Halfway Through Adolescence

It absolutely boggles my mind that 15 years have gone by since Ollie made his way earthside. I’ve already done this once, so you’d think I wouldn’t be caught unawares, but you’d be wrong. I think maybe it’s just different when you know it’s your last baby growing up. With Firstborn, it was a lot of figuring things out, getting used to parenting at each stage. And with the youngest, it’s a lot more trying to stay in each moment as much as possible and thinking about how you can improve your parenting. And all awhile, they just keep growing and changing and becoming their own people. You can stand on the shore and yell into the sea, but there’s no stopping the tide; there’s also no stopping the passage of time. 

And then there are some years when I wish I could have just fast forwarded through every awful thing that happened. And 2025 was a rough one for us. We lost another cat; Josh got very ill and scared the shit out of us; our car was stolen; Jesse had some mental health struggles; and, at the very end of the year, my brother got sick and I hurt my back again. Life just kept bitch-slapping us over and over again. And looking back, Ollie’s attitude and demeanor reflected that chaos. Hormones obviously played a big role in how he was approaching things, and there’s nothing that can be done with those natural shifts in development. But adding stressor after stressor on top of it all was surely no help to him. At times it was incredibly frustrating for us on the receiving end. But the more I sit with it all, the more I realize that even with those additional moments of poor attitude, I have been an incredibly lucky mama with a truly good-hearted kiddo. Not a single one of us made it through puberty and adolescence unscathed. But the fact that he has never caused any issues that would warrant more than a “What the heck is going on with you lately?” conversation is amazing. Having taught teenagers for years, I know just how difficult they can get. Ollie? Piece of fucking cake, really. 

I’m eternally grateful we decided to homeschool the kids. In the midst of all the stressors we have endured–particularly the last 6 years–the kids have both had to deal with health issues of their own. Ollie has been treated for a thyroid disorder for several years now. And last year he began treatment to address stagnant growth (likely caused by his thyroid) and started a new medication for it. And because of it, he has finally gotten back on course and grew about 2 inches. He has never been a kid with growth spurts, so this was a big deal. And because growth and increased testosterone happened so quickly, it was a lot for him to deal with. But because he didn’t have to contend with school and all that can come with it, he was allowed the space he needed to process it all safely and with lots of support. He’s been able to make his peace with his body and its changes lovingly rather than while feeling under the scrutiny of his peers. And for someone who has always been a bigger boy, this has been so valuable. He has been able to go from hating his short stature and higher weight to recognizing that no one’s body is static and there will always be positives and negatives no matter what. He really prioritizes weight lifting, and being on the slightly shorter side, it gives him an advantage. And I love that for him. 

Ollie has never really lost that “Ollie-ness” about him, despite growing and changing and figuring himself out. He’s still funny as hell. He’s still very sweet and kind and generous. He still wants to help others. He was my gardening buddy last season as he knew I couldn’t do a lot of heavy digging or lifting as I continued to heal from back surgery. And he enjoyed it so much, he’s already making plans for our gardens this year. Considering I’ll be undergoing an even more invasive back surgery this year again, that’s really a godsend. And I love so much that I can share something I enjoy with my kiddo. My dad, whom Ollie was particularly close to, also really enjoyed gardening, so it’s something to keep Ollie connected to my dad and his memory. 

And like gardening, any activity that can be done with his hands, Ollie is onboard. He’s been making his own action figures for the last few months, sculpting them from a hardening epoxy clay wrapped around lego joints, and then painted to look like action figures he has, but with an Ollie twist. He also began drawing a lot more. He’s never felt secure about his artistic abilities, but he just kept at it and marveled at how much he improved over time. I think that gave him the confidence to pursue more challenging projects, including the sculpting. He finally found something that made him proud of himself, and seeing your kid take joy and pride in their accomplishments is one of the best things ever. 

Another big area of growth has been with his schooling. He’s been able to focus so much more now that he has been officially diagnosed with ADHD and began treatment with Adderall. Now he’s able to maintain attention to the things not just that he has to do but the things he wants to learn about. And because we homeschool and I choose the curriculum, he’s been able to study astronomy (his favorite subject) to his heart’s content. And when that Adderall kicks in, watch out! Be prepared to get info dumped about everything and anything space-related. I. Love. It. I love his passion for the things that light him up. It’s an absolute joy to watch him learn and share. 

All in all, despite everything he’s had to juggle, Ollie continues to be his best self as much as he can. He loves hard. He values his independence. He still enjoys spending time with his family. He is such a keen helper around the house. He’s so clever and funny and open-minded. He is a delight. Yes, even whilst navigating some of the trickiest years of his life. He may be too big for me to pick up anymore (Though he can easily pick me up now!), but he is my sweet baby boy now and forever. 

I love you so fucking much, Bubba. You are a bright light in an otherwise often dark world. I hope tomorrow brings you great joy. Joy that you absolutely deserve. You may not think you’re anything special, but we know otherwise. You are a genuine soul and make our lives so much more wonderful being in it. I wish you nothing but the best year ahead and know that no matter what this year may bring, you are strong enough and capable enough to face it and still find room to appreciate all that makes life worth living. Happy birthday, my boy. xoxoxo

My Firstborn is an Adult

It is 6 days before my firstborn turns 18 years old, and even before I began this sentence, I was on the verge of just absolutely losing it. I am barely keeping the tears at bay. And not because I’m sad they’re 18, but because I can’t understand how quickly the time goes by. I’ve loved every iteration they’ve been. I love who they are now so very much. But it’s also like revisiting friends you haven’t seen in a long time. I miss them. SO much. I’d give anything to go back each year even for 5 minutes to see them, hear them, cuddle them again. But the best I can do is go back through photos and re-read these yearly reflections. And if I concentrate, I feel like we’re both back there. And gooddamnit my heart is ready to burst. How can you explain how much you can love your child, how a piece of your heart is living outside of you. And up to this time, that piece of you was constantly around, either literally holding onto you or just always around needing care, attention, guidance. And at this point, that has not ended exactly, but the tether is wearing thin. They’re their own person now. They’re an adult. They’ll be going off on their own to places I will not be. And fuck what a transition that’s going to be. But I hope I’ve done what I could to prepare them for this. Prepared them to be their best self and the best human they can be. My job isn’t totally done, but it’s just not as important as it once was. What a strange mix of conflicting feelings it is. I’m so proud of who they are. I’m so thrilled for them to begin their life as their independent self. To be growing into who they will be apart from us. But I wish I could just stop time and hold onto them a little bit longer. 

I think every parent hopes they can give their kids a better life than they had. I know my parents felt that way, and so do Josh and I. And while there has been far more trauma than we’d ever anticipated or hoped for, my kiddos handled it the best they could. Not completely unscathed, of course, as that is completely unrealistic. But they’ve learned and grown and are coming out of these experiences with a bigger heart and an appreciation for when things are good. Nothing is taken for granted. I’d never wish the heartache they have experienced on anyone, but if one is going to go through that, the best outcome is to make it through having gained something. 

