And now here we are: surgeries, hospitals, hard decisions, emotional landmines, work chaos – all happening at once. It’s the kind of season where even the most resilient among us would like to politely step outside the narrative and scream into the void.

The only reason I haven’t is because my family is right there in the trenches with me. Ok, ok…I have screamed into the void but I haven’t taken up residence yet. Give me time though…..

We carry different pieces of the same weight.

One thing I love most about our family is that no one had to assign roles. We just…fell into them. Instinctive. Natural. Weirdly efficient, like a slightly dysfunctional but undeniably effective special operations unit. It’s like we all looked at the overwhelming reality in front of us and just said, alright, how are we going to do this? Are we perfect at this process? HELLZ no. But we are perfectly imperfect and the way we show up for the Queen Mother? Muah! Chef’s Kiss!

We each process and perform differently:

• One handles logistics like they’re air traffic control.
• One brings humor so that everyone else can just breathe.
• One becomes the emotional translator when no one knows what they’re feeling.
• One dives into research like WebMD personally wronged them.

And yes, everyone is exhausted. Everyone is stressed. Everyone is grieving something. But everyone is showing up. We’re all in the same storm – just standing in different spots.

Messiness and the love that stubbornly stays

Our relationships with mom aren’t simple – whose are? There’s history, complexity, tenderness, frustration, old wounds, and new worries. But she’s our mom. That’s the whole sentence.

We all inherited different pieces of her – grit, resilience, kindness, a questionable tolerance for chaos – and now those are exactly the traits we’re using to take care of her.

Poetic? Mebbe

Ironic? You betcha!

Meanwhile, in my ring of the circus…

I’m juggling my own (second) surgery recovery, job decisions, fatigue, weight changes (FU perimenopause), family stress and a brain that’s been running a nonstop marathon of emotional processing since…honestly, I can’t even remember when the last off season was.

But here’s the truth:

My family is carrying their own burdens too. Their own fears. Their own forms of grief.

And watching all of us hold each other up has been one of the few bright spots in a really heavy stretch.

We keep going – not necessarily because we want to but – because we have to

We show up exhausted. We show up overwhelmed. We show up worried. Sometimes we show up with snacks. Sometimes with diet coke. Sometimes with gallows humor. And sometimes with a blank stare that says, “If one more unexpected damn thing happens, I might evaporate. POOF!” But, we show up and we do it together – even if we’re not always physically in the same place.

Is there poetry in this?

Uff. I dunno. But I do know this….

Love keeps going long after your energy runs out. Family steps in even when the tank is empty. Grace shows up – sometimes disguised as humor. And somehow, in the middle of all this, we find moments to laugh – especially when it feels wildly inappropriate. We are tired but we are here. We are overwhelmed but we are not alone. We are occasionally heartbroken but we hold each other up.

And honestly, that’s its own kind of strength. It’s the kind of strength you don’t just learn from life – it’s inherited from a mom that started a whole new life for herself after she had already raised three children who were out in world starting their own lives. This woman – with all her complexities – showed us what resilience and determination looks like long before we ever fully understood what it meant to really stand up for yourself, your dreams, your future.

Now in this strange season where roles seemingly reverse, it’s her strength we’re drawing from – each of us in our own way. The grit she lived by. The stubbornness she perfected. (I mean, dayum!) The love she offered even when she maybe didn’t always know how to show it.

We carry those pieces of her into every hospital room, every late night family text thread, every hard conversation, every moment we push through on fumes.

And maybe that’s the quiet, unexpected beauty in all of this: Even now, even in the hardest moments, our mom is still the one holding us up.

I also can’t sleep. Not really ever it seems. I can’t stop having terrible dreams about unprocessed feelings and a marriage there was no closure for. I can’t control dreams and I also can’t stop being so freaking mad that they plague me. Even without dreams, I can’t situate myself in a peaceful sleep state and it feels like someone has robbed me of the only part of 24 hours I have to truly recharge.

Oddly or perhaps not so strangely, I can’t always find the line between tired and weary, sadness and grief. But for every can’t, there is something else below the surface. I can love. I can wake up tomorrow. I can inspire and lead and hope and dream. I can laugh and smile that smile that he loves. I can choose stillness in chaos and quiet confidence in strife. I can forgive slowly, or quickly or not at all. I can hold space to change my mind.

