I haven’t written in a while, and when I have it’s with less gusto than before. It’s hard to explain why- except to say that these has been the most challenging days so far and I sincerely didn’t know how to handle it. And while it’s tempting to always want to write the shiny, bubbly material we are all so used to seeing (and probably posting ourselves) on social media, I’m going to spin it 180 degrees and just be honest.
The truth is the diagnosis is heavy right now and I’m separated from the things that comfort me. I’ve been away from my girls, the little people who keep me feeling normal and surprisingly sane despite their chaotic energy and wild child spirits. I’ve been away from my home, the physical space I created and feel so comfortable in. I’ve been away from the mountains and trails, the open space I go to ground myself and to find myself when I am lost. I’ve been away from my husband, my quiet rock, my crash pad when I come in for a hard landing.
This is a time filled with too much and too little. Too much risk, too much uncertainty, too much pain and suffering. Too little time with my family, too little bandwidth to process everything, too little healing to ground myself and move forward with a clear head and light heart.
So I feel like a thistle pappus in the wind. I go where it takes me. Tomorrow I get a lot more direction, I hope, after the follow-up echocardiogram and subsequent meeting with doctors. I hope the wind blows me West to my family and my home. But it’s not up to me.
Before I finish this post, I have to tell you that I talked through my writing with a friend. I wanted to know why I should continue to write about the depressing details of this experience. What value does that have? What do I say when all I really want to write is: This sucks. I’m scared. I don’t know what will happen next.
The answer to my questions ultimately are that writing through it helps me survive it. I always feel better after writing. Always. I feel more in control, less wounded, and stronger. Even when it sucks. Even when I’m scared. And even when I don’t know what will happen next.