mental health

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Soul Weary

“All change is not growth, as all movement is not forward.” –Ellen Glasgow

I talked with a library patron yesterday, whose partner died a while back. She asked me how my husband was doing and I replied honestly. “Not great.” She said, “I know what it’s like to watch someone die, inch by inch. It’s wearing, isn’t it?” We went on to talk about the exhaustion our bodies can feel in times like this, as well as how frustrated or angry we can be. I feel really fortunate that I’ve let my anger go regarding Wal’s illnesses. I’ve found I have much more compassion and patience than I ever had before. But the weariness can be tough to handle some days.

It’s not just the body that is tired, but the soul. I use the term “soul” very loosely, because I have no idea what I believe regarding spirituality. But I know that my brain and my heart feel that exhaustion. This doesn’t feel like the distant anticipatory grief I’ve experienced over the past few years, but a more intense sense of loss. I’m feeling more loss of control than before. Now that Wal has moved to palliative care, I feel…untethered. I felt good when he made that choice, but due to our insurance company’s conflict with with our local hospital, Wal has no primary care physician. We’re trying to get the palliative care folks made his PCP, but I just discovered they don’t take our insurance.

This is really becoming an absolute shit show. I truly feel like no one cares about us anymore. The hospitals, the insurance companies, many of the doctors, the government–NO ONE CARES. We could all live or die and it means absolutely nothing to them, as long as they get paid. Rural communities have always gotten the worst end of the stick, but it feels so much worse than before. No…it doesn’t feel worse, it IS WORSE.

Meanwhile, the changes in my husband’s body makes both of us…sad. Besides not being able to sleep in our bed any longer or drive at night, he can’t sit on his tractor. His tractor is a John Deere lawn mower in the summer and a snow blower in the winter. Last week he went to move it from our front lawn to the garage. It had been on our front lawn for at least three weeks, maybe a month. But within that time, his legs had weakened enough that he could no longer push himself from the ground up to the tractor’s seat.

When did this happen? Was it two weeks ago? Was it the day after he parked the tractor? Fuck! It happened so quickly. We were both pretty upset. It was life changing for him, and I suppose for me. He showed my sister how to run the tractor and she drove it into the garage for us. (I’m capable, but I honestly hate the thing.) Since then, I feel like every day has been a bad day for Wal. On Sunday, I checked him four times to make sure he was still alive. He’s spent lots of days sleeping, some days not breathing well, tooth pain, high blood pressure, low oxygen levels, unsteadiness, dizziness, and on and on.

We know what most of the symptoms stem from and some can be resolved. But since we’re in this weird limbo, I’m frustrated and worried that he’ll remain tremendously uncomfortable until we can get a care plan in place. I’m glad he’s not in a ton of pain, but when he can’t breathe well? I find myself taking deep breaths, like I’m trying to take on extra oxygen for him. I can feel my anxiety increase when he’s feeling so awful, especially since I’m helpless. I try to keep it to myself, but every once in a while it’ll come out in a frustrated whisper, “I just don’t know what to do, Wal.” That’s when he’ll typically comfort me and tell me not to worry or that it’ll work itself out.

But we both know that someday, it’ll work itself out by his body wearing out. And maybe it’ll still be a few more years yet. But weeks like this? How can he possibly go that long? How can we?

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Moving Forward

I rarely write about good things happening in my life. It’s not that they don’t happen, but they are typically what some would call “small.” For instance, I go to the gym and I consider it successful if I’m able to not only use all the machines I want to, but to slightly increase the weight or reps I do. Or I have a productive day at work with little drama AND I reach 10,000 steps on the same day. Or I get to spend quality time with my little family and it doesn’t end in anyone arguing.

