No Time Would Have Been Enough

 Horatio Purvis Canine | March 29, 2007 - June 17, 2023

I don't know it it's hindsight or an attempt to being some control to the uncontrollable, but I think I did have a feeling it would happen - I just didn't want to admit it. 

Every time we've gone out of town since Horatio first got sick, I was afraid THAT would be the time he'd pass. I somehow always thought his eventual death would be tied to a trip. And, if that was the case, this was good one to be tied to. 

Last week was uncharacteristically social for me - Monday was Riley and Sarah for wedding talk, Tuesday was Alison and David to catch up, Wednesday was Advancement Services social, and Thursday was going away drinks for Jennie who was leaving UAB AG for a job back in Memphis. I still made sure to give H his fluids as soon as I got home, though, and even fed him dinner Monday and Tuesday. He was fine. 

Thursday night, he didn't eat dinner - definitely not out of character for him. He'd shied away from food earlier in the week and I'd given him anti-nausea medicine (our new normal whenever a nausea/vomiting/not eating cycle started) before finding out Doug had fed him a little more than I did so he probably just wasn't hungry. I thought maybe that was the same case Thursday. 

Friday morning, Doug said H has been retching and vomited a little bit, but he still seemed reasonably ok. I was worried as always, but told myself it was just another cycle. Since we were dropping them off at our usual vet for boarding (and they ALL love him), they'd keep a good eye on him and start our usual non-stop fluids to get him back to health by the time we came back. 

When I got home from work for us to pack up and go, H seemed weak. I didn't care how much of a rush we were in to get out of town so we didn't hit ATL rush hour traffic, I scooped H up to snuggle him for a while. Somewhere inside, I did have the thought - in case something bad DOES happen this weekend, I'd hate myself if I'd rushed and missed my chance to love on him. 

When I put him down, he seemed like he might not be able to stand, but Doug scooped him up so we could walk out. On the way to drop them off for boarding, there was something about the way H's paw drooped while he was in Doug's lap that scared me. 

As we drove out of Birmingham, I was upset and freaking out inside. I kept telling myself that it would be ok, he was in care where he needed to be, and there was nothing I could do anyway until I finally calmed down. I finally put it out of my head, but the worry and fear was still looming around the edges. I think it was for Doug, too, because he was tense and trying to be happy when we got to ATL. We did go to a great dinner, though, and managed to enjoy the evening. 

I woke up during the night to go to the bathroom and almost couldn't fall back asleep for worrying so much. I decided that as soon as Becker opened in the morning that I'd call to check on H - even if I had to do it in secret. 

I slept later than Doug did - actually getting up at my normal time at least in our time (around 6am Central). I got up and started to make coffee when Doug's phone rang. It was Anna - the vet tech that had been through a lot of H's care with us in the last year and a half. She said she'd come in to check on H (and I guess feed animals in boarding), and he "wasn't looking so good." She said he was on his side and not able to stand. She said she had the doctor (not Dr. B but the older, retired vet that often covers Saturdays) coming in to look at him and asked if we have someone who could help if he needed to be transferred to the ER. 

I was scared again, but I was thinking surely this would be like before - he'd pull through. We'd prepared ourselves so many times before that is was going to be it when it wasn't. This time, I did the opposite. 

About halfway through drinking my coffee - maybe an hour later, Anna called back. She said the vet had looked H and looked at his history. He advised either we transfer him to the ER or put him to sleep. I think we were all a little shocked that this was actually it. Doug told her we'd talk about it and get back with them to let them know what we decided. 

When he hung up the phone, Doug sat there for a minute, struggling. I told him, "You know, we can go home, take him to the ER or whatever we need to do then come back. We don't have anything to do until Gutfeld at 7 tonight." Honestly, at that point, I was still in mind that they'd admit him to do fluids the rest of the weekend then take him home. I apparently had not picked up the tone in Anna's voice overhearing it from a distance that Doug did. 

He said something about "but that'd be 5 hours even if we drove over there and came right back." I told him I didn't care - we had to do what was more important so he said "ok, let's go!" I started packing everything up to leave and not come back, but when I asked Doug if that was his plan, he said he was definitely planning to come back. 

We jumped in the car, Doug had a cigarette, and then he called Becker. He asked if they could start giving H fluids and let them know we were on our way. Thankfully, there was no traffic and no accidents - we were even able to drive well over the speed limit just keeping up with the general speed of everyone else on the road. 

