My mind has been spinning with constant thoughts and indecipherable feelings over the past few weeks. I am guessing it's my anxiety kicking in, but I can barely figure out most of what's going on inside my head let alone how I've been feeling about life these days.
My preferred therapeutic outlet of writing hasn't been too effective either, and trust me, I've tried. I have sat in front of this computer screen many times since I last wrote before the new year began, but really nothing more than a title or a few sentences have come out at a time.
I wouldn't necessarily call it writer's block, but I guess there's just something- or a whole lot of somethings-going on inside my head that has caused me to save my drafted words for a time when they flow more freely to express whatever it is that pops up in there.
Maybe all of these thoughts going on in my head are for me to juggle and process, without sharing them openly with anyone else to see, hear, or ponder themselves?
Perhaps it's just not the time to really elaborate just how much these years have completely broken me, yet built me back up differently than I was before?
Whatever the case may be, more than anything, I'm taking the time right now to think it all through (without overthinking) and try to gain some clarity as to why this all happened, and consequently changed so many aspects of our lives.
After all, isn't everything supposed to happen for a reason?
Many who really know me outside of social media and this blog are well aware that I've always been someone with a kind heart and empathetic soul. I care about people, and really care about my family and friends, and would essentially give whatever I could to help another, especially those I truly love. It is just how I am, and how I'll always be.
But for a long time, it's fair to say that I really didn't care much about my own needs. It just wasn't a priority for me. These last few years were focused on being my daughter's mother and my husband's wife, knowing they needed most of my time and energy.
I can remember my therapist and other confidantes concerningly asking what I was doing to take care of myself.
I usually responded the same, with a small smirk or awkward twist of my mouth, and little eye contact knowing they wouldn't agree with my answer because they couldn't fully understand what life was really like for us.
It's not about me right now. It's not time to worry about my needs. They need me.
Sometimes they'd also bring up specific ideas about how to engage in self care:
"Get your nails done?"
(No, we don't have the money.)
"Have a date night or go out with friends?"
(Not really, nights are unpredictably tough.)
"Travel? Take a break and have some fun?"
(Remember, no money. And it's just hard to make plans these days.)
I have reflected a lot about all of this, maybe too much at times, and this year I finally found the beauty and benefits of self-care through yoga and meditation. It wasn't easy at first, not at all. I struggled to spend so much time with no one but my mind- and occasionally with my dog when she joined by laying on my mat.
It's funny, because now, within minutes of my practices, somewhere between a "breathe in, breathe out", my true inner thoughts and suppressed feelings start coming out as clear as day.
I miss our old house. It felt more like home.
I miss my old job, especially the people.
I wish we didn't have to worry so much about money all the time, so much so that we can't even take Taylor to the vet.
What if, fifteen years ago, I had the confidence to say "yes" instead of "no"?
What if, ten years ago, his symptoms never started up?
What if, five years ago, I would had fought harder to find the right diagnosis?
What if we knew what he has been battling all along? How would life be different for us then? Would we be more financially secure? Would we be advocating for more awareness and better support?
Would it really change much at all if we had a concrete answer?
And then, when the yoga bliss disappears again, my words become harder to find. I even struggle to send honest text messages to trusting friends, knowing that they are there for times like these as they've been there all along.
So, for the first time in a very long time, I decided to start journaling again. And on the first page, the very first thing I wrote is below.
Lately there have been so many thoughts running through my mind, yet no one else has heard them. Well, maybe Taylor and the night sky, those few times that I spoke my ramblings, frustrations, and many questions aloud.
Taylor never answers, but I swear she feels my pain and continued heartache. She looks at me so deeply with her sweet brown eyes, and I simply feel like she wants to help me feel better. Sometimes she'll even reach out her paw, like she's saying, "Mommy, I know all of this is so hard, but I'm here with you."
And then there's the moon, well the whole night sky, that tends to hear both my drunk and sober weariness at the end of most days. When I finally speak my struggles outloud into the darkness, I usually do feel some sort of silent reply:
Keep going. Trust. Believe.
We got you. Don't give up now.
It's coming. It's almost time.
For much of the past year, I believed these intuitive (gut) feelings. Many times, because I really needed to believe in something.
But then I also feel foolish thinking that something so good was still going to come from all of this, even if I know whole-heartedly that I'm deserving of a beautiful story.