearts and words wide open. Come join us?

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