We were quiet - not even playing anything on the radio. We spoke here or there - sometimes stupid, funny comments. At some point, though, Doug finally said it - "I think we all know what the outcome of today is going to be." 

At that point, I both wanted to hurry up and get to the vet to have what little time we could with our boy but also not get back to put off the inevitable because I couldn't bear it. 

When we got to Becker just after 10am, there were no other clients there, and the staff knew what was going on. They put us in an exam room immediately. The Dr came in and was overwhelming old-school blunt - saying he'd thought H was already dead when he saw him that morning. When Anna brought H in to us wrapped in a blanket, we knew. I honestly expected him to stop breathing once he saw us because he was so visibly weak - and THAT was him "perked up" from earlier in the morning since they'd given him some fluids. 

We asked for privacy with him (which the old Dr took a while to catch on to and actually leave). Doug and I cried while we looked in H's eyes and petted all over him. He tried to lift his head a few times, but otherwise, he clearly couldn't move. His breathing was shallow. I kept rubbing his face in hopes he'd lick my hand like usual, but he didn't/couldn't. After a few minutes, Anna came back in, and we let her know we agreed it was time. He was done fighting, and we needed to let him go. 

She gently explained what each meds he'd receive would be for and what to expect. Luckily, he already had an IV since we'd asked them to give him fluids so we didn't have to watch them do that.

While she prepared the shots, I picked H up from the counter and put him in Doug's arms to snuggle for the last time. I told him it was "love on Boober time" just like we used to do in Doug's bed at Chez K. I kept stroking and kissing his little head. I was so glad I had snuggled him a home before we left because I wanted Doug to have all the contact time he could. 

When Anna and the vet came back in, Doug gently placed H on the counter and told him it was time for one last great adventure. He told him not to piddle on Mr. Jesus - "he won't get mad, it's just bad form." 

Anna held H's head, Doug held one of his back paws, and I held the front paw without the IV. We kept telling him we love him, that he's a good boy, the he was doing great, and thanking him for fighting so long. The Dr. listened to H's chest and said he was gone. 

After Anna and the Dr left the room, we said another brief round of goodbyes. I bent over and kissed him face one last time. Doug pulled the sheet over H, and we left. It was a little after 10:30am 

We went home, Doug put black ribbon over H's portrait from Chris, we drank a toast to him, etc. We left around 12:30pm to go back to Atlanta. On the way back, he said "You know why I had to come back." We both knew that if we sat at home and sunk deeper into our grief, it would be dangerous. 

At that point, we were still in shock and denial. We'd barely eaten so I got us to an Irish pub (since I'd already checked them out so wouldn't have to do a big "where should we eat" search). We got back to the rental house with about half and hour before we needed to leave to see Gutfeld. We both managed to laugh and enjoy ourselves at the show, but boy, was I glad we were heading to a comforting Airbnb house instead of a cold hotel. 

I stayed up until almost midnight when I just couldn't stay awake anymore. I'm not sure when Doug finally came to bed, but he was already up when I got up. 

We made our way to the Georgia Aquarium since we'd already bought tickets - especially to the Penguin Encounter. Doug was just sort of going through motions, but he did manage to sincerely smile and seemed to enjoy some of the exhibits. We both legitimately loved the penguin. In a weird way for me, I think it helped to have a direct interaction with an animal like that to life my spirits a little. 

Stats Bar was right by where we'd parked, and Doug had pointed it out as remembering it from ETC's trip to Atlanta years ago for an improv festival. I was so hungry, I knew Doug needed a drink, and he hasn't really responded when I'd asked what he wanted to do so I figured we'd stop at Stats to decide. When we sat down - or shortly after we ordered, he was tearing up. When we got done, he said he'd like to go back to the Airbnb house. 

When we got there, it was obvious he was really feeling the weight of loss. I told him "you know, we can cancel tonight's dinner reservation and go home early if you want." He said he'd think about it. 

I felt super tired so went to lie down in bed for a little nap so I'd have energy if he did want to go home. Instead - having no "business" of the trip left, the loss hit me. I felt gutted and cried hard. I finally got up and went to sit on the back deck. Doug joined me, and we cried together for a while. We shared how we were feeling, and Doug said he thought he wanted to go home. I was on board. 