Those are my “good things.” But as of this past week, I feel like my bucket runneth over! After over a year of not working and having both mental and physical tests conducted and paperwork filled out by the truckload, my husband was granted disability by the Social Security Administration due to his declining health. It’s a weird thing to get “congratulations” from people about it, yet it was the perfect thing to say! I might not need to sell my blood plasma anymore. Wal might not need to go to the food bank each week. I say “might” because bills still need to be paid and budgets worked out, but all in all we’ll be in a better place than we’ve been. Well…financially it’ll be a better place. And honestly, mentally my husband is in a MUCH better place. He’s feeling like he’s contributing to the family and not being a burden. It’s not that he was a burden but…it’s hard. There are days I come home and I just want to burn it down because there are dishes in the sink, poop in the cat box, mail in the mailbox and nothing for dinner. I’m tired and sometimes cranky, but I try to shut it down and just putter around the house and clean up the messes. Typically I know that if that’s what I’m looking at when I come home, then Wal had a bad day—either a lot of pain due to diabetes and neuropathy, or little energy because his heart is not pumping the way it should, or he’s horribly depressed because of his health situation. So I dig deep to find that empathy inside me and tend to whatever he might need.

As I said in my last post, my son will be attending a local university, the University of Maine in Orono. We made his confirmation and housing deposit on the day we found out about Wally’s disability. It’s time to get the kid ready to fly the coop and get his parents ready to live in an empty nest.

With two of our major life-changing events finally beginning, I feel like I am able work on me again. I really, really want to run or walk a marathon. I don’t think running one is really in the cards for me, so I’m starting to research both the walk/run method, and the power walking method. I want a physical goal to train for again. I want to feel particularly strong and proud of myself again. I mean…I’d love to lose 10 pounds in there, too, but Jesus, that also doesn’t seem to be in the cards! Being physically fit and healthy is what the goal should really be, right?

Sure. Yup. Right.

Anywho! I went out today and took a 4-mile walk with one little bout of running—only because it was snowing so hard into my face that it was painful. Although it was snowing, then blowing, then raining and finally ending with sleeting, I managed to mostly enjoy my walk. No dogs came out to try and attack me (that was two weeks ago), very few cars, just me and a bunch of birds that sounded particularly pissed off about the snow. I might be projecting, but they really did sound angry.

I got home, my hair partially frozen, my coat, hat, mittens and hoodie all soaked. And I felt…fantastic. Proud. Happy.

I’m enjoying days like this since they seem to be few and far between. Who knows, maybe there’ll be more days like this in the future.

I hope you’ve enjoyed your day, friends. With everything the world is facing right now, let’s keep putting one foot in front of the other, ok? ❤

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Shelter in Place

Recently, my teenage son suffered a mental health crisis. He’s had a few mental health challenges over the past 3 years, but this one was the scariest. You don’t need to know the details, but I’ll say that I rushed home when his friends texted me to say something was wrong. Once home, I hugged my child, talked with him, held his hand, just threw my love at him because I wasn’t sure what else to do. Once the situation felt like it was under control and in a better place, I immediately deactivated my Facebook account.

It was a weird reaction, but I wanted to create a bubble around my little family right then, and getting away from social media was the only way I knew how. I didn’t want to talk with anyone or listen to anyone else. That evening I didn’t care about your favorite book you wanted everyone to know about, see the sweet photos of your grandchild or even learn how the President had fired more federal workers with no cause. That night, it was all noise to me and I needed to shut it all down. I just wanted to protect my kid.

Two days later, my son was tremendously better, yet my husband and I were left broken. Worrying about your kid’s welfare is par for the course as a parent, but when their mental health appears fragile, you’re continuously walking on eggshells and faking good cheer, all while expecting the worst to happen.

He was late coming home from work that week, and I found myself pacing and just texting him once because I didn’t want to seem too freaked out. (He ended up working late and his text to me wasn’t sent.) Each evening I asked him how his day went and searched his face for any little thing that might show more distress than usual.

And then…the college rejections started to roll in.

