Last night (after Nip/Tuck), I wondered out onto the balcony from our bedroom.  The whole street was silent, except for the sound of the waves hitting the beach.  The evening was warm and and there wasn't even a wind.  The reality that I've not felt so relaxed for so long (despite a hectic day!) really got me and I wanted to note this down into my blog because its the most momentus thing that's happened for so long!  We kept the window open all night so I could listen to the ocean.  I snuggled up to Steve in bed (don't worry, its not one of those blogs!) and we talked about all that we had gone through together.  I've always found the sea to be incredibly healing.  I love forests and the smell of pine, I love mountains and lakes, the views over cities and desert landscape.  But I feel most at peace when I'm watching the ocean.  If I'm troubled, I usually head to the sea, if I want to recharge, I head to the beach with a good book.  My dream home is one made of dark brown wood, with a sea view, to be near people, but not disturbed by them.  I have reached my dream!  Its like for the all the crap that's been thrown at us we've been rewarded for not giving up.  I remember when I started this blog, I was at home just after Pip was born.  I had no sleep and the feeling of no support and because of Mexico we were in such a bad place financially that Steve had to cancel interviews because we couldn't afford the petrol/bus fair for him to get there.  Most nights we would cry and hold each other and wander if we'd see the light at the end of the tunnel. Our arguments could be so volatile and often we secretly despised each other and blamed each other.  Arriving in NZ was supposed to be the start of something good, something new, a clean slate.  Our entire survival in the UK was based on moving to NZ.  And as the previous blog entries showed, that turned out to be the start of something horrible.  When we moved into Old North Road, we were convinced that our luck was going to change.  Everyday was a battle and at one point I tearfully said to Steve, I can't do this anymore.  Its like all the stress from the UK and all the problems we had in NZ had finally taken their toll.  I just couldn't dust myself off again, get up and go again.  It was the horrible feeling of knowing you are teetering on the edge of a pit and one false move will push you over the edge to a place of no return.  I'm sorry for the metaphors, but I'm at a loss to describe the intensity of feeling that you're completely out of resources.  There is literally no way forward.  Neither of us could hold each other up because we didn't have strength for ourselves.  Moving to Wellington was a possible chance of something good happening for us.  An opportunity that was presented to us because of Steve's job and we had to give it go for the sake of our children more than anything else.  When we arrived here, I knew it would be bloody hard, I knew there'd be dramas and stresses.  But there were never moments when I questioned Wellington.  There wasn't one time when I asked if we were doing the right thing.

So, last night as I snuggled up to Steve with the sound of the ocean we knew we'd finally made it.  And to be honest, without everything that's happened, I don't think I could ever have appreciated that feeling as much as I do.