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Your Success

Dear Phil,

Happy birthday, big brother. I miss you.

I continue to have conversations with you, but Phil? I’m scared. I’m not sure how you’d reply anymore. There are times when I think I’m forgetting you, forgetting what foods you liked or what you thought was funny and what was just ridiculous. But…it’s been 7 years so maybe your tastes and thoughts would have changed anyway. We all evolve, or hope to, right?

I’ve been watching the latest season of Bridgerton, and often wonder what you’d think about the show. You’d probably watch it since you got me into Downton Abbey, but this is much steamier and more diverse and just plain delicious! There’s gossip and sex and beautiful gowns and manipulation of pop tunes into classical dancing music. One of the latest storylines has a slightly larger than average sized woman as the romantic interest. You know how I love romance stories with larger women! I just watched the sex scene with the woman and her love interest, and yes, she’s rounder than your average actress, but for fuck’s sake! She’s gorgeous, flawless skin, beautiful breasts. Where are the women with back fat?!? I want to see a middle-aged or older actress, with rolls for a stomach, fat thighs and a cottage cheese ass. AND I want to see the man (or another woman, I don’t care) tell her how fucking beautiful she is. THAT is what the world needs to see.

*current rant over*

I can hear you laughing now. Agreeing with me, but laughing. “Calm down, Chuckles.”

Hey, the Bangor Pride Parade is this Saturday. The family is going–the kid and I, Bon, Am & Ky, too. Remember the last one we went to? It’s bigger now. The only thing I remember about that one in 2017 was that we needed a seat for you. You were gonna be there, one way or another, so I got out my lawn chair and my friend, Trish, helped get us settled or helped us leave. I don’t remember which now. I just remember being there with you, then getting grocery store sushi afterwards and eating at my house. Looking back, that was the day you tried to tell me you didn’t have a lot of time left. But I refused to believe it.

Anywho, did I tell you I’ve been going to Planet Fitness recently? I signed up with the boy in early May and I’ve been going faithfully 2-3 times a week. I’m not losing any weight, but I’ve gotten stronger and damn, I’m getting muscles! And talk about muscles?!? The eye candy at this gym is bananas. Plus the wide range of ages and shapes and sizes makes me happy. I don’t feel like a completely weak, old fat ass when I go there.

For my birthday I went out and bought clothes that I couldn’t afford but fit better. I’m sick of trying to fit into clothes that fit me a few years ago. Fuck it. I’m healthy and fit, so I might as well be comfortable and stop squeezing into things that make me feel fatter and more like a sausage than like the woman I am. Don’t you love that it’s taken me 51 years to finally get to the “fuck it” stage? But we both know it’s hard for me to hang onto that. Our self-esteem was always so wrapped up in our weight, both as kids and adults. I’m trying to shed that shit, but it’s not easy. I’ll keep trying though.

I was talking to one of my colleagues about you recently. I was telling her how sometimes I look at your Goodreads account to see what books you read that I haven’t. I want to read more of what you did, yet lately I’m reading mostly romances–straight, gay, lesbian, doesn’t matter. As long as it has good sex scenes and a happy for now (or forever after) ending, then I’m on it. There aren’t enough romances with middle-aged people, though. So many of them are people in their late 20s or early-mid 30s. We need more novels about people in their 50s who want to get laid or have their own happy for now ending. Most books with characters this age are dramatic or depressing. I don’t want a love story. That shit can mean a dead partner at some point. Too much reality. I want a friggin’ romcom with a woman who has the battle scars of a typical middle-aged woman–stretch marks, a possible c-section scar, tattoos, and all the mental and emotional baggage that comes with age. That has all the markings of a good romcom, doesn’t it?

So…I hate ending these letters, you know that, right? But I wanted to tell you something. I’ve told you about the Ralph Waldo Emerson quote that says, “…to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. That is to have succeeded!” Much of the rest of the quote is about appreciating beauty and to laugh a lot and all of those other things that we try to do. But I wanted to make sure you know, and I hope, hope, hope you knew, that you were tremendously successful. You made so many of us laugh and feel loved and breathe easier. Honestly? I feel like I haven’t been able to take a breath since you left.

I love you, my favorite brother.