My son is a dreamer. He has huge plans and wants to be part of the governing body of this country in the near future. He wanted to attend a “fancy” college to go along with those dreams. Unfortunately, every single one of them has said “no thanks.” On one night, he received two flat out rejections and one waitlist. My boy’s grief and sorrow was so palpable that night. He said he felt “defeated.” And each day after that he’s receivd another rejection. There’s only one dream school left, and we expect that rejection later this week. I’ve been feeling that loss right alongside my boy, but also fear that he’ll slip back into that mental health crisis we just survived.

Yesterday, the boy and I went for a walk and we started to talk about his safety school. Here’s the thing: a safety school is great. You know you’re going to college no matter what. But once my kid was denied from attending those other schools, he realized how much he wanted to go somewhere that was NOT his safety school. We talked about his options and the fact that he has an acceptance at a different school out of state, but again, it’s not a school he really wanted to go to. He started to get angry and frustrated and I knew I needed to just back off. When we got back home, he started researching the shit out of his safety school and what classes he could take. He started asking me questions, “What are semester hours and credit hours? How many credits per class? What’s the gen ed requirement?” He made a document to understand what he needed to take for classes to graduate and what he needed for the general education classes, as well as what the college classes he’s already taken could go towards the requirements. He was on a roll, so my husband and I ran errands while the kid figured things out.

While we were running errands, at one point I said I just wanted to hurry and get back home. “Oh thank God,” my husband replied. We were both feeling anxious being away from our son. Our level of distress has ratcheted up to a whole new level this month.

But when we got home? The kid was pumped! He couldn’t stop talking about the classes he couldn’t wait to take and how he thinks he knows what he wants as a minor and actually planned out all of his classes for the next 4 years. Seriously. The next 4 years.

I was so relieved. I couldn’t keep the smile off my face! Although having my son go to the local university is not what I had hoped for him, I know he’ll still have many opportunities to grow and excel—because that’s who he is.

The private, “fancy” colleges who did not accept my son as a student, will be missing out on one incredible guy. A boy that listens to history and philosophy essays to relax, a young man who wrote a bill about immigration this week for fun, a person that watches Youtube videos about historical events because he wants to learn.

Yesterday, I told my son that although I know he’ll get a good education wherever he goes, I had hoped he wouldn’t be too close to home so he could escape the drama of his father’s ill health. “Mom,” he says. “I could be in California and wouldn’t be able to escape that. It’s just how it is.”

See? He’s such a smart boy. With a big heart.

And maybe I’m a little happy to have him less than an hour away, so when I really, really need to see and hug my son, I can do that.

Well…if he’s not too busy changing the world. ❤

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Willfully Ignorant

I recently had a conversation with someone whom I know to be kind, intelligent and well-informed. They admitted they purposely have not read, watched or listened to any kind of news since before the November election. Their physical and mental health was tremendously better.

I was speechless. Then angry. Fucking dumbfounded.

Since then I’ve talked to friends asking what they thought about this. Hell, I even talked to my therapist about it. I understand wanting to save yourself, wanting to be ok. But in this case? I don’t think that’s enough of a reason to not wanting to know what’s happening.

Let’s say you have every privilege there is: your skin color, your gender, your sexual orientation, your financial status, your mobility, your education, your employment status. You got it all. But you don’t want to know what’s happening in the world, in our country that we currently live in? Because it’s going to make you angry or sad? Big fucking deal. Grow a pair of ovaries and step the fuck up.

Will you be one of those that stand by while trucks of your fellow countrymen are carted off to the camps? Will you be one of the people that helps load that truck? Or will you speak out before that can happen?

EDUCATE YOURSELF. Look, there is a shit ton of info out there and I have had to pare down what’s coming at me, too. There’s too much of it. I personally get most of my information from a few sources, first being Heather Cox Richardson. She blogs daily, Letters from an American. She’s a historian and originally from Maine. She tells you what’s happening in the political world and puts it into historical context. I read Robert Reich’s Substack posts because they often give tips on how to fight back but also throws in positive news, even if it doesn’t seem like it. Reich is a professor and former US Secretary of Labor under Clinton. I get the New York Times headlines and will read some of the articles. Lastly, I’ll watch a few minutes from CBS news, mostly to yell at the screen and tell them that the death of an actor or the winning of a sports team should NOT be the first headline in any news day when fascists are trying to ruin the country.