We packed up and managed to get home by 4:00 or so. There were a lot of moments of tears on the road, lots of memories of H. There were more tears when we got home, but we were glad to be back - as glad we had been to have somewhere else to go on Saturday. 

Once the gates were open, I felt a pain like I had not felt since my grandparents died. Hell, maybe even more painful. I felt - in my spirit, in my mind's eye, like I was still clutching H to my chest and didn't know how I'd ever let him go. 

Sunday night, I had a dream where I was calling into the backyard for Horatio and Annabel, but even in my dream, I immediately realized that Horatio was gone. When I woke up, I didn't feel like I was clutching him any more, but I was at peace. For the rest of the day, I was beyond exhausted and literally felt a weight throughout my body. 

When I picked up Annabel, she didn't seem out of sorts and didn't search for H when she got home. I'd been honestly afraid of what we'd do if SHE was upset because I didn't know how to help her. BUT, Anna had asked Saturday if we wanted Annabel in with us when they put H to sleep. We said we didn't know and asked for her advice. She told us Annabel had been pacing the kennel when they took H out that morning to care for him. After they talked to us, she'd calmed down and was snoozing at the point - like she knew what was happening. 

I definitely still cry when I think of him - especially when I take myself back to being in that exam room with him the last time. But I am also so incredibly thankful. We got more than a year and a half with him after the first time they warned us that it could be the end. And he'd let us know very clearly when it was time. Even though part of me hurts that we weren't there with him during that full final decline, I also think that it would have destroyed us even more if we had been.

I'm not sure why, but I've been able to mark the stages of grief so much more clearly this time - Doug and I even talked about it. Right after it happened, I was definitely in denial - which is how I was able to go through with our trip plans. Sunday afternoon, I jumped hardcore into depression, but Monday morning, my subconscious helped me to wake up in acceptance. Aside from being pissed with how indelicate the vet was, neither Doug nor I felt anger nor the need for bargaining. 

I am thankful for the bonus time and that H was surrounded by the Becker staff who cared for him like us. I messaged Dr Ezell - who was his vet when his liver first started showing decline - to let her know he was gone and to thank her for her part in getting us extra time with him. She thanked me and let me know he'd been very special to her. Of course, he was to everyone who ever even just saw him. 

I'm thankful it did happen when we had a trip - close enough to come home to be with him but enough of a plan to let us get some distance while we started the grieving process. I see the hand of God in the way everything unfolded. It was like I could directly hear God telling me to take the time to snuggle with H before we left. Heck, Doug took a selfie (now an absolutely treasure) only a few days before of H giving him kisses on his face. I'm thankful it did happen fast so hopefully he didn't suffer. 

Doug and I both also admitted that as much as it fucking hurts, it is also a relief to not worry about him. We know he's not in pain, he's not sick. I had noticed the growth on his leg slowly getting bigger and worried what would happen if he couldn't walk anymore, but now he won't have to get to that point. 

Most of all, I'll always he thankful because H taught me how to love in a way I'd never known before. I told him that several times while I was cradling him on the way to the vet ER. He made my heart warm and open like I didn't know it could. He was, and always will be, a goddamn gift. And, our sweet boy.  

And the pendulum swings

 Well, as always seems to happen, as soon as I wallow in my joy, it is gone. 

After writing about how relieved and happy I've been with the change in job and how that has influenced other parts of my life, I returned to the office today in a full funk. 

Life is definitely a balance. 

Horatio has been in the full grips of a nausea cycle since late last week - barely eating more than a few bites. Saturday, he finally at 2/3 of a can of food so I thought we were finding our way to the other side. Instead, he barely at again yesterday so starting on chicken and rice today (he ate most of the rice and the topper treats I gave him this morning since the chicken wasn't thawed). I at least feel better after seeing the specialist knowing that this is our new normal instead of an indicator of further decline. I know he doesn't feel good and I'm powerless to help beyond the few things I can do that way or may not work over time. It's like an outward manifestation of my own chronic illness. 

Speaking of which...I am so damn tired of dealing with my Crohn's, too. I realized - as I was determined to push for a better solution to try to treat my cutaneous Crohns at my GI appointment last week - that I have been dealing with this almost the entire time that Doug and I have been together. For almost a full month now, my farthest rear wound has actually had pain almost constantly - instead of for a few days, giving me a break, then for another day. I can't get away from it, and it reminds me constantly that I've still broken. 