Hugs & sloppy kisses,

Holly

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My Favorite Month

“I wonder what it would be like to live in a world where it was always June.” –L.M. Montgomery

I LOVE June.

I personally think June is one of the best months you can spend in Maine. Summer is just beginning but the temps are in the 70s, low to no humidity. Everything is green, the lupines have bloomed and it’s just fucking gorgeous. It’s the end of the school year and high school graduation for some. Like January, it feels like a time for new beginnings, fresh starts.

Typically it’s an emotional month for me, too. June is not only my birthday month, but my brother’s, too. It’s a time when we would celebrate our birthdays together, along with my dad’s birthday and Father’s Day. This year, though, I’m canceling any kind of birthday celebration with my family. We’re heading to one of our local Pride parades instead. We’ll celebrate Pride together and to me, it’ll feel like we’re celebrating my brother. Which is what I’d rather do.

Will I still celebrate my own birthday? You bet your ass. Like I’ve said in previous posts, I’ve always loved my birthday but have often been disappointed by others in their lack of celebrating my birthday. So fuck ’em. I might not have a road trip planned like last year’s big 5-0, but I’ll do what I want and create my own celebration.

This month, I’ve tried to take time to really see things around me that bring me joy. That Kermit lawn ornament? I saw it on a lunchtime walk while I was at work, and it cracked me up. The reserved parking sign is at a local grocery store. I’ll never use it, thank goodness, but so so happy it exists for those future moms out there! That photo of me is just from my run today. It was a pretty fantastic 5-miler, the first in 8 months. Certainly worthy of celebrating.

The “Be Your Own Kind of Beautiful” sign was at a restaurant where I had lunch with my dear friend and second mom, Sue. I feel like it’s a reminder that I don’t need others to validate who I am. I’m some kind of wonderful, damn it, and need to cut away those that make me feel otherwise.

See that Maine and Pride flag? I saw those flags at a home, that if you grew up here in Maine, you might automatically think those folks were close minded rednecks that would shoot a gay man on sight if they had a chance. The house was a bit run down with many cars and car parts all over the lawn and driveway. And yet they flew that Pride flag high and proud. I actually laughed out loud. I was a bit ashamed of myself for putting those folks in a box where they certainly didn’t belong. I’ve never been so happy to be wrong.

That last photo is of one of my sistas from another mista, Trish, and the FABULOUS author, Steven Rowley. We were fortunate enough to hear him speak about his latest novel. His humor is infectious and he is just bursting with joy. If you’ve ever read “The Guncle,” it’s definitely a reflection of who Rowley is. And if you haven’t read it, I encourage you to go to your local library or bookstore and get it asap. Then pick up the sequel, “The Guncle Abroad”!

Friends, if you’ve never been to Maine before, I encourage you to visit in the month of June. But if you can’t be here right now, I hope it’s lovely wherever you are. And if it isn’t? May you find something to bring you joy this month.

Remember, if you need a fresh start, this is as a good time as any other.

So let’s do it. Let’s begin again. ❤

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May is Mental

Every month is mental health awareness month in our house. How about yours?

Each member of our household is on an antidepressant, two of us are in therapy (although it REALLY should be three) and lately we’ve all been doing our best to take care of ourselves. My son and I joined the gym. (I sell my blood plasma to make a little extra cash, and that cash goes to the gym and the occasional treat or incidental. I know it might sound odd, but it’s kinda cool.) My husband and I have gone on two short walks together, plus he’s actually worked on lowering his blood sugar. I’ve added a few more counseling sessions this month to try and shed the negativity I’ve been feeling about life and the world. Plus I had lunch or a walk with various friends and that always lifts my spirits.

As of two weeks ago, my weight had increased 14 pounds since coming home from Belize. That’s over a pound a week. Of course, our lives were imploding–between my husband having to stop working, trying to figure out how to pay for our lives, watching my kid’s mental health swing up and down and all around, and having the relationship between my husband and I change a bit with the extra caregiver role I need to take on. So…of course I gained a pound a week! I ate every fucking thing I felt–anger, resentment, joy, sadness, frustration. And in case you were wondering, those emotions tasted like peanut butter, chocolate, and margaritas.