From the time Lily was born, they have been a force of nature. Fiercely vocal in what they like and dislike. Stubborn, brilliant, creative, unique, passionate. Some of my first memories of their earlier life are when they were exerting their will or stunning me with their creativity. Please indulge me while I share a few. 

When they were about 3 months old, I recorded a little video of them while Josh was holding them over his shoulder. Lily was sucking on their fist, and we jokingly took their hand away from them, and the angry grunt that came out of them both surprised and tickled us. They immediately went back to sucking on their fist, getting more and more forceful each time Josh pulled their hand away from their face. Lesson learned: Do not fuck with what they want when they want it. 

Another is when they were about 10 months old. Lily had a few favorite books that we would read to them over and over and over and over. They never got sick of them, even if we did. There was one particular Elmo Loves You book. They tried to crawl over to me holding it. So I said to them, “Do you want me to read this?” An affirmative grunt followed. I jokingly said, “What if I don’t want to?” They immediately got up onto their knees, straightened their arms from their torso at about a 45 degree angle, stiffened them straight and grunted angrily. I couldn’t believe they understood what I’d said to them. I laughed, but of course read their book. Three times in a row. Somehow Lily has always been more aware of what’s going on than we thought or would have liked.

Lily has never been a big fan of following orders and prefers to do as they please. Two such examples are from when they were about 2 and almost 3. In the first, we’d gotten a delivery of topsoil, which formed a huge hill in our driveway. I went to run into the house to grab something quickly, and I told them not to climb the hill. What do you think I found when I came out not two minutes later? Yup. Up the hill with their little shovel and a very proud of themselves grin on their face. No remorse. And when Lil was 3 months shy of 3, we found a stray cat (who became our cat Stella) in our garage. I wanted to go into the house for water and food, so I told Lily to stay put and not to pet the cat because I wasn’t sure if she’d bite. Do you think they listened to me? Of course not. Don’t pet a kitty? Not gonna happen. If the rule makes no sense to them, they simply won’t follow it. 

Lily’s intelligence and creativity have always left me mesmerized. Because they were late to speak, we taught them sign language as a baby. They used the signs fluently to indicate things like being hungry, thirsty, wanting more, etc. So one night when Josh was playing croquet, and it was just Lil and I at home, I put them to bed and went downstairs to watch tv. Not 5 minutes go by, and I hear, “MomMom!” from upstairs. I got to check what they needed, and they signed “hungry” so I reluctantly told them they could come back downstairs for a few minutes to get a snack, and then back to bed. I gave them some crackers and sat them on the couch with me. As soon as they sat down they laid their little head down and said they were tired. So I told them I’d put them back to bed. They emphatically said no, and signed hungry again. Had my head spinning. “MomMom, yay dow” (Mom, lay down), so I did as I was told by my two year-old. Were they hungry? No. Were they sleepy? Also no. Did they just want to get out of bed and lay with me on the couch and watch tv? You betcha. Sneaky little thing. But how could I not be impressed with that harmless manipulation?

I think when they first found out I was pregnant with Ollie, they imagined a brand new kid like them would just pop right out to play with. They were very excited to have a little sister to share all of their toys with. When they found out I was going to be having a boy, they turned to my mom, who had been watching them while I went to my sonogram, and said, “I wanted a girl, but now I’m having a boy.” Insert serious pouty face. And while his crying annoyed them at times, they’ve grown to be best buds. So I guess a boy wasn’t so bad after all. 

Before we began homeschooling, Lily took Gifted and Talented classes, and during one class in 1st grade, they were thinking of ways to get to school in the quickest way possible. Most kids replied things like, car, bus, run, skip, ride on Mom’s back, etc.. Lily’s idea? A cheetah. And you know, what, they weren’t wrong! They had been obsessed with an early reader that was all about big cats, and Lily knew the cheetah was the fastest land animal. It only made sense to enlist the cheetah’s talent to get them to school on time. Plus, you know, cheetah’s are pretty cool. And they remain one of their favorite animals to this day. Brilliant brilliant child of mine. 

I could take up pages and pages of memories of them. But I’m sure these memories are also documented elsewhere, so I will get back on track with their 18th year. 

They’ve gone on a few job interviews over the last few months. Unfortunately, they didn’t get hired at either grocery store, but they got valuable experience in interviewing, so all was not lost. But they really do want a job. They want to save up money so they take advantage of adulthood. Tattoos, piercings, traveling, supplies for cosmetology school. We toured one place and the program seemed great, and the schedule is very flexible. They will likely choose to go to that school, but in the meantime, they’re taking some time for themselves to just be. Not worrying about deadlines and passing tests and whatnot. They want to work, save money, and get back into school during the winter semester. And I just know they’re going to be so damn awesome at it. Their creativity and innate sense of color theory, design, and fashion is going to ensure they create the best looks for their clients. And working in that industry allows them the flexibility they might not get anywhere else. With having JIA (the juvenile version of rheumatoid arthritis), they need flexibility. But I know their condition will never get in their way of achieving what they put their mind to. I’m pretty sure nothing could ever get in their way. LIke I said before, they have always been a force to be reckoned with. When they set their sights on something, they will get it. Period. 

I want to be them when I grow up. They are that strong, passionate, conscientious, and fierce. If they’re this amazing at 18, imagine years from now. I know this human will make me proud until the day I die. 

If you haven’t noticed by now (or have been told already), we do not use she/her pronouns for Lily, and haven’t in a few years now. At 11 years old, they told me and Josh they thought maybe they were gender fluid. Shortly after they identified as bisexual. These identifiers have further developed over the years. For years they identified as non-binary, thus the they/them pronouns. And the bisexuality shifted toward pansexual (being attracted to all people, regardless of gender). But the biggest change came just a few months ago. 

On July 14th, just two days after their birthday, we will be going to an appointment at Evergreen Health Services to begin the process of hormone replacement therapy. 

I would be lying if I said that Lil first identifying as non-female years ago was simple for me. And not because I’m anti queer, but because I had this understanding of their identity all this time. It was just an automatic thought in my brain when I saw them: Lily, my daughter. Since before they even existed, I would think about my little girl. So it was just tricky to reframe my thinking. And the idea of them changing their name really upset me. I know there are other parents out there that likely adjusted much easier, and I wish I was that person, but I will not pretend I wasn’t upset. That’s not fair to their memory of the transition. I am now, however, totally onboard with everything. 