The depression set in yesterday. I was irritated by everything all day long, and I still feel that today. For the first time in a long time, I lay back down on the bed for a minute before I got dressed. 

I have zero desire to be productive today but know I have to be because if I let this funk put me behind the depression will set in even more. 

All the grace and understanding I've given myself for letting what doesn't seem to overwhelm anyone but me full-on overwhelm me constantly has disappeared. I keep beating myself up for not being that person who is constantly checking in with everyone in my life and having a close relationship with everyone who matters. Instead, I feel like I'm struggling to even be aware that those I care about exist in the world. 

The thing is that this isn't a new experience - the pendulum shift from positive to not or the feeling of being down or of being not enough. It's my life and it always has been. 

At least now I recognize the normality - and maybe even requirement - of it so that I don't think this is how it will always be when it comes. It too will pass like always, but in the meantime, it does suck. 

6 months in

 This week was 6 months since I started my job at UAB. 

This period has reminded me a little of when I started at United Ability in that I was feeing burned out from Red Cross when I started that job and was still carrying that with me as I battled to be productive and figure out my new responsibilities. I have definitely felt that through my journey starting at UAB except I feel like I've been digging from an even deeper hole to try to get to functioning. I was SO much more burned out coming into UAB that I was when I left Red Cross, and dealing with Horatio's health issues have certainly compounded things and taken a toll. 

BUT, there are also positive differences that I've felt in this kind of career awakening at UAB. Because I had been through the process before, I knew I would find my feet and get strong again. Because I'm doing something that is completely in line with my strengths, I have a tendency to embrace and push through challenges more than letting them bring me down. I absolutely have a spirit of appreciation, gratitude, and joy after the weight I'd felt for the last several years. 

I met with the TWO people who filled my old job at United Ability to talk through some of their questions about the Journey of Hope event they are now left to plan without anyone who has planned it before still on staff. I think also they just wanted to talk. The one who has taken on all the data and financial part of the position (and has added grantwriting) immediately said, "I have one main question for you - HOW did you do everything you did?!"

That was the absolution, validation, and recognition I don't even think I realized I needed until that moment. Because I managed to keep things afloat in everyone else's eyes, they didn't understand how truly overwhelmed I was. Now that the TWO people that are doing my ONE job are also feeling overwhelmed let me know I wasn't crazy and let them know it's not just them. 

We ended up talking for almost 4 hours, and I really gave them honest background on the operational history I knew about and perspective on all the change that has happened so quickly. I really think United Ability is an incredible organization with a remarkably promising future that got hit with a perfect storm of devastating blows in an unbelievably short time - COVID, losing Dr E, losing Dr. Law, losing Alison, losing Tina, new CEO. Just one of those would have shaken the foundation of any organization or business - the fact that United Ability is still standing shows its true core strength. 

Through these 6 months, I've gained an even greater appreciation for - and maybe fallen even more in love with - Doug. Through his history at UAB and listening to him talk about work for all these years, I wasn't a complete newbie coming in not knowing about anyone or about how anything worked. There is something in my job every day that I realize relates directly to him being in my life.

We have become even more of a team than ever before. I think - though he'll never admit it - that his value of me changed once I was earning as much as him. He always kind of hid behind that "I bring the money to this relationship" mentality, but he has been much better about helping with chores (including cooking) since I changed jobs.

Now that I actually get to focus for long periods on a single project and get mentally exhausted at the end of the day, I understand why he is often wiped and doesn't have a chance to do something simple like make a phone call. I can't count how many times it is suddenly the end of the day, and I never did that quick thing I was going to do that day. 

I know I am in a bit of a honeymoon phase between the grass being greener and the pure relief of not still being in my old position, so I try to remind myself to recognize the joy I'm feeling as I navigate my way through this job in case I need to tap back into it later. 

But, I also really do feel like I've graduated to a major next stage in my life where all the lessons to this point start to pay off. Where I am willing and able to connect to my real self instead of constantly trying to fit to what I think I'm supposed to be or wanted to be despite it not really being "me." 

It's not all just the job - I'm also finally tackling projects around the house that I've thought about for so long that are making it a better environment, too. I've found ways to use dead space in our oh-so-tiny fridge so everything isn't just stacked up or smooshed together. I FINALLY got the Weird Al and Wadsworth from Clue artwork hung up that has been sitting in the office since the Fall. 