But then, finally, warm weather came to Maine. It was staying lighter later. My walks increased, I was still only running once or twice a week, but I was moving more and feeling…hopeful. So I started physical therapy for my hip and leg hoping to stop feeling like I’m 70. I continue to walk or run 5-6 times a week, while listening to a playlist that either reflects what I’m feeling or inspires me to be something or someone I wish I could be.

“Happy” by Pharrell Williams has been a long time favorite of mine. The tune, the lyrics AND the music video, all make me smile and make me move my body. Essentially, it makes me happy for those four minutes. Although it’s not really possible for me, it’s still what I aspire to be much of the day.

“Love Myself” by Hailee Steinfeld and “Rebel Girl” by Bikini Kill represent the women I want to be.

“I’m Still Standing” by Elton John reminds me that through all the challenges in life, I’m still here and doing my best to keep placing one foot in front of the other.

And then there are the songs like “Not OK” by Robert Grace that reflect how I sometimes feel.

But peppered throughout the playlist are songs like “Don’t You Worry” by Black Eyed Peas, Shakira & David Guetta and “It’s Alright” by Mother, Mother. They remind me that more often than not, I’m gonna be ok. I will make mistakes, I will grieve new and old losses, I will be angry at my circumstances, but I will make it through. Because that’s what we do.

Your support and generosity have been the motivation to get my shit together. When so many people love me and have faith that my family can get through this wacky time, then how can I not believe it myself?

So thank you, friends, for cheering me on. You are the absolute best.

GROUP HUG!

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Shame

I write this blog because it helps me sort out my feelings, my thoughts about my life, and to share my experiences with some folks who either can relate or those who care about me. I do not ask for anything but a few minutes of your time if you are so inclined. But my last post brought gifts from some of you. You read my piece and felt for me and my family’s current situation. Your generosity and kindness was and is appreciated, and I am honored to call many of you my friends. I know you did what you did because you love me and the thought of me hurting in any way made you want to help. And I love you for it. I truly do.

But to be honest? I felt tremendously embarrassed and ashamed afterwards. I didn’t share to “get stuff.” I shared just to show this new thing I was experiencing and how frustrating (and humbling) it can be to eat from a food pantry. After the influx of gifts, I was kind of a mess for a few days until I had therapy. When I explained my dilemma to my therapist, she said something pretty dang profound. “Sometimes, Holly, it is our job to receive.”

*mic drop*

That one sentence changed my perspective on these gifts. I ended up using two gift cards for a trip my son and I had planned from last year. (We drove to Washington, D.C. to look at colleges and we needed snacks, friends.) I did refuse a few offers when I was able to, and others? I put some of the gifts aside for a little later when I know we’ll be more desperate than now.

Do you know what’s really disturbing about all of this? When my son and I went to D.C., we stayed with some old friends, who have become part of my family. My dear friend, a woman I’ve known for 30 years, had asked me about these cassava flour brownies that I made. I said that I got the flour from someone, but I could not say the words out loud, “I got it from the food pantry.” (Which, btw, that’s pretty great to get anything gluten-free from a food bank, and this was from our local high school’s food pantry.) I know for a fact that she would never judge me. Not for a second. Yet I was too ashamed and embarrassed to say that I got it from a food pantry. That shame is so deeply ingrained into me. I just want to starting yelling, “I have a good job, a fucking master’s degree, so don’t look down on me!”

But who is actually turning their nose up at me? Is it you? I don’t think so.

I think it’s me.

I shouldn’t be in this situation. I should be helping people that need an extra hand.

I should be you.

But I’m not. And I’m angry about it.

Then today, I brought this walker up from the basement. When my husband was on a respirator and in a coma back in 2020, this was given to him once he was able to leave the hospital. It was necessary then, so we kept it, hoping we wouldn’t need it for years to come. This morning, my husband’s knee was swollen, his neuropathic feet were hurting, and he was having problems standing up from his living room chair. Before I left for work, he asked me to get the walker from the basement. So I did.

On the drive to work, I couldn’t take a deep breath. I knew I was having an anxiety attack. I was thinking about my husband, my son was home sick, I was missing some friends I haven’t been able to talk to, I was feeling alone and scared…but I just needed to get to work. Once there, I pretended all was good until I couldn’t any more. I asked a colleague if they ever had anxiety attacks (I was pretty sure they had) and asked what they did. They sometimes would just go into the bookstacks and center themselves. So before we opened the library, I went to a section of the stacks, sat on the floor, and sobbed. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t speak. I just sobbed and rocked myself. After a few minutes I was able to stand up and go back to work. A different colleague checked on me and we talked for a few minutes and they let me vent and cry some more, and that was the end of it.