Will I miss calling them my by their birth name? Of course. I say it without thinking. It’s reflex for me, and it will definitely take time to transition. But just as it will take them time to transition, I think we’re all going to need to give each other grace and know we’re all doing our best. Josh and I gave them the gift of their name. And like some gifts, it was used for some time. But now they have outgrown that gift. It’s not a gift they need to return to the store, but one they will put on their shelf and appreciate the memory of. They’ve told us that name means a lot to them, and they don’t hate it and won’t be upset or offended by seeing it. That was them at one point. They were Lily Abigail. They were a girl. They just aren’t’ anymore. And what greater gift could we give them but our absolute love and support? If that means letting go of those understandings of them, I’ll do it in a heartbeat because at the end of the day, I love my baby more than anything else in this world. They made me a mother. They taught me so much. They were so fucking integral to my growth. I know the deepest kind of love and devotion because of them. When it comes down to it, who the fuck cares what their name is if I have them still in my life?

So, we’ve come to the end of this chapter. When I first decided to write these reflections, I decided year 18 would be the last. After this, I will print these all out and give them to them to finally read. I’ve never let the kids read these until now. I did it for me, yes, but more so I did it for them. To have a record of their childhood. To have written, irrefutable proof of how much I love and value them. So they never ever forget just how important they are in this world. That they are my whole world. 

Pookie: How can I express my love for you more than I have? I hope you never have any doubt and know in the marrow of your bones, in the very cells of your body, that you are loved beyond measure. That you are the very thing that has brought us here. That without you, my life would look so very different, and that it is bright despite the darkness because of you. I am proud beyond words of who you’ve become. Don’t ever doubt yourself. Don’t ever question your worth. Do good in the world. Love people. Find the good. See everything with compassion and love, but take no shit. You deserve only love and belonging. Don’t let anyone ever try to make you feel otherwise. I will be here to constantly remind you and bring you back to yourself if you ever need it. I loved you before you took your first breath and I will love you until my last. You are my baby always. 

To everyone else reading this: I would like to introduce to you all, and wish my baby, my beautiful Jesse a very happy 18th birthday. They are everything to me, and I cannot wait to see how they develop into the truest form of themself they know they are.

Happy birthday, Love. 

Mom-Mom

Year 14

Oh the growing pains this year presented. I thought year 12 to 13 was a big jump, but goodness was 13 to 14 even bigger. There were a lot of life lessons and hard realities thrown Ollie’s way this past year. A lot of reflection and deeper self awareness. And in true Ollie style, he’s navigated it all with aplomb. 

I want to first celebrate the wins because this is truly what’s most important. Last year Ollie began focusing a lot more on growth and maturation. He started prioritizing things we’d been trying to get him to do for years. But this past year he has stepped that up big time. He has been the driving force behind going through old toys and belongings, retiring to the attic the things he no longer uses regularly, and organizing that which he still finds useful. He’s reorganized his bedroom to make more space and to keep his belongings where he can find them rather than losing things all of the time and getting frustrated about it. He’s gone through his clothes and gotten rid of what he’s outgrown–which is A LOT. He’s now 5’6” and 200 lbs of solid guy. Literally looks like a slightly smaller version of Josh, so I expect him to continue to reach new heights as he has many more years of growth ahead of him. He’s really come to realize how caring for yourself also means caring for your things and organizing your life to reduce stress and open up more time for things that are enjoyable. 

And not only has he really increased his own awareness and focusing on personal growth, he’s been beyond helpful around the house. He chooses to reorganize things like the cutlery drawer or the tupperware cupboard. He cleans the kitchen and toilet without being told; just because he wants to help and he wants our house to be clean and organized. And though he doesn’t always understand what Lily and I live with with our chronic illnesses, he respects our limitations and tries to pick up the slack for me especially. I shit you not that he asks me daily if there’s something he can do to help me. And sometimes he just forces me to let him help because he knows I’m stubborn and will just do stuff myself, even when I’m struggling. He knows me well enough to know when to push and when to leave me be, even going as far, sometimes, as to practically yell at me to stop overdoing it and taking over whatever tasks I was going to force myself to do. 

He’s a genuinely good dude. Which is not to say he’s perfect. That’s impossible for anyone. He makes mistakes. He gets rude or grumpy. He loses his patience. He forgets to do chores. He gets wrapped up in his own little world rather than doing what needs to be done sometimes. But the thing that makes me so proud of him is that when this happens, he owns up to it rather than trying to make excuses. Personal accountability is something we’ve tried to instill in our kids their whole lives, and it’s clearly worked. He knows how to apologize sincerely, and he knows how to make amends. For a 14 year old, that’s pretty fucking awesome, if you ask me. 

Last September, he also began therapy. The psychologist who did his ADHD testing recommended it, but Ollie wasn’t ready for it yet, and I don’t think pushing someone into therapy is effective, so we let it go. But he came to me last summer and asked if I could find him a therapist. We did, and he’s really doing great with it. He feels comfortable with his counselor, and he feels being able to talk to someone outside of the family is really helping him to get an objective view on what he needs to work on. I’m so thankful it’s been such a positive experience. 

Another area of growth for Ollie has been his body image. While he no longer hates his bigger body, he does want to feel healthier. He’s been talking a lot to one of the kids’ friends who is 19 and has been working out and lifting weights for a few years now. And he’s been taking Asa’s advice to heart and changing his eating, meal-planning protein and fiber rich meals, and getting in a workout every day. He even whooped my ass today in an arm wrestle, which he has never been able to do before! I think having a plan and having a friend who can guide him has helped him feel more in control of himself, and it’s had a ripple effect in other areas of his life. He’s been prioritizing water intake and getting to bed earlier so he’s well-rested in the morning. Ollie was always an early riser, and I know teenagers need to sleep more; but, he wasn’t happy with how much he was sleeping in and how crappy he still felt upon waking. And now he’s feeling good and still wakes up sometimes before I do! And most importantly, he enjoys his workouts; he enjoys his meal-prepping; he enjoys his extra energy. He feels good and this makes us all happy. 

This year is also a bit of a turning point in our family dynamic. With Lily being almost 18, they’re effectively done with homeschooling come this June. And they’re trying to find a job as well before moving onto the next thing in their life. That leaves just me and Ollie for the next four years doing school without anyone else. And who knows what our summers will look like without Lily being around all of the time. I know it’s something I have thought about a lot lately. And I’m sure it’s crossed Ollie’s mind, but won’t really sink in until it’s in the moment. But as much as he likes to claim he doesn’t care about his sibling, I know he’s totally full of shit and just wants to mess with them. It’s going to be a big change for both of us, and I both look forward to spending time just with him and also dread how lonely he may find himself without his sibling. 

But through it all, he still remains true to who he’s always been. He’s kind, thoughtful, compassionate, charming, funny, and silly. He just keeps getting more and more of these things. It’s really nice to see that there’s definitely something to the nature part of nature vs nurture. I didn’t ever really ask my parents what I was like as a young child, so I never really knew if I grew away from myself or more into myself. But with Ollie, I know he’s just grown into more of who he’s always been, and that makes my heart so happy.