I wish. I wish things had been different. I wish I had better answers. I wish sleep came easy and peaceful feelings weren’t so fleeting. I wish the bags I carried weren’t so hard to lug through every new doorway. I wish that the people I love had the weight removed from their luggage too. I wish time would grow infinite and pain, disappear. I wish I could experience the weightlessness of another summer at the lake when I was a kid. I wish my family knew how special they are….and then multiplied it by a million. I wish everyone was as lucky as I am. I wish this world was easier for us all.

But we live.

I live.

And that’s powerful, even when you feel small. Even when living looks more like surviving, or crying quietly while brushing your teeth or writing a blog after you’ve tucked your two weenie dogs in their crates and told the love of your life goodnight. We live in spite of but also because of it all. That’s not nothing. It’s the whole kit and kaboodle.

When the world gets as complex as it has been lately, sometimes surviving is thriving. That’s the secret in the title of this post.

I can’t. — But maybe you should.

I can. –And you’ve got more in you.

I wish. –Because wishes are the first brave step.

I live. –And that? That’s the greatest gift.

I can’t live without you all. I can survive because of you. I wish you all the joy you could possibly hope for. I live with your love tucked safely in my heart.

And if you’re reading this, you’re living too. Thank goodness for that!

Yesterday, I got home after a long day at work, juggling my work bag, lunch bag, purse, sunglasses, keys, coffee mug, and water bottle as I made my way inside. In the process of shutting the car door, I broke a nail. Then, as I bent down to pick up the water bottle that had slipped from my grip, I jammed my fingers into the concrete garage floor. Bam – two more nails gone.

I had planned on a manicure this weekend so I really shouldn’t have cared but for some reason, that tiny moment was the thing that pushed me over the edge. My poor dogs – a rambunctious puppy and a semi-wise, wholly-judgmental six-year-old – looked at me as if they were considering their options for a calmer living situation. So, I did what any rational woman on the brink would do. I took the clippers and cut them all off. The nails, not the dogs.

And then I looked at my hands. Really looked at them.

Who did these hands belong to? The hands staring back at me looked different than the ones I was used to seeing – different from the ones I’d always taken a little pride in. The ones that had once been graceful, polished and even occasionally complimented. Now, they were unadorned, the texture more noticeable, the lines a little deeper. I reached for some nail polish, thinking that maybe a fresh coat would bring them back to how I remembered. But as soon as I started painting, I realized it only made me see them more clearly.

So, I took a photo. And the moment I looked at it, I knew.

They’re my mom’s hands.

I’ve always thought my mom had the most beautiful hands. I don’t recall her ever having long nails or getting gels or acrylics. But I remember the way they moved – how they turned the pages of a book, clicked out words on a typewriter, or rubbed my back when I was sick. I remember how her hands held mine – strong, capable, reassuring…filled with love.

And now, I have them.

In the past, I might have seen them as a sign of time passing too quickly. But today, I see them as something else entirely. A reflection of her. A reminder of all the love, effort, and care these hands have given and continue to give.

We spend so much time critiquing our bodies, noticing what changes, what shifts, what fades. But what if, instead, we appreciated them for what they tell us about where we’ve been? What if we looked at the fine lines, the silver strands, the hands that remember the women before us, and saw not loss, but legacy.

For the record, mom is just fine and her hands are just as beautiful as ever so that last paragraph is not about loss. And especially not losing her. But, I bet she thought her mom’s hands were beautiful too and I wouldn’t be surprised if she occasionally saw a little bit of her momma in her own hands.

Point is, I’ll keep my hands just as they are. I’ll have my nails done when I feel like it, not to cover them up, but to enjoy them. I’ll stretch them out in front of me and smile at the way they remind me of mom.

Because if aging means growing into the hands of a woman who has always cared for me, supported me, and shown me what strength and love look like, then I’ll embrace it. Every mark, every memory, every sign of a life well lived.

Just a mish mash of quotes intended to evoke memories of memes and TikToks from days gone by? Perhaps. But looked at through the eyes of someone who has been labeled as too much, they resonate on a much deeper and emotional level.

Too much. Too emotional. Too sensitive. Too outspoken. Too loud. Too direct. Too confident. I can’t honestly remember a specific circumstance where someone has said those combination of words out loud to me but I certainly can remember being made to feel every single one.