If you like, I am happy to give you a bulleted list each day of the bullshit that’s happening. Then maybe your ears won’t get full of fleas and spiders. If you stick your head too far down into the sand, things can get ugly.

Let’s start! Here’s a very brief list of some of the shit that’s happened in the last month.

  • Trump pardoned all the people involved during the January 6th insurrection, including those that assaulted police officers.
  • All references to transgender folks have been removed from the Stonewall National Monument website. Someone forgot to tell Trump that you can’t spell history without the T.
  • Social Security and Medicaid are being raped & pillaged. Hope you weren’t counting on any of that. Oh, but, your neighbors already are.
  • Elon Musk is really running the show, along with a bunch of other rich dicks. He’s responsible for cutting a bunch of federal jobs. You might know someone who lost their job recently. No? Don’t worry. You will.
  • Congress isn’t doing their job. They are just as much to blame for this catastrophe as Trump and Musk. Feel free to call them (202-224-3121) or email your Congress people.
  • And then this. Watch it. It is tremendously upsetting. I sobbed and yelled and nearly vomited. Why? Well in case you don’t have the stomach to watch it, here’s what happened. At a Republican-hosted legislative town hall in Idaho, several people shouted “Women are dying” in response to a comment about Roe v Wade. The man at the podium called the people’s remarks “stupid” and called the people “crazy.” So others started yelling, “Is this a town hall or a lecture?” Teresa Borrenpohl was one of the women speaking out. She was dragged from the audience by men in plain clothing, who refused to say who they were. Meanwhile, the asshat at the podium is ridiculing her. AND MOST PEOPLE JUST WATCHED IT HAPPEN.

So…what do you think? Are you angry? Sad? Pissed at me because you feel I have no reason to be mad at you? You’re just one person trying to take care of yourself, trying to live a quiet, decent life, right? Trying to be a good person.

So were Edith & Otto Frank. Look how that turned out.

Here’s the thing: You don’t have to go out and protest if you don’t want to or if you are working too many hours or have other responsiblities that take up most of your time. Trust me. I do understand that.

Do one of these instead:

  • Send an email to (or call) your local and state Representatives and Senators. Tell them what you don’t like and what you wish they’d do.
  • Stop buying from companies that are giving money to Trump and his oligarchy and buy locally from businesses that you know support human rights.
  • Give money to organizations that are helping feed or house folks that can’t afford to.
  • Make a sign and put it in your house or car window. Let people know you support LGBTQ+ rights and that LGBTQ+ folks matter.
  • Or please, just educate yourself. I’m serious about sending you a daily email if you want me to.

We need you.

You’re better than an ostrich. I mean, ostriches are really cool and I’m a fan of long necks myself, but as a human? You’re better than that. So please, do better.

The future depends on it.

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Gratitude Posts

I know many folks take the month of November to share on social media what they are grateful for. I have a friend who did this for over a year. I’m not gonna kid myself and think I can last that long, but since 2025 is the biggest dump fire of a year I’ve ever experienced, I figured I’d give it a try.

And you know what? It is SO much harder than I thought it would be. I want to be genuine in my gratitude, and that, my friends, is proving difficult. There are days that I’m grateful to get outside in the sunshine, because it has been absolutely fucking frigid in Maine this winter. If the temperatures stay above 20 for much of the day, it feels like spring. (I wish I was joking.) So those days I truly am happy about a walk outside.

Me after a chilly but sunny walk near my home. I’m kinda happy.

Other days, I’m thankful to have a roof over my head and heat that mostly works. I work in a library that welcomes folks that are homeless, and seeing what these fellow humans have to do to stay alive is astounding. I don’t care if you think they are all substance users (they’re not) or mentally ill (they’re not), but even if they were they still deserve a place to sleep and eat and be safe. Period. No discussion.