And speaking of happy hearts, Bubba, I hope year 14 treats you as wonderfully as you deserve. I hope tomorrow is a ton of fun and you feel all the love we have for you. This world may seem like it’s falling apart at the seams, but as long as you’re around, there will always be joy to be found. I love the hell out of you, my boy, and I am so damn lucky and proud to be your mom. Thank you for taking care of me and for never growing too old to enjoy spending time with me. The happiest of birthdays to you, dude, and hope for the best year yet. xoxo

Lily’s last year of Childhood

Another year has gone by. And now my firstborn is entering their last year of childhood (technically). Next year they’ll legally be an adult and that is an absolute mindfuck for me. Which means I have only two more of these yearly reflections to write. 

It kinda feels like at this point, there isn’t a lot of change going on with Lily. That their personality is pretty much solidified. Sure, there are some newer interests, but in general, they’re pretty steady. In some ways it’s a lot easier because it can become exhausting trying to keep track of interests as they come and go. Any changes or additions are more subtle and really only mentioned if they go beyond a passing thought. Is it less exciting now that they’re older? Sure. But so too is it more stable and predictable. And in a world and our lives where instability has been the norm, I think we’ll all take this reprieve. 

At one point this spring, Lily said to me something along the lines of, “We’re X amount of time through 2024 already and what have I even done?” I told her straight out: “You’ve done nothing but live and try to be happy, which is exactly what you should have done.” After so long of struggling and grieving and waiting for the other shoe to drop, they were finally able to take some deep breaths and just be. In general I hate the mentality that we must be productive constantly, but I especially hate that children feel they need to be “productive” and contributing. Lily is especially astute and notices when Josh and I are stressing more. They want to help. They want to do something to alleviate any burdens we’re carrying. And I keep telling them I just need them to be a kid. They won’t have the benefit of being a kid and not having to work much longer. Soak it all in as long as you can. 

Thankfully Lily hasn’t lost all sense of whimsy. They have been particularly interested in things they haven’t been in years, like plushies and miniature toys. They’ve also recently gone back to video games they haven’t played in years. Just little slices of joy to balance out a world that’s practically crumbling before their eyes. What enormous strength it takes to see things for what they truly are and decide you’re not giving in to the ugliness. The determination Lily shows goes beyond their years. And maybe that’s a result of the trauma they’ve experienced. And maybe it’s also just a part of who they’ve always been. You’ve never been able to tell Lily anything they didn’t want to hear, and they would prove you wrong at every turn if you tried.

To say I am both in awe of and immensely proud of my child is an understatement. I think most parents hope that they raise kids that exceed themselves. That are stronger, more capable, happier, etc. And to know that my kids definitely are makes me think maybe I did one thing very well, if nothing else. The world may not be ok, but despite that, I know Lily absolutely will be. 

And what is probably the best thing about having an older kid is that they’ve truly become like  a friend. I know a lot of people think you can’t be a parent and a friend to your kids, but I disagree. We have so much fun together. We like and obsess over some similar things. They’re funny and clever and keep me on my toes. And they are compassionate and get me. 

And the absolute 100% best part about Lily is that they continue to be absolutely unapologetically themselves. They dress how they like. Their hair and makeup is how they’d like. And they nerd out on things that others might think are stupid. And why? Because they like it and don’t give a shit what others think. They’ve been hyper-fixated on the Saw movie franchise and Hello Kitty characters. They’ve been playing D & D with a group of kids hosted by a longtime friend from elementary school. They have a bunch of Squishmallows, and yes, they do sleep with them. Life is too damn short to do things that don’t fill your soul. 

Well, Lily, here’s to you l ast year of childhood. May it be better than the best year you’ve had yet. May you accomplish everything you set out to do and may you find peace with looking toward the future. Whether you’re 17 or 47, as long as I’m alive, I will be here for you in every and all capacities I’m able to. I will forever be your biggest cheerleader and place you can turn to when all else fails. I love you so deeply. You’re my heart walking around outside of my body. I hope this next year is everything you’ve needed and deserved. 

Happiest of birthdays, my dear Pookie. May you always know just how loved and valued you are. xoxoxo

My last baby is a teenager!

My last baby is officially a teenager!  My god what a whirlwind it’s been. How fucking fast it’s all gone by. All these teenage hormones have been an adventure navigating sometimes. But unlike a lot of teenagers, I’d bet, Ollie always tries his best to not be snarky or if he’s a bit unbearable, he will quickly apologize afterwards. There’s nothing else in this world that kid works as hard on as making sure he’s his best self and loving everyone. And he’s had a lot of moments over the last two years to practice this. 

Bubba has always been a sweet, lovable, good-natured person. It was very obvious even from babyhood. He’s always been one of those people you’re just drawn to. He’s just so damn easy to get along with. A crowd favorite, if you will. How he can remain so damn strong and resilient and happy throughout all he’s been through is beyond me. Fucking admirable as hell. He inspires me to be my best self. How amazing, if a little surreal, to have kids that are so amazing that you look up to them. But he and Lily are just those kinds of people. And goddamn am I so fucking proud. 

Looking back at his last year’s reflection, I can see the growth in him so easily. Granted he’s still a teen boy who needs to be reminded to do simple tasks, but recently he’s been self-motivated to be better. “I’m almost 13; it’s time I get myself together.” he has said many times. He’s cleaning his room and keeping it that way. Showering without being told. Learning to cook more on his own. Just being a little man. It’s truly a testament to letting kids develop on their own. When they’re ready, they’ll do it. It was like a switch was flipped in him and all the things we’ve been guiding him to do has become second nature. Lily matured more gradually and steadily. Ollie just woke up one day and decided he was going to figure it all out. It’s wonderful that he’s taking pride in taking care of himself while it’s also giving me all the feels that my last baby is all growed up. 

But even though he’s talking like a grown ass man (still some cracks to his voice I like to lovingly tease him about), he’s still a silly goofball, same as he’s always been. He still makes us laugh our asses off with his Fortnite dances and memorizing and performing commercials for us or messing up lyrics to songs in the most hilarious ways. 

But I’d be giving a very artificial view of his last year if I didn’t mention all the hard stuff. Because there was plenty. 

When I wrote his last birthday reflection, he was missing his grandma, but his papa was still around. My dad had always been Ollie’s biggest fan. If I’m being honest, I’m pretty sure Ollie was his favorite. it’s just that Ollie had always been an easy kiddo. He was always up for any adventure and took all jokes and pranks as the fun they were intended to be. He was always up for roughhousing and always excited to get snacks and treats only grandparents generally pushed his way.  So at least last year, he still had my dad around to somewhat quell his sadness over my mom being gone. And, unfortunately, this year he’s gone too. And like my mom’s absence hit Lily harder, my dad’s passing really affected Ollie deeply. And the fact that my dad won’t be here to read this kinda kills me. And I know it’s weighing on him too. 