My feelings were sometimes dismissed as overreactions or my honesty called aggressive and sometimes my need to express myself was met with resistance. Significant resistance. But life is too short. And I have too many good and valid and truthful feelings to let anyone shrink my spirit simply because my authenticity makes them uncomfortable.

I spent years trying to fit into the mold that was expected of me. I swallowed my emotions, kept my opinions to myself, and played the role of the easygoing, agreeable person. But there were times. Times when I dared to break the script – to stand up for myself, to assert my voice. And in those times, I got the shit beat out of me. Not physically but verbally…emotionally. In relationships, in friendships, in the workplace – I was met with gaslighting, dismissal and sometimes just downright hostility.

So I internalized the message that their response delivered – I believed maybe I was too much. Maybe I did need to “tone it down”….manage myself with more “aplomb”. Maybe if I just stopped being so me, life would be easier.

But easier isn’t the same as better. And hiding who I really am isn’t living, it’s existing.

The thing is, my emotions aren’t a weakness. My voice is not a weapon. My passion is not a flaw. Being real – raw, open, vulnerable – isn’t something I want to (or should) feel ashamed of. It’s my strength and what makes me…me. And I suppose, if that’s too much for some people, then those aren’t my people.

I share my feelings because I care. I speak because I believe in something. I get emotional because I feel…deeply. And I’d rather be too much than not enough. I don’t want to be a watered down shell of who I was meant to be.

I understand that people process information, disagreements, discussions, whatever…differently. Not everyone is comfortable with open, emotional conversations. Sometimes I’m not either but I have learned to push through that discomfort because I’m worth being heard. I try to accommodate different communication styles, to give people space when they need it and to approach things with understanding. But sometimes, I don’t feel like I get the same in return. My perspective and process matter too, and just because I express things differently, doesn’t mean my feelings are any less valid.

Being real and raw means that sometimes, my expression won’t be perfect. Emotions can be messy, words can come out wrong, and vulnerability isn’t always polished. But I’d prefer messy imperfection over flawless and fake. And I’d rather be misunderstood for who I am than accepted for someone I’m not.

Don’t get me wrong. I haven’t perfected the art of in-your-face authenticity. Every day, I have to remind myself: I do not need everyone’s approval! Even from the people I love the most. Even from those closest to me. It’s ok if they don’t always approve of who I am or the choices I make. That’s the beauty of unconditional love – it isn’t about agreement, it’s about acceptance. We all deserve to be loved without judgment, not despite our differences, but because of them.

If you’ve ever felt the same way – like your emotions were too big, your voice too loud, or your presence too much – I see you. You’re not alone. The worlds needs us – the feelers, the yellers, the people who refuse to dim their light to fit into someone else’s comfort zone. Here’s to being unapologetically you. To choosing authenticity over approval.

In other words, you’re not too much. For the people that matter, you’re exactly enough.

Or, if you’re feeling sophisticated: Mistakes are Universal: Find Peace and Growth Without Dwelling on the Past

But seriously, Bob Newhart said it so much better in his iconic sketch on MAD TV in 2001. I shall now test the limits of my technical prowess by attempting to imbed the video. Good luck to us all…

Could there be anything more simple? If you didn’t have the patience to watch that fabulous six minutes of television, essentially, it goes thusly: Bob Newhart is playing the role of a therapist and, to every malady he shouts, “STOP IT!”. He only charges five dollars and no matter your issue, it’s just…STOP IT. Except washing your hands – you can do that ;-).

And, if none of that works, you can subscribe to his full treatment plan which includes 10 words, “STOP IT OR I’LL BURY YOU ALIVE IN A BOX.” I mean, I gotta be honest…that shit works for me. There’s not much I would continue doing if the alternative was being buried in a box.

But anyway….you’re welcome for the entertainment, now on to the main event. If you’ll allow me (and sorry mom), I would like to curse now. So you fucked up? Let’s talk about that shit.

I’m gonna go ahead and go with ‘fuck up’ instead of mistake because I am so tired of being censored IRL and this is…well…a blog so…not real? Is anything on the Internet real anymore. At any rate, I’m hoping to hide my foul mouth in the noise of the messy Internet.

Fuck ups are a universal experience but the weight that we carry from them? Those boulders of bullshit are personal and weigh more than a well-fed hippo. Doesn’t matter if it’s a regret from years ago or a misstep from yesterday, our minds do not allow us full control over the strength of the sting from that failure. And dammit, sometimes, it burns like that hornet I stepped on when I was 7 at Granny’s house.