And, of course, I’m nearly always grateful to have my family and friends. I have a kick-ass support system and I know that when I’m floundering, someone is there to at least throw me a rope to hold onto. Not to hang myself with. (I know some of you have toxic people in your lives that would throw you that rope for the latter. Let’s cut those assholes out of our lives, shall we?)

Today, Day 42 of my gratitude posts, I’m coming up a bit empty.

My kid had appointments at the cardiologist today, so I didn’t go to work. When we left the house this morning, my husband was struggling to stay awake. Today is food bank day, so it’s a day he leaves the house for sure. Typically it lifts him up a bit. But not today. Not at all.

I’m feeling so helpless when it comes to his care because he is still able to care for himself but doesn’t. I understand this is depression but I also understand that I do not deal with it very well. I reached out to a friend who has dealt with depression for their entire life, hoping for some insight, some nugget that would help me help my husband. I had already done a few things they suggested. I told my husband I was worried, that I loved him, that I knew he was depressed but he needed to get help, that his life affected mine and the boy’s, too.

Is there something else I should do?

Maybe? But when does it end? When does a person take responsibility for themselves? When does a partner step back and let come what may?

Sometimes I wish my feelings were consistent.

Today I’m stepping back because I’m at my breaking point on so many fronts that my brain is just filled with chaos. (I imagine it looks like a can of silly string exploded in there.) Tomorrow, though? I might be ready to throw my old man over my shoulder and drop him off at his last therapist’s office, or just sit with him as he calls his doctor to get a new antidepressant medication.

But I’m not there today. Not even close.

So…what am I grateful for today?

I think it’s my own free will.

Today, for my sanity, I am choosing me.

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All the Lies and Wishes

Sometimes a memory of your dead loved one will bonk you on the head when you least expect it.

I facilitate a book discussion group at my library called “Grieving Through Reading.” It was initially created by a volunteer but she never officially started the group due to a change in workplace. When I was asked to do this, I said yes before the question was fully formed. As you know, talking about grief, death and dying is what I enjoy doing. I guess it’s really the sharing of grief and being able to provide comfort is what really brings me joy.

This week, “Being Mortal: Medicine and What Matters in the End” by Dr. Atul Gawande was our book choice. There is an hour long documentary of the book that we didn’t have time to watch. So I started our discussion with a short clip from the film, where Dr. Gawande is discussing what his father’s doctor communicated to them regarding treatments for his cancer. The doctor was encouraging the father to take the chemotherapy and said, “Who knows? You could be playing tennis by the end of the summer.” This was absolutely ridiculous. As Gawande tells it, his father was weeks from being paralyzed. There would never be tennis playing again, yet the doctor tells this foolish and utter lie.

As my book group is in the room watching this clip, I suddenly get a flashback at what my brother’s cardiologist said to him just a month before he died. Phil was going to have surgery where a VAD (ventricular assist device) would be implanted to help his failing heart to pump blood to his body. Phil wanted to wait until early winter to do it. His doctor said that the surgery would prolong his life and he’d visit my brother and his partner on their anniversary in several years time.

What a bunch of horseshit.

As I sat in the room with my book group, watching this video for the third time (I literally watched it the day before), it dawned on me this interaction my brother had with his doctor is just like what Dr. Gawande described. Why it took 7 years for me to realize this and at this exact horrible moment, I don’t know. (I know I can be slow sometimes, but for christ sakes this is bonkers.) I was momentarily stunned and felt such an intense fury and grief, that I wasn’t sure I could do anything. I ended up missing the ending of the video, then snapped out of thoughts, shoved those emotions down deep, and went on.

I was in a pretty awful mood directly after the program and then just kept pretty quiet. My eyes and face felt like I had been crying, although I hadn’t. I felt deeply sad the rest of the day.

But I never cried, which is highly unusual for me. It’s like a put a stopper in my soul because this bit of grief and anger felt too big to deal with.