Ollie also went through testing for ADHD last summer. It took several days and hours of testing each time. And while he definitely has ADHD symptoms, because of everything going on in our lives and his OCD, the psychologist wouldn’t officially diagnose him yet. So he went through all that testing, hoping he’d finally get some additional support, only to have to continue supporting himself. And he has. He’s been great about noticing his triggers and finding solutions for everything. He’s a fucking champ, taking it all in stride. 

And if that’s not enough, he also had to navigate having his other grandparents reintroduced into his life and then quickly thereafter having one of them taken away. I know it had to be awkward and confusing and uncertain at first. But in true Ollie fashion, he put his whole self into it. He shared all his interests. Talked his other Papa’s ear off about everything and anything. Really bonded with him in the month and a half he had. I couldn’t have been any more proud of and appreciative of him for that. I know for a fact that it brought so much joy to his grandfather and he was able to leave this world having loved on the kids again. 

What an absolute treasure of a human Ollie is. And I don’t know how I got to be so lucky to be his mom, but fuck am I glad I am. This child of mine, who is now taller than me, never lets me go to bed without a hug and kiss good night. He reminds me to take care of myself and lovingly scolds me when I’m doing too much. I think some people are just born with more empathy and compassion, and he is definitely one of those people. Ollie is a warm hug and deep belly laughter personified. What more can I say? He’s just the fucking best. 

Well, Bubba, my baby boy, a very happy 13th birthday. I can’t wait to see your smiling face when you wake up tomorrow and see your birthday cake. I can’t wait to hear your laughter and joy throughout the day as we celebrate all that you are. You’re a goddamn blessing to our lives. I wish, sometimes, I could go back and snuggle your little baby self, have you fall asleep on my chest. But I adore the person you’ve become and I know this is just the beginning of you turning into the most amazing man on the planet. I love you so fiercely. I hope tomorrow brings you nothing but happiness and you get all the love you deserve and more. Happiest of birthdays my sweet boy.

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When I started practicing yoga, I did so because I wanted a type of exercise that I could do. I hate cardio. I hate gyms, especially. And yoga was the ticket. I felt strong and capable for once.

Flash forward to practicing for some odd years and seeing how it helped me mentally as well as physically, I decided to start taking it more seriously. I joined Yoga challenges on Instagram because it was an easy way of holding myself accountable. I studied others and learned new poses. I found meditation more worth my time than before. I started embracing the practice as a whole.

And like a lot of forms of exercise/lifestyle, I got hooked. I started appreciating my body and what it could do rather than dwelling on what it couldn’t do. It was one of the first times I really appreciated and respected myself; when I felt comfortable and confident and strong.

And then I fell into teaching. It was not really in my plans, but I found myself there and it was equal parts amazing and terrifying. But I absolutely loved it. I loved hearing from people in my classes that yoga started feeling to them what it had felt to me. I’m a helper in my core, and knowing I was helping others find that confidence was such a gift.

If someone tells you they don’t get any happiness over feeling valued by others, they’re lying. Teaching made me feel important. It made me feel seen. And working hard to create a space that was welcoming and supportive became my hyperfixation for awhile.

But as life sometimes throws wrenches in your plans, life threw the whole fucking toolbox my way.

The Covid lockdown turned the yoga studio on its head and made us have to completely rethink how we would offer classes. It was a lot of mental energy to expend, particularly when we were all stressing and scared. But we soldiered on. We did our best and tried to do what we could. A LOT of students never came back to classes after that, which hurt the studio and the teachers.

By 2021 when classes were returning to in-person and shifting in other ways, my mom began showing signs of being very ill. It was also during this time that I was working on getting diagnosed with multiple autoimmune diseases. If you know anything about being diagnosed with a chronic illness, you’ll know it’s a very long process. Lots of ups and downs and having to advocate fiercely for yourself. It’s not easy, ultimately, and exhausts an already tired and frustrated person.

Between fall of 2021 and the spring of 2022, life is very much a blur in my memory. I lived off of adrenaline and the knowledge that I simply could not break down. Maybe one of these days I’ll actually write about the months surrounding my mother’s death and my leaving Yoga Parkside. I’m just not ready yet, I don’t think. Suffice it to say that both were full of grief and life-altering.

Long story short, I used my job as a way to dull the pain of losing my mom. I threw myself into—yet again—focusing on others before myself. In some ways that’s just so much easier than facing reality.

And after leaving YP, but not yet ready to stop teaching, I then used all my time and energy to open a new studio. Which, again, was incredibly fulfilling in many ways. But almost like the high of adrenaline must fizzle out, my ability to continue at that pace also fizzled out. I started having more health issues, my meds first showing signs of losing their efficacy. Then my dad’s health deteriorated very rapidly, and I found myself back to that place of knowing I didn’t have the option of not pushing forward despite all. Like déjà vu all over again.
I can only guess at what that amount of sustained stress did to my body. I know I’ve not felt well in over a year, but I’m just now finally admitting it. To be fair, it was hard to know what was causing it when I was dealing with so much all at once.

I’ve tried to keep my classes going the best I could for as long as I could. I never wanted my students, who I’ve grown to really care about, to not have somewhere to go where they felt comfortable. And in focusing more on them than myself, I have let myself down.

And right now, I need to give all my energy to myself and my family. I need to tap into that same “I have to keep going despite all” energy, just refocusing its target to not committing to anything else.

I need to garden and read and laugh with my kids and take walks with my husband and sit in the sunshine. I need to move my body for myself again. Not because I need to keep up with teaching. Not because people are paying to see it. But because I need to see me. I need to really relearn to see myself as whole again.

I hate my body right now. I hate how much strength I’ve lost. I hate how my illness has taken even simple things from me. I hate that I no longer feel in control. It has me spinning out.
And because the only way past is through, I need to actually process through it rather than shoving it aside because I don’t have the time, energy, bravery, etc. I can’t be anything to others right now because I can’t be what I need. And I refuse to fake it. If there’s one thing that people who’ve known me for some time know, it’s that I don’t bullshit. What you see/hear is what you get. And right now, what you’d get is not what anyone deserves. I’ve got to fix mysejf up before even thinking about helping anyone else.

So that’s what I’m planning on doing this year. I’m suspending all classes. I’m turning down any further commitments. It’s going to be an effort to say no. But I am determined to give myself the dedication and concern I’ve been giving others.

I think this is a good place for me to take that step back without it deeply impacting a lot of people. Engagement and registrations have been low the last couple of months. It just makes sense to ease away now.

I hope everyone who has been taking my classes understands this. And I hope that if/when the times comes again for me to move back into that role, I’ll see you again. 💕

Choosing Me

Growing up in the 1980’s and 1990’s, knowledge of neurodivergencies was next to nothing. Anything we knew about ADHD or autism was the most basic, stereotyped and misinformed qualities. It wasn’t until my 30’s when I felt I had a better understanding of it, which is sad to say considering I went through two degrees of high education in learning to be a teacher. But even still, all I learned was mostly the most obvious signs that someone might have ADHD or autism. And certainly these descriptions and qualities never felt representative of my brand of unusual. 