When I was a Trevor Project volunteer, I helped many teens get through anxiety or panic attacks. Often I used the 54321 grounding exercise (name 5 things you see, 4 things you can touch, 3 things you can hear, 2 things you can smell, and 1 thing you can taste–the taste thing is always odd). But while my brain is freaking out, I could not name anything I was seeing because everything was a massive blur. Hell, I couldn’t remember the order of seeing, touching, hearing, etc. But today I learned that sometimes being alone to cry, drinking water, taking a brief walk or finding a place nearby to get a good snack, are all good things to help calm me down to a place where I can function again.

Did I feel a bit embarrassed and ashamed for having this mini breakdown? Oh yeah. I see people every day who have no home, who keep every possession they have in a shopping cart, who only eat what is given to them. And I’m crying over a husband who can’t work and a life that I wasn’t expecting?

Well…yes. I am. Do I wish I could suck it up and just get on with whatever life I have? Yes, yes I do. And somedays I do a great job at it.

But today wasn’t one of those days.

You know what, though? Tomorrow is a new day. So there’s always hope that I’ll function tomorrow, that I’ll be able to get up on time, exercise, eat well, and smile more often than not.

That’s my goal.

How about you? Are you ok? No matter what I’m going through, I’m still here to listen. It’s the least I can do for you, like you’ve done for me. ❤

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Having Enough

Years ago, when my son was a toddler, we were on food stamps and WIC for a short period of time after my husband had been laid off. (If you’re not aware, WIC stands for Women, Infants & Children and is a federally funded supplemental nutrition program for low-income pregnant women and children.) My husband’s unemployment had run out, he was depressed, and he couldn’t find a job. It was a horribly scary time.

Yet even with that kind of stress at home, what really made it unbearable for me, was how I was treated at the grocery store when I used WIC. There was an older woman at the grocery store in the town I worked in, she waited on me and made me feel like absolute garbage. She scoffed when she saw my WIC paperwork, yelled at me when I had something on the counter I wasn’t allowed to get through WIC, and never once looked me in the eye.

I felt humiliated.

I left the store in tears, holding the bag of the few items my child needed to keep growing and thriving. The next time I used WIC, I didn’t go back to that grocery store, but went to a larger one near my home. It was a little better, but not by much. The clerk was closer to my age (I was in my mid-30s at this time), but she was efficient, did what she needed to do, and finished the transaction. There were no extra niceties, but at least she didn’t degrade me.

Now here we are, 15 years later. My son is still a growing boy, but a teenager. My husband is out of work and will be permanently. Although the disability paperwork has been filed, he will not have an income for 1-3 years. There is no WIC or food stamps for us, because in the eyes of the government, I make too much money.

So what do we do? Each day when I go home from work, I pass a local church that has a food bank every Tuesday morning. My husband and I had talked about it, and we both knew how fucking hard this would be. You work your whole life, you try to help others, but when it’s time to go for and accept assistance, it felt…wrong.

The morning he was going to go to the church for the first time, I said to him, “Remember, you’re doing this for your family. You’re doing this because our kid, god help us, is still growing. We are going to survive, damn it, and this is how we do it.” He kept nodding his head, “I know. I know.”

And off he went. I’m sure every food bank has their process and I know each one has slightly different rules. This one is in our town, but many folks who go are not from our town. They drive in from other places, but that’s how they survive. Each person or household is given a box to fill, but you can still only take as much as you need for the number of people in your home. For instance, he picked out 3 potatoes the first visit and 3 oranges, because we have 3 people. It’s been quite a humbling experience for all of us, but especially for my husband.

Each week the items are different, and you have to pick numbers to see how far down the line you are. If you get a low number, you have the better choice of produce or any of the goods. If you have a higher number, it’s often slim pickings by then. But it’s fair.