Today, however, it’s slowly seeping out. I’ve thought about Phil more and more these last few days. I want to figure out the name of Phil’s doctor and write him a letter, although the energy that would take at this moment seems too much. I had this sweet text exchange today with my former brother-in-law about my son and how proud my family would be of him. I mentioned it first, and my BIL said he didn’t want to say anything because he didn’t want it to land wrong. But after he saw my son a few weeks ago, he said all he could think of was how fucking proud Phil would be of him. I wept when I read that.

I’m angry that Phil’s not here to see this kid turn into a beautiful young man, but I’m mostly feeling bereft. I wish someone had been more honest with him about his chances. I wish I had been more honest with myself. Phil knew he was going to die and maybe he knew the doctor was full of shit. I wish I could ask him. I wish Phil was here to talk to my boy about the colleges he’s applied to, the amazing stories he’s written lately, and the political climate of our country. Phil would have many things to say about all of it. I still remember Phil telling me how good one of my son’s stories was when he was in 3rd grade. Phil could see that potential, and I’m so glad he did. I hope he had an idea of how his nephew would turn out.

I’m doing a lot of wishing and missing tonight, big brother. I love you. We all love you. And we miss you so fucking much. ❤

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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. ❤

by

The Gagging Seagull

Just over a week ago, I decided to take a break from social media. I’ve often had a difficult time with Facebook in particular, mostly because I compare myself to others way too often, and sometimes I just get jealous. Not even envious, but that nasty feeling you get when you become enraged because someone was hanging out with someone else yet didn’t invite you. Or a friend that you thought shared everything with you, was off on a vacation that you had no idea was happening. Shit like that really shouldn’t matter, but it did matter. So instead of unfriending people or blocking them or all of that bullshit, I just shut it all down.

When I told some colleagues at a meeting recently that I was taking a break from social media, nearly the entire room oohed and aahed and many said “Good for you!” or “I wish I could do that.” One colleague told me she left Facebook 8 months ago and never looked back, but can’t shake Instagram yet.

We’re kind of fucked up, aren’t we?

I’ve always loved sharing photos on FB and Insta, pics of my kid, my cats, and myself after a run. Having a supportive community can be tremendously helpful, and to be honest, I’m damn proud of my running. I’m still not losing the weight I want to, but my legs are getting stronger and I’m getting faster. Something I didn’t think I could get at 50 years old. (And maybe it’s my last hurrah, but I’ll take it while I have it.)

But in the past few weeks, I felt like my brain was too full. I constantly felt overstimulated. I didn’t want to know about anyone else’s lives anymore. I wanted to concentrate on the people I actually see or talk with every day. I wanted to be more present in MY life, and leave some others behind.

My son’s mental health has seemed fragile this past month and my husband has quit his job and is about to start a new one. I’ve been upset at the management of the Trevor Project and at my one year anniversary last week, I put in for a leave of absence. Work has been good, but very challenging these past two weeks. A lot of life has been happening and I just needed the world to quiet down.

I recently finished reading the novel, “We All Want Impossible Things” by Catherine Newman. It’s about two best friends, Ash and Edi, in the middle of their lives, but Edi is dying from ovarian cancer. Edi ends up staying at a hospice near Ash, and the book is about their love and friendship and how fucked up Ash feels. It’s beautiful and hilarious and infuriating. And so damn real.

I laughed out loud through many parts of the book (and sobbed at the end), but there’s one part in particular I want to tell you about. Ash, the woman telling the story, shared a memory about a visit she had with her parents. They went to a fancy seafood restaurant where they ate clams and lobster and looked out at the sea. The sky was a perfect blue, and in the window they were looking out of, stood a seagull, choking on a starfish. It would gag and barf and 3 of the starfish’s legs were sticking out of its mouth, just a few inches from their table. Ash’s mother commented with all seriousness, “This is lovely,” and Ash laughed. “Absolute perfection with a gagging seagull in the middle of it sometimes feels like my entire life.” (p. 125)

When I read that paragraph, I started to chuckle. Then I put the book down and laughed…and laughed….and laughed. I wasn’t laughing in the kind of way where you can’t breathe, but it was this prolonged, deeply felt joy and recognition kind of laughter. Just this past year I’ve been able to see some of that perfection and can look past the choking seagull. Both are always there, and some days I can only stare at that damn seagull and can’t see anything else. My grief for my lost family or even for the way of life we’ve lost as a result of my husband’s health can be overwhelming some days, and it takes everything I have to not put that seagull out of its misery. But other days? It’s blue sky for miles.