But you know what? Even though it stings, you can’t just sit there and stare at that red lump on your arm that throbs and grows and begs for attention and sympathy. Nope. Ya gotta rub some dirt on it or, if you were me in circa 1986, your uncle would gather up cigarette ashes, spit on em, and call it a salve. Honestly, it’s a wonder I survived.

Point is, peace…comfort…after a mistake…it doesn’t come from erasing the mistake or erasing our past that may have contributed to that mistake. It’s about learning to coexist with it – to acknowledge that particular fuck up, understand the lesson, and release that bullshit boulder of a burden that you’re carrying and let those heavy emotions, well, fuck right off. (Once again, sorry mom)

Because here’s the beautiful thing my sweet friends, fuck ups are NOT meant to define you, they’re meant to refine you. BAM! I have no idea if that’s an original thought. If it is, can someone please locate my venmo and pay me unregistered royalties? K, Thanks!

Just think of the person you’d be WITHOUT the lessons you learned the hard way? Boring. Unsympathetic. Lacking depth, most definitely. Emotionally intelligent? Not likely. Mistakes hold life’s most valuable lessons but their purpose isn’t to keep you stuck in the quicksand. Their purpose is to help you realize your full potential.

So, yeah. They’re a part of your story. But that doesn’t mean they’re the conclusion. That’s been a real real real real hard lesson for me to learn. And, I’ll be honest, I am still learning…and struggling…and growing…every day. There have been so many times in my life where I felt like any mistake at all…strike that…any fuck up at all…meant that my life was over. Full stop. I never really thought I’d have the nerve to end it but that anxiety ridden part of my soul said, Lindsey, you should just give up. And damn, did I want to. I don’t know where that voice comes from but I’d like to tell that bitch to eat actual cat shit.

So we fail. What kind of friends does failure have? Oh…looky there…shame from 1st grade, guilt from your twenties, self doubt from…forever. And that crappy friend circle can hang around way longer than they’re welcome. Managing those trifle little shits is the key to finding release.

I recommend this – rethink failure. Rethink mistakes. Rethink fuck ups. Instead of thinking of it as a definitive end, see it as a path…a route…a necessary stepping stone that you were brave enough to survive. Embrace the vulnerability that comes with exposing that weakness…that mistake. And remind yourself that it isn’t weakness at all. Bitch, that shit is proof of effort and humanity. Do not let anyone take that from you!

Ok, we have arrived at step one thousand two hundred and sixty two but I’m going to ask you to go ahead and move this up to step TWO. Girl….Boi…..FUCKING FORGIVE YOURSELF! (Again…sorry mom but this post need emphasis.) Give yourself grace, compassion – the same that you’d give anyone you love…even if they don’t give it to you. Accept that you did the best you could with what you knew, where you were, what you thought, your mental and physical health at the time…whatever. You are not defined by one …or even a series of decisions – particularly if you have learned from them and my guess is that you have.

Think about your progress even if it’s not as much as you’d like. Whatever that progress is – even if it’s just recognition of things you’d like to change – is movement toward the you that you’re meant to be and that’s so beautiful it makes my heart hurt. I want that for you….whoever you are. To know that every second that tics by is an opportunity to realize yourself just a little bit more. Sometimes that realization is so painful we can hardly bare it but that’s the beauty of existence. Without pain…without growth…what good are we?

And guess what? You’re gonna think you’re super wise. SOOOOOO smaht! You’ve learned so much and will share your knowledge with the world around you. Hey…friend…you there….YOU ARE TOTALLY GONNA FUCK UP AGAIN! So, try to make those mistakes part of your journey and not your destination. If you’re able, face them with honesty, manage the emotions and choose to grow. And somehow, if you do that, you transform regret into wisdom. That made me chuckle because I feel like if that’s the case, I must be suuuuuuuper wise. In truth, in reality, maybe I am. And so are you….

Maybe we can press pause, take a breath, catch up later but the truth is, the world keeps turning. Time marches forward and the demands, the pressure, the stress – they just accumulate in the background even if you hit that magical pause button. Sure, we can delay the need to respond to an email, ignore the news, or put off a tough decision – but the emotional and mental weight catches up at some point, doesn’t it? Pause doesn’t stop time – it just suspends it in our minds – while life carries on and whatever it is you’re hitting pause on has this relentless ability to….catch up.