What’s interesting is the choice of items. This past week there was sliced swiss cheese with the expiration date of that day and yogurt a week past the expiration date. Usually the produce is about to go bad or you might have a few days to eat it. But so far, we’ve made sure nothing has actually gone bad. We’re trying to be creative with whatever food he brings home. He’s made hash browns with a few potatoes or sliced and baked them until they’re like potato chips. We’ve received spring mix a few times and have placed greens in nearly everything to make sure it’s eaten. I feel like I’m living in that commercial with chefs who cook gourmet dishes with food scraps…except without the chefs. We’re not making anything fancy, but we’re trying to make meals and not get sick from them. (I’m not gonna lie, the swiss cheese did taste a little odd, but I figured swiss cheese tastes a little weird anyway so it’s fine!)

But one thing that was seriously sweet about last week’s haul, was this rose. I guess the church gave it to my husband to give to me. I don’t know why, but I don’t care. I kinda love it. I’m not typically one who likes to receive flowers, but honestly, it was just nice to get something….lovely. Something that could brighten my day, even for a moment.

Someday, I hope we’ll get to the other side of this. I’m not sure what kind of shape we’ll be in financially by then, but I’m really trying to find ways of cutting costs. I make my own laundry detergent now, we switched from regular cat litter to these pellets that barns typically use, and I’m always scouring my basement to look for things to sell. This isn’t where I thought we’d be at this age, but shit happens, right?

One thing I know is that if we ever do get to the other side of this…no. WHEN we get to the other side of this, we will donate money or resources to local food banks. Even if some of the food items are a little sketchy, we still accept it with great gratitude. They are truly saving our bacon.

Eat well, my friends, and as always, hugs to you. ❤

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Dreams (and Nightmares) Do Come True

It actually happened.

Two weeks ago, I went on vacation with 4 of my favorite humans. To say we had the time of our lives was an understatement. When you laugh so hard each night that you cry and have a belly ache, you know you are surrounded by people that you not only love, but love spending time with.

We traveled to Belize and had the most amazing time. I can truly say it was the best five days of my life. Things at home were not wonderful while I was gone, but I had to keep telling myself that I just needed to let it go. Mostly I did.

Here are some highlights: saw numerous creatures at the Belize Zoo, including spider monkeys (where I cried because I felt like my brother was there, feeling just as excited to be so close to these lovelies); had a beach day where we all swam in the warm water, drank margaritas on the beach, and played cornhole in our bathing suits; went to the Xunantunich Mayan Ruins with a very informed and funny guide, climbed the massive structure and saw lizards and bats along the way; experienced cave tubing; visited a cacao farm and had a hand in making chocolate; swam under the waterfalls; had a massage (thanks, Trish!); ate delicious dishes and fresh fruit each day; heard and saw so many different types of birds that I’ve never seen or heard before; swam in the pool; went for a run; shopped a little; tried to speak Spanish a teensy bit; and drank and laughed each night.

There are hundreds of more photos that I get to look at each day. I did not take a ton (maybe 100), but thanks to my friends, we had over 500 (probably much more) to look at and do what we want with. Many of the ones I haven’t shared are all of us hanging out at the pool on our last full day in Belize. Looking at photos from that afternoon just gives me such good feelings. We were warm and our bellies full and we were enjoying the water and each other’s company. Hell, that was really every day of the vacation.

I know how lucky I am to have been able to travel to another country, to take a vacation, to spend it with my friends. I know how lucky I am to have these friends (and many others) that I have known for most of my life–over 35 years–and still love them and call them my family. They bring me joy and so much damn laughter.

I knew that when I came back from this dream vacation, I would need to hold onto the memories because life at home was and is hard. I cried the day before we left Belize. I knew that my life wasn’t going to feel this carefree and fun for a very long time.

My husband was not able to work while I was away and is now no longer working at all. Between congestive heart failure and now the neuropathy in his feet due to diabetes, there is no other way around it. Our health insurance ends this month and I will start paying for insurance that isn’t as good through my work, but at least it’s something. We will lose our doctor, our favorite doctor we’ve had for years, because he doesn’t take this new insurance. And now we’ve contracted with a lawyer to help my husband apply for disability. If all goes well, he might be able to receive SSDI (Social Security Disability Insurance)–the thing we’ve been paying for all of our lives–in a year…or two…or three.

We, in short, are all grieving so many things this week.

I’ll be able to look on the bright side of things tomorrow. Or maybe it’ll have to wait another day. Either way, I did have Belize. For that, I will be forever grateful.