I’m hoping that I’ll have the fortitude to get back on social media and greatly minimize the folks I keep in touch with. Or maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll just keep using the AMAZING amount of time I have now to read and write and enjoy my little life. Either way, I’ll still be here.

Take care of yourself, friends.

“Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.”–Audre Lord

by

Hold On Hope

Habits are hard to break, aren’t they? I’ve bitten my nails for my whole life and I’ve finally stopped doing that…mostly. But now I tear at my nails instead. It’s marginally better? I drink coffee each morning before I do much of anything else. It’s not really the best habit because I use sugar and creamer. I’ve cut my sugar in half, but I can’t seem to get any further than that. Honestly, it’s a habit I don’t want to break.

What do you do when your habits seriously hurt your health? Smoking, drinking excessively, eating fatty or sugary foods–not to mention addiction to illegal drugs or pain medication–are all activities many of us participate in, but when your health is deteriorating due to these habits, how do you stop?

What if you are the partner, friend or child of the person with these harmful habits? How do you help the person? When is the time you step back…or turn your back?

In August of last year, I wrote this: “But…shouldn’t there be a time when we finally say, ‘I will no longer take care of you. I will remain your partner until death, but I can no longer help you if you refuse to help yourself.'”

I’ve discovered that there is indeed a time when I will say these sentences and that time is now.

After a recent hospital stay for my husband due to a medication failure, a diagnosis of congestive heart failure and a disastrous and degrading (to me) doctor’s appointment, I am stepping back. It is now up to my husband to take control of his life. He knows all of this now. We’ve had a “come to Jesus” meeting as my old boss, Bill, used to say. I won’t attend any more of his appointments unless he is physically unable to drive. When he asked if I would go to an appointment if he asked me specifically to go, I told him I’d have to answer that later. Right now, the answer is “no.” I have a list of his medications, but it’ll be up to him to let me know if anything changes. When he asked me yesterday if he should pick up canned hash to have for breakfast the next day, I told him I wasn’t answering those questions anymore. He could make that decision, that choice. And he did.

Does all of this seem too personal to put out into the universe? It is. It’s also really difficult. I know I have at least one friend who understands everything I’m feeling right now, and maybe there are more people out there who get it, too. You’re not alone.

Marriage is hard. Relationships are hard. Parenting is hard. Co-parenting is even harder. Watching someone hurt themselves when you know it affects more than just themselves, is rage-inducing.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve found myself falling back into that bad habit of emotional eating. I’ve always done that when I’m angry, and these past 2 weeks certainly proved that. Fortunately, I’ve been able to attempt running once more, and that has helped my moods tremendously. I wish it could help everyone, but at least I’m able to find patience as the result of my exercise and can listen to my son and husband when they need me. At this point I’m not sure I can do much else.

I know for a fact that some people will read this and think I’m heartless or selfish and should do more to support my partner. “You’ve been married for 25 years! You don’t just sit back while their health is in jeopardy!” But what if your own health, albeit mental health, is in jeopardy? What about your child’s? The old man can do this. He is completely capable of making good choices. I don’t care if you think I’m heartless or selfish. I know I’m not. I love my husband. I will until I die. I am still here. But right now, he is the only one who can help himself. Will I give him a pat on the back when he does well? Absolutely! But will I criticize him when he doesn’t? Nope. I’ll do my damnedest to just nod my head and say “ok.”

These changes will be damn difficult for everyone in our household. I will hope for the best, but expect the worst, which is my usual M.O. 😉 Now enjoy this song about trying to find some hope in a messy situation. Hugs to you all.