On the weekends, I actually feel like I can relax instead of constantly feeling like I should be doing something to improve whatever had irritated me about the house. 

Of course, I'm also still waiting for the other shoe to drop, but I'm trying to appreciate the space I'm in for as long as I'm here since it is not a place I have been often in my life. I feel like I can breathe, I feel like my feet are under me, and I feel like maybe some it was a phase that has passed. 

Thank you, you may go

 Life changes and clearing out have often gone hand-in-hand for me. I remember as a kid going through books or clothes or toys every so often to clear out, and there was always an emotional catharsis element to it (not that I had any idea what that meant at the time). 

This weekend, I completely what may have been the biggest clear out - NOT connected to a residence move - in my entire life. And, I guess that's reasonably fitting. 

I can't express in words, but the early morning hours when I broke my ankle was somehow a seismic shift in my life. When I mentally think through milestones and the timeline of the last 2 years, that feels like that iceberg that sunk the Titanic of so many things that reverberated for a year or more. 

One of the many effects of that experience was that I physically could not tidy, clean, or clear out the house like I'm used to doing. Then, once my mobility returned, I didn't have the energy or emotional stores to take on any of it. SO, that weight of the house and its state has felt crushing for a long time. 

I've been chiseling away at that weight for a while now - reorganizing the office and living room to create my dedicated work space. Adding shelves to a corner of the office to allow for organized horizontal storage instead of boxes and items just being dumped in a pile. As I've chosen items to get rid of during this or other daily passes, I've collected them in the "open" corner of my bedroom. 

Then, once I got this job, another big shift happened. I didn't feel like I needed to hold on to "what if" clothes - what if I change weight again and can't afford enough clothes to bridge sizes, what if I get a different job or my job changes and I suddenly need this certain type of attire. I also wasn't so desperate for the emotional validation, expression, and outlet that I felt some of my clothes gave me in the circumstances I was in. 

So, this weekend, I completed clearing out my closets, shoes, and clothing drawers. I donated 5 kitchen trash bags full of clothes to Goodwill, and I have 2 sizable boxes of nicer clothes I'm sending to ThredUp to try to sell. I donated a giant bag of shoes and 4-5 boxes/bags of housewares to Goodwill - AND ACTUALLY DROPPED THEM AT THE DONATION PLACE (this usually takes another several months to finally achieve). 

I was struck by how much pain I identified in many of those clothes I was getting rid of - sizes that I thought I was "supposed to" strive for, retail therapy that never brought the peace I really wanted, all the times that I gave up what is really my style or how I wanted to work (because of harassment, laziness, or manual labor). There was so much money tied up in those bags that could have gone to so many other things. Plus, all the times I had fought with the overabundance of items in drawers and closets to get to an item I wanted - wasted time and energy. 

But my mindset in this clean out - and especially the packing up to give away - was very different. I wasn't completely centered on my need for clear space or an emotional discharge. I thought about the person that might find that item of clothing that I had been so happy to find in a store, shocked to be able to afford, and confident when I wore it - moving closer to a version of life I'd hoped for. I put the intention of joy and hope into the items for the next owner. 

I recognized the era of my life each piece had accompanied me through and honored that before also recognizing that it was no longer right for me or my needs. I guess that what the Marie Kondo organization books are about, but this felt very personal to me. I'm usually so sad that getting rid of things is letting go of a part of my life/past, but this time, I was grateful in a deeper way than I've known before. 

There's definitely still some finer organizing - and lots of actual cleaning - that needs to take place in my room. I can't even start to talk about the organizing needed throughout the rest of the house (or cleaning), but I had that deep rest last night that I haven't felt in a very, very long time. 

I do feel a weight off of me this morning for a change. Boy, am I hoping this is a promising omen for the rest of the year!

A grandparent...at THIS age?!

 I know I've written before on the realizations of Lance and Vicki's pregnancy that are coming in waves with the storyline of Georgie's teen pregnancy on Young Sheldon, but today's realization actually came from Match Game.

During contestant introductions, a women looking maybe in her 40s said she was a grandmother, and everyone on the show reacted that she was so young to be a grandmother. I said to Doug that of course she could have had her kids young then her kid had one young. 

Then, I stopped... and did the math. 

