Grief

I shared with my husband this weekend that I don't feel like I've ever properly processed what happened to me. Even though it was about seven years ago now. At the beginning of this blog. 

When I look back it feels like one second I'm at the height of my career. Helping people and making good money at the same time. Putting to good practice everything I learned, studied so hard for and sacrificed to make happen. Then the next second I feel like a vegetable whose body completely betrayed her. Betrayed me.

It wasn't so fast as it feels. But the impact of it all was nothing short of a wrecking ball crashing through my life. Medical bills, new equipment, tons and tons of tests, endless amounts of pills and drugs to try and doctor's appointments. 

Each day was a new hell of "what can I not do now?" I spent many nights crying and seriously thinking death would be better because of the pain. That was before my expert team figured out what medications I need to function. 

I still feel like I'm moving in slow motion. That everything takes enormous amounts of effort. And it's all invisible to everyone. Even those closest to me. I feel overwhelmed and exhausted by the smallest task. I minimize my pain and how hard everything is for me. I'm not really sure why?

 
Maybe I want to still be seen as "strong?" Maybe it feels like I've lost some control or agency if I don't push myself? I'm an expert at "keeping calm and carrying on." But that doesn't leave much space for the reality of things or to process loss. 

My husband had a good suggestion that I pick a week next month and only do what I want to do. Have my own "staycation." He said maybe doing more art will help me process things more. I thought that was a great idea.

I do get a lot out of my art and being around family. I think it's more being out in the world that's the problem. Expectations that I put on myself. I push myself a lot. I'm trying to notice more when I need to stop and rest.