Take care of each other, friends. I appreciate you.

Hugs to you all. ❤

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Breaking It Down

In another week, I hope to be hanging with four of my girlfriends in our rented villa in Belize. Sounds absolutely amazing, doesn’t it?!?

I just NEED to get there.

Today my husband and I spent over 4 hours in the emergency room. After three days of high blood pressure and heart palpitations, our doc said it’s best we go to the ER since they can do tests and get results today, compared to doing tests at his office and waiting two days.

But that’s not what happened. When we walked in, we were warned that their computer system was down and no idea when it would be brought back up. We figured we’d stay anyways because they could still do tests…unless you get a medical professional that doesn’t think you need any.

Three hours after we stepped through the doors, my husband is finally seen. Unbelievably, his blood pressure was actually normal at that time. The PA couldn’t see my husband’s records, but knew he had congestive heart failure. He said he might do some tests if he can look into his records. BUT HE COULDN’T, SO WHY BOTHER TO STRING US ALONG?

An hour later, I told my husband we should leave. They were working on discharge papers but weren’t sure how long it would take. I was done. I was angry at the PA, angry at my husband, angry at the world. So we left.

Once we got home, we sat in our driveway and I just cried. I let it all out. I told him how disappointing it is to have to do everything at home (cook, clean, laundry) even though I know he often feels like garbage. But when I get home after a long day and he’s been home, can’t the dishwasher be emptied at least? But I also told him how frustrating dealing with his health is, how we should just pull the pin on this disability thing and he should downgrade to part-time work. We’ll lose our insurance and try to get something in Marketplace we can afford. But it’s all so fucking scary and rage-inducing. We should be in a much better place in our lives, but instead we’re still fucking struggling like we did 25 years ago.

And yet between sobs, I told him I feel guilty of living my life and traveling with my friends, while he stays home, barely living at all. But he told me that he wants me to keep living and traveling, because that’s what I want to do and should keep doing it.

But…our lives include things like this in the shower. (Which, I’m not gonna lie, I hate. I feel like I don’t fit in our shower now, and I feel like the handle is just in my way. Isn’t that the most fucking selfish thing anyone has ever thought?!?) I also ordered husband a cane that should be here this week. It all feels just so…unfair and overwhelming and just plain shitty.

Ten minutes ago I completely melted down by the tremendously overwhelming task of…making my lunch for tomorrow. It’s a salad for fuck’s sake, and I dissolved into a sobbing mess at the thought of trying to cut up chicken to put into it. I alternate between sitting at my kitchen table and typing this, to laying my head down in front of my laptop. It’s really not a pretty sight.

So…I’m listening to ocean waves and trying not to spiral and overthink our future. I’m going to envision the best-case, worst-case and most likely scenario of what the next few years will be. Best-case? My husband’s health stabilizes enough that he can work full-time for now and we keep our insurance. Worst-case scenario? He stops working all together and is denied disability over and over. We not only lose our insurance (and our doctor because he doesn’t take any other insurance now) but must sell our home and move into a small apartment. Or…my husband dies.

Most-likely scenario? I think it’s in between. I am hoping my husband can work part-time. Yes, we’d lose this insurance, but I know we can find something on Marketplace. I think it would be more than what we want to pay (or rather *should* pay), but I’m not sure there’s much we can do about that.

I made Husband promise to not die this week or next week while I’m on vacation. I guess now I just keep on moving forward, right? I know how lucky I am to be able to take this trip with four of my favorite people. Do I wish I wouldn’t have to worry about what was happening at home? Of course. But…I just have to do this. I need a break from my life and I swear, I do know how fortunate I am to get that.

So I’m going to take that break. And I’m going to hope for the best. And when I get home? I’ll keep moving one foot in front of the other and gather forces to try and navigate our current circumstances. We’ll figure it out, right? 

Hugs to all of you. ❤

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Until Your Love Runs Out

“With gratitude, optimism is sustainable.”–Michael J. Fox

I heard Fox say that once in a recent interview. It takes effort for his body not to shake or move due to Parkinson’s Disease, yet he’s still grateful for and optimistic about his life. I immediately found a scrap of paper and wrote this quote down because I knew I’d need it at some point. And now here I am, trying my best to embrace those words.