If Mom had me around age 35, and Tim was born when I was 10 years old...Mom was 44/45 years old when we were going through everything with Lance and Vicki's pregnancy. That information completely shocked Doug and me. 

Mom wasn't much older than me now, and she and Dad were just younger than Doug is now. Of course, at the time, they seemed old, wisened, you know - parents. 

Now that I'm in that age of shoes, I cannot imagine how they completely felt like the bottom had dropped out of their lives. Talk about "if I knew then what I know now!"

I know wisdom and understanding MUST come with age, but it also sucks that I wasn't able to understand better then or over the years. Of course, I always served the role of Mom's friend and confidant (not necessarily willingly) for most of my life, but it gives me a new perspective looking back, for sure. 

A Cluttered Life

 Because this keeps echoing in my head and weighing me down, I just need to give myself an outlet to maybe be able to refocus. 

I am over-fucking-whelmed. 

At work (which I LOVE, BTW, and energized to be doing something I'm absolutely good at), I feel like I am cleaning up so many messes and trying desperately to bring order that seems to have been lacking for a long time so everyone can function better. I'm trying to overcome my innate reaction to try to do everything at once and (instead) reduce it to bite-size pieces (for myself and those I work with) to meet a goal in the future. 

At home, I feel constantly surrounded by the chaos and crap that has accumulated over the last year when I couldn't take care of it (because of injury, burnout, or illness). Doug certainly has no inclination (and for my items - not the knowledge) to organize or throw away anything. If anything, all he does is turn any area I actually manage to clear back into a chore to clear again. It feels unending. 

I have had plans for weeks now to focus on specific projects in the house to start the months-long process of getting the house back to a comfortable (at least for me - Doug seems fine as it is) state, but something constantly gets in the way. 

So right now, I feel smothered without an option for assistance (or guidance). 

My first step is usually to create a plan to make it manageable, but what do you do when you have that plan but can't even manage to get to the first step? 

We're not even a week into the new year, and I feel like not only have I not relaxed or settled down when I got home but I haven't slept well. I literally look around my room - at the hang-to-dry clothes still hanging on my window sills 2 weeks later, at the pile of t-shirts on my show bench that has been building for a year as I accumulated more t-shirts without taking the time to clear space amongst the already-full old shirt drawer, at the pile of boxes and bags of items I've already decided need to go but haven't because I know there's still so much more to add to it. 

In my heart, I do want someone else to do it. I honestly considered looking online to hire a professional organizer, but the stingy side of me KNOWS I can do it without sinking all the money into it. Plus, I'll probably just end up spending the same amount of time (but more money) to work beside them to determine what should go or stay. 

I don't want to lay it all on Doug - because that honestly isn't fair. In a lot of ways, he tries to help, but this is also not his strong point. But it really did seem so much easier when it was just me. Of course, when I look at the travel sound equipment box and cords that are still laying in the floor in the corner of the office from where he pulled them out looking for a cord RIGHT before a show about 8 months ago that are still there, I feel like I'm at least a little justified in blaming him. 

Ultimately, I feel like every part of my life is that situation at work where you look forward to a vacation (i.e., a lazy weekend or any few hours' opportunity for me to take time to myself and not be constantly doing a chore) but unable to completely enjoy the down time because you're either so busy preparing for it, so busy worrying about everything you'll have to do when you get back, or so busy trying to play catch-up after it that you wonder if the break was worth it at all. 

From Enough and Still, to Clear and Free

 If I were to go back and read any journals that I may have written at the time, I may completely negate this statement, but...even through the years when my Crohn's was at its worst and my depression was at its deepest, I don't know that I have felt like I truly fought through a year like I did in 2022. 

Ever since I started choosing "theme words" for each year, I'm hopeful but also cautious of the ways they could influence my life over the next 12 months. When enough and still presented themselves as the words for 2022, I figured it could be a mixed bag. 

I will say that I learned to be STILL. I didn't have the energy to push myself to accomplish tasks around the house like I'd wanted to - even basics of cleaning - with how burned out and broken I felt. I decided to be gentle with myself, though, instead of criticizing or dragging myself to check the lists. Anything that wasn't absolutely necessary could wait, and it has. Most of it still is. 