So imagine my surprise when I started taking diagnostic tests and realizing how much I related to the questions asked. It started with my firstborn asking these questions aloud to me kind of as a joke, and I was blown away. I remember I kept saying to them, “But that’s normal, isn’t it??” I couldn’t believe that I had made it to age 40 without knowing this about myself. I took all the diagnostic tests I could find, assuming eventually I’d find the error. I even took some tests more than once months apart to make sure I wasn’t just having an off day. 

Every single test came back with the result of: “highly likely autistic” Every. Single. One. 

To be officially diagnosed as an adult is very difficult. Not only because you need to seek out a professional trained in identifying and evaluating adults since most are trained (and tests are created) for children, but not all health insurances will cover the testing, which means potentially thousands of dollars out of pocket. I’m perfectly fine never having a psychiatrist hand me my “autism diploma”. I’ve made it this far with this brain; I think I’ll be good to go from here with my greater awareness. 

This greater awareness, while being overwhelming at first, has allowed me to see myself for the first time in four decades as normal. Not normal in the sense that I’m like everyone else, but normal in that all of these things I thought were uniquely wrong or weird about me aren’t unique or wrong or weird after all! It’s given me the opening to explore some feelings I’ve held onto for a very long time and to see myself with deeper compassion. 

For my entire life, I have struggled with human relationships. Sure, I’ve had friends–some I’ve had for decades–but it was never easy for me to make them or keep them. I always felt like I was playing Simon Says and sometimes getting it right, but oftentimes not. Always looking around at what others were doing, needing to learn and adapt, but never feeling completely at home in myself around other people. Knowing I was different, but couldn’t figure out why or how to fix it. 

Two very obvious (at least now) examples stick out to me. I have always felt things deeply, and that includes my friendships, even if it’s not always obvious to others. And there were times that the people I considered my best friends would get new friends that I didn’t know and didn’t hang out with. Most other people wouldn’t bat an eye at that. But my mind immediately started thinking I was being replaced. Clearly I wasn’t good enough. I did something and now they’ve decided someone else is better. Because in the back of my mind, I always knew that I was faking it to some extent. That I was playing a role, and if they found another friend, it was because I hadn’t played it well enough. Of course those friendships didn’t end just because they gained another friend. And I too, obviously, had more than the one friend myself, so why I felt so scared of being abandoned is still beyond me. 

Of course I have had friendships that ended in adulthood, many of which ended because of change in life circumstances–college ended, switched jobs, etc. And even still some of those friendship ends haunt me in a way. I still wonder what went wrong. The logical part of me says nothing other than those obvious changes in jobs, life events, etc.; but, the part of me that will always struggle socially worries about what I did wrong and why I wasn’t good enough to keep around. 

With these big social feelings came my selective mutism. Mind you, I had no idea that’s what it was in my childhood when it was most obvious, but I know now. In distress–most often when I was out of routine and sleeping at a friend’s house–I would go mute and nothing and no one could get me to talk. I couldn’t explain what I was feeling inside. Shit, I didn’t understand it myself. I had chosen to sleepover my friend’s house. So why was I all of a sudden panicking? As much as I wanted to explain, I just couldn’t. And the more this happened, the worse I felt about it to the point where I just learned to be silent about just about anything that upset me. I could always sense that my feelings were found unusual, and I wanted to be anything but unusual. And the thought of trying to explain this was too much. 

Even now, when I’m overwhelmingly upset about something, I shut down. And when I wish I could tell someone some hard truths about why I’m upset, I don’t because if I come across as blowing things out of proportion, I’ll feel even worse. So I just assume I misread our relationship, which does make me feel shitty, but at least I can make this assumption without the other person reiterating that and making me feel like a spectacle. There are several people whom I thought I was friends with (at least casually) from my previous yoga studio who I barely spoke to after I left. And honestly, it’s incredibly embarrassing to realize how wrong I was about my importance to them. 

And it’s this that has me reconsidering how much energy and effort I’ve put in to make others happy. How many times I’ve done things not for my greatest good, but because I felt they were expected of me and I didn’t want to let others down. Opening my studio was a very eye-opening experience because many of the people who said they’d come support me never did. I genuinely believed I was making something for them. A place where they could continue to feel supported by classes they loved outside of an environment that was false. Of course I too wanted to be in an environment that was positive and authentic, but I could have just walked away from that studio and took some space from the changes that were happening. But I created a space for these people who I believed needed it. And come to find out, they didn’t. They didn’t need me after all. 

Is that heartbreaking? Yes, in a lot of ways it is. Did I ever approach them about it? No, because even I know that’s not something that is socially acceptable. Like, what would I do, ask, “Hey, why didn’t you ever come to my studio? I thought we were friends”? Ugh, no thank you. My skin crawls just thinking of how awkward that would be. 

No, instead, I’ve learned a lot about myself. I’ve transformed that heartache into a stronger sense of boundaries and communication. I’m working on prioritizing my true desires and needs above others’. There are people I know without a doubt will always be there for me, supporting me, loving me, cheering me on. I know who those people are. I keep them close. And now that I have learned that not all friendships are as they appear to be or how I interpret them to be, it has given me the freedom to focus more on what I truly want. How I need to live my life. What’s best for my well-being. I don’t need to be all things to all people. I can be an acquired taste and be ok with that. I don’t need to be the perpetual fixer or giver. 

It’s a sense of freedom that is equal parts exciting and scary. I have to learn how to be more me. I have to learn to distinguish my thoughts as my own versus what I think others want. And I have to really dedicate myself to expending energy only where it’s best received. But with that comes the promise of a life that feels more real. The possibility of feeling truly appreciated and supported. And the prospect of choosing myself first. If my choices make situations that help others, then great. But no longer will I make myself be what others need if it’s not what I need first. And I’m ready for this.

Slow Down

Part of having a chronic illness is the possibility of medications no longer working and needing to switch to something new. And in that meantime, you just have to ride out the waves of pain and fatigue. There’s genuinely not much else you can do but hope that it all resolves as quickly as possible so that your limbo won’t go beyond what you are capable of enduring with a smile on your face. 

This is a place I find myself residing right now: stuck back at the beginning but worse in some ways. When I first got diagnosed and started the medication I just ended, I was just beginning this disease in some ways. The pain and fatigue were burdensome, but tolerable. I was just mainly growing tired of not being able to be as active as I once was, which is what ultimately led me to seek answers. And now I’m so far into it that even when I was properly medicated, there was still a lot of compromise. So now that I’m waiting for my new medicine to kick in, I have absolutely nothing holding me up, and things are getting pretty shaky. 

I’ve never been what can be described as athletic. I have always leaned more toward relaxing activities over those that get your heartrate up. But for a few wonderful years I found that my growing yoga practice filled both of those needs in me. I could teach back-to-back classes and barely notice the strain on my body. And what it did for my emotional and mental well-being was akin to the satisfaction and support I got from sitting in the sunshine with a good book. I felt pretty damn invincible for a while there. 