When I was in my twenties…or even thirties, I thought (like a lot of people do) that as I got older, life would naturally slow down. I thought there would be fewer demands on my time, responsibilities would ease, work would get less stressful and that I’d have the opportunity to live and move at a more deliberate and measured pace. But that’s an illusion.

Aging doesn’t equate to a slower life – it just brings different kinds of demands. Time doesn’t slow down as we age but our perception changes. Days that seemed to drag on forever now go by in a blink. The frantic pace of ‘youth’ might give way to a more reflective stage of life but with age, comes different pressures — health, family, finances.

Ultimately, we’re faced with the same question at every stage – how do we live fully within time, instead of trying to fight it? Maybe the real goal is to keep pace with time in a way that feels meaningful and balanced. Easier said than done I know.

So I guess maybe we don’t get more time as we get older. Life doesn’t slow down. But maybe we can learn more acutely how precious time is.

I feel like my life is speeding along at a remarkable clip and I have absolutely zilch control over the speed with which it flies by. It just goes. Babies get older (though I have none), hearts are broken and heal miraculously, old stressors disappear and new ones take their place. I find immense joy in the smallest moments with the people I hold most dear but there’s seemingly never enough time to fully enjoy any of it.

And then. AND THEN. And then I remember to give myself grace. Life goes by in a blink, sure. It’s frantic and manic and loud and peaceful and beautiful and filled with joy and sadness. Every single thought and feeling we have? It’s all a blessing. I get wrapped up. I know I do. I get wrapped up in things that don’t matter but the thing is, with age I have come to realize that I can forgive myself for being distracted by things that aren’t that important and there’s still time…there’s always time…to enjoy what really matters.

What matters to me won’t matter to you but I’ll put it here anyway. It’s the way my mom’s smile and laugh could warm the coldest soul. It’s the way my best friend will stop whatever she’s doing and just listen to my ridiculous rants. It’s the way the love of my life has popped up out of nowhere and brought me trust and peace and love – something I never thought I’d have again. It’s a sister that is the yin to my yang. A brother that is ridiculously talented and just stepping into a creativity that he’s had all along. It’s nieces and nephews and babies that give me hope that the future is not lost. It’s the memories of the friends and family members who are not with me anymore – but are. It’s the sleepy corn chip smelling feet of Izzy. It’s horror movie trivia on a Sunday morning. It’s the dream that there may be a pause button for me yet – and that I’ll be able to spend that suspended time with the people I love.

What matters isn’t that we slow – it’s the relationships we cultivate, the moments of connection, the experiences that bring us joy and the impact we have on the people around us. Time spent with our loved ones, meaningful conversations, and quiet moments of reflection or even comfortable silence. Those moments hold more value than anything we can measure by deadlines or achievements.

In the end, the pace may never slow but what matters is how we choose to spend it. We don’t need a pause button, we just need each other’s love.

I once wrote about being pulled under by the tide. The tide of misunderstanding, or a lack of education, or simply a person or thing or institute who was just hell bound to make me drown. Someone I love read that and their response was this:

The tide of the ocean is inevitable. It will rise and fall every night without fail, but those ups and downs are caused by the same force that brings beautiful light to the darkness. The tide also rises and falls during the day, and even though it’s the same force that causes it, you can’t always see its light. So just as it is with the tide, in life there will always be ups and downs. That’s inevitable . And although you’re not the controlling force of your tide, and sometimes the light isn’t as obvious, you know it’s there, whether life is up or down.

You just have to remember it’s there, whether or not it shines bright, always. And sometimes, if you look hard enough, you can see the moon shining during the day, before it ever gets dark.

There is another force of the ocean, rip currents. They’re related, but different than the tides. You can predict the rise and fall of the tides, and you can float up and down with those inevitable waves, just like the ups and downs of life. But it’s the dangerous and unpredictable rip currents that can pull you out to sea. When you recognize them though, you may think you only have two options.

To fight against them until you’re too exhausted to go on, or to float and let them carry you, hoping you’ll survive the long swim back, or be rescued.

There’s another option though. The recommended way to survive a rip current. And that is to swim sideways, away from it. Not toward it or with it but away from it. The hard part sometimes is to recognize it before its too late. But once you do, your life depends on how fast you swim away from it before it takes all your energy …and takes you to the point of no return. You don’t have to let it pull you back and carry you away. Sometimes, the best option is to go the opposite direction, and find a new path…to safety.