It kind of reminds me of when I "gave up" in the hospital in 2009/2010 so my energy could be used by my body to heal however it needed to instead of using it in a futile attempt to grasp for control. It was also the comfort that I would have wanted as a child struggling through a dark time, so I gifted that to myself. 

The stillness really started when I broke my ankle in Oct 2021. Though I could not imagine it at the time, I have pretty much regained full use and mobility in my ankle (plus arthritis), but it did take quite a while PLUS quite a toll on the rest of my body. In March 2022, I really felt like the stress of work and all my body had been through with my ankle (unnatural weight shifts while letting the bones heal then trying to get my natural gait back) - my neck basically locked up and I was in major pain for several days. It did make me start going to a chiropractor (which has been good) but also started the slide into fully ending Orangetheory. 

For several years (really, since I attended Upward and was willing to admit how bad of a fit I was for my job), I had been so unhappy and pushing myself so hard to do what did not come naturally for me in any way. I was asked to be a fundraiser and a people person - which seems so damn easy to everyone except for those of us who such things strip away your soul instead. Yeah, that sounds dramatic...until I realized a few weeks into my new job at UAB that I didn't remember anyone praising me for a long time - NOT because they had not, but because I was beating myself up so hard for what I wasn't doing right that I couldn't allow the praise in. 

This is where the ENOUGH of it all comes into play. I've heard people say that they didn't feel like they were "enough" a lot, but I didn't really understand it. Enough what?

I had been working so hard to fit what I needed to do in my position at United Ability that I was barely holding it all up to function. I was also constantly told that I needed to do more. I felt like I was wrong or something was wrong with me when it seemed like all other fundraisers weren't having such struggles - especially the whole Junior Board thing. But GOD, I was struggling. When I got (what I thought were) allies to support a non-sports community fundraiser for the Junior Board, I was excited and felt like this could be my chance to turn it around and achieve what I had been trying for. 

Well, it turned it around, alright. When the event - no matter how hard I tried and how much I actually asked for help (for a change) - crashed and burned, I knew I should have left years ago when I'd first wanted to. I do not say it lightly that "by the Grace of God" I found and was hired for my UAB job. 

I had lived for so long not thinking that I was doing enough, that I wasn't good enough, that it wasn't a bad fit but that I was lacking. When I was offered the job, it was the first time (in a long time, if not ever) that I felt like I was "enough." I didn't feel like I was getting a job strictly because I needed a paycheck (also possibly was for the first time ever) and I didn't feel like I was being hired for a job that I knew was going to end up forcing me down a completely different course (which could still happen, of course). 

I'd always had this hurt that no one had ever tried to poach me. No one had ever said, "you're work is so good that I was you for this position." I always felt like it got the job because I knew someone and I was the easier choice. THIS job, though, while my connection got me in the door, it was ME and MY PERFORMANCE that got me the seat. It was an incredibly feeling of approval and validation I had been needing and craving. I was finally enough. 

This year - with the mentality of comforting myself with stillness and my urge to be enough, I also let go of expectations I've been putting on myself in so many ways for so many years. I finally officially stopped caring about my weight. I am stopping holding on or buying clothes that will be great when I finally lose those few pounds. I stopped thinking about what I should or shouldn't eat (expect with respect to trying to severely limit foods that may contribute to kidney stones because those are bastards). 

In a lot of ways, I think I've started to forgive myself for not having a perfect family relationship or for not being a better daughter to Mom. I think that when I assigned my parents superhero status when I was kid, I assigned that perfection to myself, too (unknowingly). I'm trying to be more understanding and more approving on my humanity with its imperfection, with its lack of knowing, with its need to give up sometimes. 

Beyond just what was going on with ME, it was a hard year feeling like I was constantly having to prep me - and Doug - to lose Horatio. We fought with him and his little body all year, too. I still don't think I completely realize the toll or the stress being the key health decision maker and enactor of the family for him has had on me. In a lot of ways, it literally had been me keeping him alive (thankfully he has fought along with me and chosen to bounce back every time). 

So, 2022 had ended. Enough and Still served me... not well but they were themes for my year that helped me through and helped me continue to grow in new ways. 

For 2023, one word came quickly - CLEAR. Probably partly because all my stillness of the last year has left the house in overwhelming disarray this feels like a physical weight tied to me. 

The other word took a bit longer, but when it came, it was like it whispered "I promise I'm really the right word:" FREE.

Here we go, being Clear and Free in 2023.