Yesterday I was feeling close to my worst. All chronic illnesses are different, and everyone experiences them in their own ways. For me, when things get particularly bad, I begin to feel flu-like. Everything hurts; everything makes me feel queasy; and, all I want to do is lay down, knowing full well, however, that it won’t actually make me feel any better. My husband, the sweet man that he is, told me that when I get like this, I need to stop overdoing it and just sit down and not do anything. And thinking of that being my day-to-day feels not only impossible but also extremely depressing. It makes me scream in rage and throw shit and cry and disappear. And the worst is that it scares the shit out of me. The idea of doing nothing. Of just being here all in my head. Absolutely no thank you. 

Do I know he’s probably right? Sure. But that won’t change the visceral reaction I have to imagining my life this way. It takes every last bit of me to hang on. And, also unfortunately, I know if I don’t do exactly this, finding that place of comfort in my body again will be an even longer time coming than before. I am my own worst enemy sometimes. But changing this mindset is not going to be an easy fix. 

Living with a chronic illness, particularly one that is degenerative and comes with chronic pain is truly a mindfuck. Because while there are times when I feel depressed, hopeless, isolated, etc. due to my limitations and the sheer energy it takes to navigate life in this body, for the most part, my mind is untouched by my disease. My body takes the brunt of it. So my mind will often make plans that my body simply cannot support. And when those plans are not seen through, there’s a lot of blame going around internally and a lot of feelings of inadequacies. I don’t do well with being told no, even if it’s me telling myself this. When I have something in mind I want to do, I push forward until it happens. And god help anyone that gets in my way. 

Lately, though, it’s been more and more Me that’s getting in my way. And giving myself the grace that I give to others has been something I have not excelled in. 

Since 2021, when I was diagnosed with multiple autoimmune conditions, I have had life hand my ass to me. It has been several years now where I had to keep chugging along. And this isn’t some misguided belief that hustle culture instilled in me. I was literally primarily responsible for caring for my increasingly sick mother through her death followed by caring for my grieving father and seeing him through his own illnesses and death. There was no laying down. There was no giving up. This was literally life and death and I had to keep pushing on, no matter what was going on outside of those situations or what my body may have preferred. 

And in truth, operating from this place of continual movement aided me in pushing through. There was no time to stop and think. In many ways that dissociation saved me because if I had to pause and consider the magnitude of that heartache and loss, I might never have gotten back up again. 

But avoidance can only last so long. Eventually the engine will run out of steam. And when that happens, the collapse can be even greater. A risk I was willing to take, of course, but a risk which I am now having to figure out living with the aftermath of. And the aftermath is harsh, let me tell you. 

They say hindsight is 20/20. A cliche for a good reason. Because now that I’m farther removed from some of my decisions following my mother’s death, I can see incredibly clearly how I could have chosen differently. But like I said, you can’t tell me shit. Or couldn’t then,  anyway. I am starting to come around and see the light of reason. And I can see now how that unfathomable loss of my mother, of the person who loved me the most, who saw only the good in me, was the catalyst for fearing more loss. It set the stage for some rash decisions that should have been made over a longer period of time, but which I couldnt see then. Because all I could see was this pit of blackness. This chasm of loneliness and abandonment and uncertainty. So I did the only thing I could think to do to reign in some control. 

Two conflicting things can coexist. You can feel excited and terrified. You can feel hopeful and optimistic while also worrying about the worst possible outcome. And my decision to leave the yoga studio I had loved for years, a place where i had truly felt at home, supported, loved, and appreciated for so long (up until shortly after my mother’s passing) in order to open my own studio is an example of knowing it was what I needed to do while also knowing it was what I shouldn’t do. 

Beginning over is not easy. Beginning over while also jumping over burning bridges that got you there is damn near impossible. And beginning over at a time in your life when you should be looking out for your best well-being and instead decide to plow forward into a situation that was never going to have any other outcome than a drain on your mental well-being is equally brave and foolish. But at least there was hope still. And there was joy. And there was gratitude. And there were many many moments where I know I touched someone’s life and gave something beautiful to others. My selflessness was a gift I was willing to give. And while I don’t regret it for even a second, I do know I paid dearly for it, both in body and mind. 

And I know I can’t do it a second time. 

Of course there’s a difference between knowing something deep in your core and acting on it or even so much as acknowledging that truth. That’s where I need to focus my energy moving forward. Understanding opposite feelings can coexist, but understanding that oftentimes there’s a reason we shouldn’t ignore why they are at odds. And really thinking about which of those feelings needs to be heard above the other. Sitting with it, observing it, and not attaching to a specific outcome. And letting go when needed. 

This is where I sit now. Literally sitting in my comfy chair in my living room where I set up a tiny space for reading and relaxing. But also sitting with the truth that my idea to create a new studio space from my home is not what is best for me or my family right now. Sitting with the need to take a deep breath and, like I tell my yoga students about their monkey mind, putting those ideas on a shelf to come back to later when there’s been time and space and reflection. And perhaps at that time realizing those thoughts or ideas or plans are just that–a manifestation of a mind that refuses to sit still. That refuses to give up. That refuses to admit defeat. And realizing and reshaping what that all means may be the key to my greatest good. 
It’s terrifying in so many ways, This slowing down. This opening up to feeling. This dedication to not hiding away or pushing through. And it’s going to take a whole lot of work to see it through. The question is not can I do it, but will i do it.

Time to let go

In therapy this past week, I talked about needing to move out of anger that I’m holding onto from so much that has happened over the last few years working at my previous job; and, when all was said and done it became apparent that my anger towards that situation is deeply rooted in anger from childhood. From not being apologized to. From not being taken seriously or valued. And every time I feel like I was wronged, it would stir up all those old feelings. Which ultimately means I’ve got to come to terms with the past before I can address the future. 

This led me to think of other ways that I’m holding onto the past. Other ways I haven’t processed things in a way that is causing these emotions to pop up now. And it’s something I really want to figure out because otherwise it feels like I’m stuck in this holding pattern. 

Avoidance has been the name of the game for me for nearly my whole life. And while I think I’m getting a lot better about facing difficult emotions, I know I’ve still got a long way to go. And just because I may be wanting closure from people, doesn’t mean I will ever get it. I have to create my own closure. I have to come to terms with things myself without expecting anything from anyone, and this is very challenging to me. I’ve got to relearn a lot, and I have to figure out how to stop being so reactive, even when it goes against my nature. Because like it or not, not everyone shares my values or operates from the same brain and nervous system. If I’m waiting for that, I’ll be dead long before seeing the result.  

Like pretty much everyone, a lot has changed in the last four years for me. COVID made a dent in everyone’s lives.  But even more than that, for me, I have had to grapple with a degenerative disease that has completely shifted how I do things and what I was once capable of; the death of both of my parents; the loss of my job (and happy place) and friends; and, the loss of feeling like i was moving in the right direction.