—That’s the whole thing. Can you believe how beautiful it is? I couldn’t. Here’s what I took from that and you…can take whatever you want.

I’m drowning. We are all drowning…all the time. But no matter how deep the water or how difficult the path, we always have choices. And we have community. I’ve built mine. Then let it fall by the wayside…then rebuilt. Rinse …repeat. Here’s what I know, the people I love…love me. And no matter the pool or lake or river or ocean I’m fighting against, they will be there. Find those people. Love them. Let them love you. Because sometimes the only life preserver you have is the love you have built.

My problem lies in the in between. I am historically uncomfortable with the unknown. In most cases the unknown is…other people. I can’t control them, their feelings, their actions, their emotions, their decisions. Nor should I want to. But I can tell you one thing – I have really really tried. If I had my way, I’d be the director of this show. The teacher who grades the paper. The judge who gives the score. 

And it’s not about control over someone else. It’s about feeling like I have control over myself and for so long, I have based my worth, my success, my beauty, my intelligence – on the judgment of someone else. It’s ridiculous as I think about it. I needed no one to become the me that I am and yet, there is still a pull to be…perfect.

We are all, always, in the in between. Even if we are grounded in our current reality, there is always something waiting beyond. A decision to be made. A purpose to explore. A path to walk. And we are always in front of or behind…something. So, how do we get comfortable in the in between? How do we sit with the unknown and just find peace in the not knowing?

Even at this stage in my life where I feel confident that, no matter what, I’m going to be ok – I still have a thousand things that are…waiting. I wonder how they will all turn out. What roads will I take? What paths will be followed by the people I love? Who will I lose? Where will I find success, meaning, contribution, joy….?

And the truth is, I have no freakin’ clue. I’m not meant to know because, all of that? It’s not in my hands. It’s in the grasp of a hundred different people and some butterfly somewhere that could change the course of all of our lives with just a flap of its pretty little wings.

So, the only thing I’ve come up with is to live in the moment. To be happy with the gifts you’re given. To learn how to adapt to the pain that life brings you and to find some comfort in the in between because as long as you’re in between something – well, that means you’re on your way somewhere and that’s something. 

The in between, it’s uncomfortable. I was trying to think of a decent analogy and the best I could come up with was exercise. When you’ve started a fitness routine, you tend to know it’s working when you’re sore, when things are a little uncomfortable, when there’s a little pain. And sometimes that pain comes during the workout and sometimes it’s a day or two later. It just depends. But, no matter what, when you feel it, you know you’re changing.

And I think that’s what it’s like to be in the in between. Don’t know when grief will end? You’re not supposed to but the pain you feel, it means you’re alive…and changing…adapting. Can’t find a solution to a problem? Not all problems are created equal. Sometimes you have to sit with them and that can hurt…a lot. But the hurt? It’s part of the process. 

Someone once said, stop suffering in comfort and I think that might say it best. We are born to change. We are alive to overcome. We are not meant to sit stagnant. A rolling stone and all. So I’m trying to be a little bit more welcoming to the in between because to me, it’s a road and at this point in my life, I’m ready to get in the car and drive.

So if you’re stuck in the in between, maybe you should just step on the gas? Or find some gas station coffee and contemplate life. However you handle the pauses in life, they’re yours to handle…and no one else’s. 

Be your own in between. 

XOXO, L

We are in a new year. New Year…new you. New Year…same you…but better informed? I don’t know. As always, this is a choose your own adventure situation. So, my choice in 2024? My choice is to understand, accept, and learn to live with the fact that two things can be true. That there is power in the in between. That you don’t have to necessarily live wholly in one reality and sacrifice another. There are options, alternatives, ways to exist in a world that isn’t always black and white.

For too long, I tried to fit into a world where only one reality could possibly be true. And it’s time now to accept that my reality doesn’t fit the script of anyone else’s and sometimes, it doesn’t even make sense in my own world. As I read that back, I realize that it is convoluted but perhaps it will get clearer if I just keep typing. ;-)

So here I go.

If you are a great mother, you can’t possibly be a great professional, wife, friend, or independent woman. If you are a great spouse, you can’t possibly have your own identity, hobbies, talents, friends, and goals. If you are a great professional, you have sacrificed all of the above to be a standout in your job. If you are a great friend to someone, you can’t also be a great wife, mother, professional….or even a great friend to more than one person.