Your comments, messages, emails, texts and phone calls in response to my last post, was the best explosion of love I have felt in quite some time. I am not only grateful for y’all, but finding others that have been or are currently in the same situation, lightened my stress by just a bit. Thank you. So much!

Because of my blog post, my husband and I had some honest conversations, including his daily fears and what the future will bring. We added to our vision board with our own hopes and also YOUR words of encouragement.

When I asked my son what he wanted on the board, he said to win the Calvin Coolidge Scholarship. This is the one he’s been working really hard on–reading Coolidge’s autobiography, writing 3 essays and 3 short answer questions. I helped him with his resume and he got the two letters of recommendation he needed. The deadline is Thursday, so much of his life will be consumed by this for the next few days. He said, “You know, Mom, I really doubt I’ll get it, but I’m really proud of myself for trying.” I’m so damn proud of him, too. He set a goal and he’s kicking ass trying to achieve it. ❤

We’re feeling some hope this weekend. I was able to buy groceries yesterday and filled the house with healthy foods and now I’m cooking up a storm. I paid most of our bills and with a bit of juggling, should be able to pay the others around their due dates. (I know many of you know this juggling I speak of. We’re basically fucking financial experts, aren’t we?) Today my husband looked at bars for the shower and toilets that are higher than what we have. With help from one of my colleagues, I now have a short list of attorneys we may want to talk to soon about the process of applying for disability, but he’s not at that point quite yet. He has to stop working before he’s even able to apply. I really, really hope that isn’t this year.

But if it is, then we’ll deal with it. Because that’s what we do and what you’d do, too.

For today, though, we’re going to move forward and hope we can continue to keep putting one foot in front of the other. We’re going to listen to this positive potato. (My son gave this to me yesterday as my late Christmas present. I LOVE IT!)

So let’s do our thing, friends. I believe in you, just as much as you believe in me. Let’s keep chugging along until the love runs out.

Hugs for all!

Thank you, One Republic, for letting me borrow and edit your lyrics for my blog post title.

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Trying to Look Ahead…and Failing

Hi friends.

I am struggling.

There is no other way to say it.

I am trying to look to the future to give me some positive vibes. I know I have a lot to look forward to this year–a trip to Belize with four of my best girlfriends, touring colleges in Washington, D.C. while also visiting another one of my favorite humans, watching and preparing my son to apply for colleges all around the northeast. This should be an exciting time.

But while I am at home I feel…stuck? Unmotivated? Sad? Living with and loving someone who has a chronic illness and will eventually die from that illness, is incredibly difficult. There is so much anger to go around–from myself, from my son, and sometimes from my husband. Watching my husband shuffle when he walks, take naps every day because he doesn’t have the energy to do much, and come to terms with the fact that there is only so much he can now do to fix his health is heartbreaking–and honestly rage-inducing.

Here’s the thing: I want my husband to try and enjoy whatever life he has left. Hopefully that will still be 8 or 9 years, but at this rate, I doubt that figure. I know that for him, enjoying his life means he’ll watch films he loves, spend time with our little family, listen to a variety of music, and dream about winter camping. Little things bring him contentment. But to enjoy this life, it also means that he’ll eat basically whatever he wants. And in doing so, his diabetes is not under control and his congestive heart failure symptoms have increased.

This is the part that frustrates me to the nth degree.

Living our lives, no matter how we live them, brings consequences to not just ourselves, but those around you.

I am relying on my partner for not only emotional support but for financial support. And with the many days of work missed and a few unpaid hospital bills, it has created a tremendous stressor in our household.

Our son, a junior in high school, has begun applying for scholarships for college. I set him on this path because every school he’s interested in is out of state and all have hefty price tags. But now he’s become obsessed with applying for the big scholarships, the ones with full tuition that are so dang hard to come by. And I know that that is my fault. I honestly do not know how we will help pay for his schooling.

Currently my son’s main goal after college is to make sure he has a job that can pay his bills. He wants to love what he does but right now that does not seem to be his main concern. He has watched us struggle financially his entire life due to bouts of unemployment, short-term disability, or my choice of career that has never paid what I’m worth. And now that he is on the cusp of adulthood, he will do whatever he can to not live that life.

