Survive

10 FEBRUARY, 2025

I try to get outside at least once every day, but lately life has been quite busy and I've barely had the chance to do more than walk to the mailbox or stick my head out of my office window. When the opportunity arose this past weekend - thanks to my partner generously ensuring that I got time to myself - I took advantage of the breaks between rainfalls by sitting on my patio glider reading The Book of Difficult Fruit, waiting for birds to land on the nearby tree and taking deep breaths of the fresh, cool air. Alone with my thoughts, my head suddenly cleared from a fog that had cropped up at some point while I was engrossed in caring for my daughter, meeting work deadlines, and trying to make sure that my mental health wasn't declining too much, and I realized that I had been holding in some heavy feelings.

In a way it was beautiful, despite the headache that followed, sobbing my grief into my hands as chickadees cheerfully serenaded me from a freshly-cleaned-and-filled bird feeder. While I was despairing they had no cares in the world - or so it sounded to me. 

The release was relieving, finally letting go of days of brief thoughts that turned into an avalanche of emotions. I reminded myself how far I have come, how many positive & powerful moments I have experienced - most especially the birth of our brightest, most brilliant Star - since I made an excruciating choice three years ago. Voices over pulpits, words in letters, and shameful memories told me I should forget and be happy. It got hard at times, blazing my own trail, but I persevered. I am happy, and I won't forget. 

"I'm doing great!", is what I would say most days; others, it takes every ounce of energy just to function. Days like this, I am sad, and I am hurting: simply surviving.

Tomorrow though, I'll be back to feeling cheerful, filled with determination to keep healing: thoroughly thriving.