But, here’s the thing. Two things can be true. Or even three or four or a dozen.

If you are hurting from the loss of a love or a life that you knew, that doesn’t mean you can’t find joy in the life you are building. The pain from loss persists but it doesn’t have to paint you into a corner of despair. You can still cry about the loss…be dismayed at the wasted time…and enjoy the moments of peace that are brought to you by unexpected people who are actually worthy.

Two things can be true.

So as I look back over 2023, I think about the surprises that landed at my doorstep. The heartbreak, the devastation, the absolute tsunami that rained down on the life I had planned and sometimes, it still puts me on my knees. But, at the same time, and maybe even more often than not, I think about what might have happened if that tragedy of a wake up call hadn’t knocked at my door. How many years would I have squandered trying to make myself happy in a situation that was eating me alive slowly. So, I am blessed to have been slapped in the face but still angry and sad that it happened the way it did.

Two things can be true.

So I sit here, filled with joy and a little bit of sadness. Sadness at time lost but joy for what’s to come. Forty five years in and I still feel like my whole life is ahead of me. Joints pop. I can’t have more than two drinks without a hangover. My toes curl up and cramp for no reason at all. I’m tired at a ridiculously early hour but still, every day feels new…fresh. I am whole. Or at least, wholly alive. And I could just have a few years left on this earth or a few decades. I dunno because…

Two things can be true.

So, take time in that in between. Take a moment to recognize that with pain, comes growth. We evolve. It’s not always easy. But the gift in suffering is the recognition of peace.

Suffering. Peace.

Two things can be true.

That’s trauma I guess. Or heartbreak. Or broken trust. Or any of the many things that leave us…changed. It’s true you reap what you sow but sometimes, you reap what they sow. You pay the price for what has been done to you. It’s unavoidable. When you give yourself over, when you pass your heart and soul to someone you believe is worthy and they just rip it to shreds – it changes you.

I suppose that can be a really good thing too. It teaches you to discriminate. You learn how to spot the wolves. But I think sometimes it leaves you a bit jaded, a bit guarded, and more than just a little bit unsure. It takes a tribe of the willing to overcome those feelings. It takes truly genuine people to break down those walls. It takes a level of patience that, honestly, good people shouldn’t have to endure. But the really good ones, they’ll stick around. Because they get it.

I had an interesting conversation tonight about whether or not I was an empath. I, of course, railed against the notion. I have sympathy but I’m not empathetic, I said. My friend laughed at the notion. If I wasn’t empathetic, how in the world would I have found myself in the position I was in just six short months ago? So, like it or not, I feel people’s pain. Particularly if I have gone through similar pain. It has caused me to give the wounded more time than the healed. I want them to feel seen. Just like I yearn to be seen. For the most part, that has resulted in meaningful connections. But on occasion and on one big occasion, it allowed me to give a pass over and over and over again to someone who wasn’t worthy. Someone who didn’t have my heart in mind. Someone who pretended to be a protector.

And once you’ve lost that battle…once you realize that you squandered that precious time for someone who was never going to honor the patience you provided, well, it cuts you down. I’ve learned or am at least on my way to learning, that I have no control over anyone else and the only thing that truly matters is my own heart and happiness. Once you focus inward, the outside world…it gives you what you need. I believe that. I do. It can be hard though – to stay in that place of confidence. Wounds reopen. Insecurities start to resurface. I wish I could say that I was always strong enough to stay grounded in my sense of self. But we are the sum total of our experiences. We are what the world has made us – to a degree anyway.

So I try. I stumble. I get up. I keep walking. It’s all I can do. I am full of joy and pain and tragedy and all the things that make me human. I relish in knowing that there are others out there who walk beside me, behind me and in front of me – who are making a beautiful life for themselves. No matter how many thorns may prick their fingers, they still find the roses beautiful. Life is a series of missteps. We get bruised and we heal. We prepare ourselves to get hurt again. But we know that pain is temporary and without pain we wouldn’t truly understand peace.

It’s the constant ebb and flow of misery and joy that keeps us all going. Just like the tide. If you fight too hard against it, you will drown. But if you open your arms and just float, maybe…just maybe, you’ll stay above water.

P.S. I hate the ocean. Give me pools and a pina colada anyday.

XOXO, L