I am frustrated, scared, and just so unsure of what our future is. I tried to start a vision board for this year. I had ideas a few days ago and now I just feel lost. The one thing I wrote on it was about making and feeding my son healthy meals. Do you know why I wrote that? Because he asked me to feed him well so he could concentrate on his studies, work, applying for scholarships, and to start exercising again. 

Recently I was doing laundry and I told him I would do his laundry for him, too. But later that weekend, I fell in some kind of awful dark place. and I didn’t do the laundry. A few days later he called me while I was at work and asked where his work pants were. That’s when I realized they were still in the hamper because I just couldn’t function that weekend. So? I told him the truth. I said I had a depressed episode (I don’t really know what to call it, but that sounded accurate) and I didn’t do the laundry. Do you know what he said? He said, “Ah. Ok, I get it. That’s fair. I will just wear dirty pants to work. Love you, Mom!”

I love this child with every cell of my being.

Just a month ago I would have turned to running to help with all of these feelings. But I just don’t have it in me to do that right now. I did run one day this week and took a walk on a few others, so I’m moving at least. But something has to change.

I am grateful for my work, because that has become my sanctuary. I get to be with people I care about, I get to help others, and I just feel…useful. I feel like I make a difference. I don’t always know what I should do or how to do things correctly, but thankfully I have a team of people who support me and help me find my way.

If you have ever cared for another individual during their sickness and have felt this helpless and sometimes hopeless, I’d love to hear from you. Or if you have some wise words of encouragement, I’ll take those, too.

Thank you, friends.

Hugs to you. ❤

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Me, Myself and I

 I read a newsletter called Wondermind. It comes to my email inbox three times a week–Monday, Wednesday and Friday. They often have articles I don’t necessarily read, interviews I definitely don’t read, and TikTok videos I feel old to watch. But there are always little tidbits at the beginning of every newsletter that make me reevaluate my mental health or maybe take a step back and look at my day and figure out how to make it better. I like it. A lot.

Last week, one of the newsletters asked this question: What is one aspect of your current life that a younger version of yourself would be excited about? I read this question after having lunch with an old friend. I’ve known this man for over 40 years, but as we ate lunch and talked about our lives, I realized I really only knew the childhood version of him. It kind of astounded me the shit he went through as a young adult and the pain he’s endured as an older one. At one point we discussed how we came to where we are–how did we change our bodies, why did we get into the work we’re in, and what regrets do we have.

So when I read the question, “What is one aspect of your current life that a younger version of yourself would be excited about?”, I knew right away what it was. Or I thought I did.

Seeing this person in the mirror was the first thing I thought of:

This woman just ran 4 miles, negative splits, and had fun doing it. She’s fairly fit, runs for fun and for exercise, and looks half decent. And I love her hair. It’s really pretty. 🙂

Thirty years ago, I could not have run 4 miles or even 1 mile. Probably. I might have been able to but it just wasn’t anything I saw people doing much back then, or really anything I thought I could do. But now? After 13 years of running, I don’t want to stop. There are some days I hate it, but it’s more that I hate going out in the cold or the rain or the wind. But once that run is done? Hot damn, do I feel good!

I think my younger self would be shocked, but ecstatic to see me running. But you know what would really make that 20-year old Holly excited? That I own a house, or rather the bank owns it for another six years, but I almost fully own a house. I always, always wanted my own home, even as a kid. I used to have a dollhouse that I adored and that had a handle so I could carry it around. I used to dream about what my house would look like. A ranch style house wasn’t in my dreams, but when my husband and I bought it, this was exactly what I wanted–three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a huge basement, a living room with a cathedral ceiling, and a porch.

Of course, 50-year old Holly can’t wait for the day to come when she can sell the damn house and move into an apartment again. I want a place that someone else maintains and if there’s an issue, I know who to call. And to be within walking distance of ANYTHING? That, my friend, is my dream.

You know what, though? I don’t think I’d ever want the opportunity to say anything to my younger self. My god…the grief, the loss, the shit that is yet to come for that young woman. Yet, there are also many amazing humans she hasn’t met yet, or experiences she’s hasn’t lived.

This older Holly is hoping for more of those things, too.

But right now, I am desperate to know what YOU think your younger self would be excited to know about your current self?

I’m listening, friends. ❤