 And I realize now—over a year and a half since my mother died–that I haven’t even properly dealt with that. I’ve been essentially running from it ever since. I immersed myself in work at the studio, then leaving that studio and beginning my own. Life then followed that up with my father’s illness and death and trying to hold onto a sinking ship of the studio, helping my brother who was in a hard place, and then my father-in law’s illness and death. Just bam! Bam! Bam! Never-ending shit being hurled my way with no way to stop and breathe.

I’ve come to realize that I really only began my studio as a means to find an escape. To dissociate, in a way. It was a means to put my anger somewhere. To be able to say, fuck you, I can do better. I don’t need you. And while I don’t need them and I am so much better off out of that situation, I truly needed more than anything something I wasn’t giving myself; and, now I think it’s time to.

I need to give myself space. And time. And patience and grace and slowness. I need to let that truly sink in and not turn away from it. Not try to push it away and make excuses for why I can’t honor it. And I need to start now. 

I want to move forward in my life a lot lighter. I’m dragging around these hurts and it’s heavy. So heavy. I literally think about my parent’s deaths every day. And I still feel guilt and regret and sadness and anger about them. I rage internally about not being able to go back and do better, do more. And I ache at how much I miss them and how fucking surreal it still is that they’re gone. And I know grief is complicated and ever changing and yet never truly disappearing. But I need to be able to move forward. I need to be able to see possibilities where now I only see bleakness. I need to let go. 

It’s time I hold space for myself. It’s time to heal.

Sinking

I have been waking up out of sleep by what I can only assume is an anxiety attack. I do have diagnosed anxiety and depression, which I am on medication for and receive therapy to help cope with. So to have anxiety is a normal part of my existence. But to wake up suddenly feeling like the world is crashing down on me while my chest feels like it’s caving in is not par for my course and is leaving me in this spiral of anxiety creating more anxiety.

I have no experience with panic attacks, and so the first time this happened to me, I wasn’t even sure what was happening. I’d read that panic attacks can feel like a heart attack, and my best understanding of what that’s like is chest pain. These anxiety attacks don’t feel physically painful, though they are definitely uncomfortable. I wake up feeling simultaneously burning hot but also shivering. My body literally trembles. And I feel like I can’t catch my breath, almost like I have been on the treadmill going hard when all I was really doing was sleeping. And mentally I feel completely overwhelmed and scared. Like all of the alarm bells are going off in my head, but I don’t know why or how to stop them. So I just lay in bed frozen. I toss and turn, sit up and lay back down, and the clock slowly keeps ticking while I am unable to fall back to sleep. Once this happens, I’m up for good. No amount of breathing or hoping and coping mechanisms help. It’s exhausting.

I have been depressed many many times in my life before. I have had some pretty bleak moments when I questioned if I could keep going. No one likes to hear someone they know/care about say this, but I am nothing if not totally forthcoming about my struggles. There have been many, and I have barely made it through them at times.

So when I say that this is the worst I’ve ever been, I really mean it. And that scares me. Not because I’m considering harming myself, because I’m truly not. But it scares me because I know how hard it is to dig out of a deep hole of depression. I know the struggle it takes. And I know I don’t have what it takes to get there right now. I know I’m stuck here for awhile longer.

2020 was the beginning of dark times for the entire world. And it was definitely a turning point in my family’s life. Nothing has quite been the same since. Nothing has quite been secure and completely good or happy since. My oldest kiddo had some major mental health struggles that year, which we thankfully made it through. But the struggles didn’t stop there. By 2021, my mom was beginning to show signs of serious illness; we very suddenly and tragically lost one of our cats who was my very special pet; and, I found out a friend had stage 4 breast cancer. Cut to 2022 when things got exponentially worse. My mom was hospitalized multiple times and for weeks at a time. She more or less wasn’t home from February to May. We lost another cat in March 2022, and my mom came home on hospice care in May, only to pass away a month later. That was the hardest thing I have ever had to endure and it still hurts every single day. But that wasn’t it.

One of my aunts passed away two months later followed by my friend in October. I stepped away from my longtime position at a yoga studio I loved and found myself the object of their petty hatred. This break ultimately led to me having to let go of a friendship that was important to me when the friend decided his loyalty was with the studio.

By early 2023 it was becoming obvious that my father’s health was also declining. Not an easy man to deal with on a good day, it was very stressful dealing with his refusal to seek care. It all came to a head in May when he was finally hospitalized and we found out he was gravely ill. He passed away suddenly on my mom’s birthday in July. Another of my aunts passed away a few weeks later.

By August we found out that my father-in-law, whom we had been more or less estranged from for almost five years, had terminal cancer and was going on hospice care. It was at this point I made the heartbreaking decision to close the yoga studio I had opened only 8 months prior because I just couldn’t hold all of this grief while maintaining a business anymore. So, yet another loss. My father-in-law passed away at the end of September.

One of my brothers had a bad car accident and mental health crisis in August followed by a work injury in September that though technically shouldn’t have been my burden to bear, I can’t help but be protective of and concerned about the people I love, and these things also hit me hard.

And as if this wasn’t enough, just this past week, I have had to say good bye to four feral cats that I took care of outside. I had to bury two kittens I found dead under my back porch and attempted to get health care for two others, but what they had was too bad to survive. Sure, they’re just cats. And sure, they aren’t even technically my pets; but, I loved them and cared for them. And it hurts my soul for this to happen. And it hurts to see their siblings and mother still outside looking for them.

It’s all just too fucking much.

I’m struggling. My husband is struggling. And my poor fucking kids have had to live through more trauma in the past 3 years than a lot of kids do their entire childhood. Being a parent watching your kids struggle with their mental health and not being able to fix it for them is an unspeakable pain.

Which brings me to today. To waking up yet again long before my alarm was set to go off, in an absolute panic. And what can I do about it? Other than just enduring it, not much, really.

The one thing that can usually at least level out my emotions is writing. Just getting out of my head and trying to put words to these feelings allows me some space from it. Helps me to feel more objective, more in control. So, ultimately, I decided to grab my laptop and bring it into bed with me to write this all out. Not because it’s anything terribly interesting or profound, but because it’s the only way I could think to cope. Dissociating is all well and good up to a point. But the longer I go shutting out reality, the deeper I sink into the muck. And it’s already a Herculean effort to get up and face each day. I can’t afford to let myself slip any further.

If you’ve made it this far in reading my rambling thoughts, thank you for being here. As much as I love being fiercely independent, no one can survive on their own and be well. Knowing there are souls out there holding space in their hearts and using their precious time to be with me is immeasurably helpful.

And if you too are struggling right now, know you’re not alone. I see you. Keep going. Find whatever shred of a lifeboat works for you and hold on tight. I’ll be holding on with you.