Ugh. I’m struggling. And I’m frustrated…and angry…and discouraged…and exhausted. A month ago I felt like I was finally getting my feet under me. Learning how to intertwine my grief into my life and live in harmony with it. I was feeling badass and independent. Filling my cup with camping trips and hikes in the woods….actually breathing without feeling like there was a weight on my chest. Starting to put some trust in a few relationships. And now my “badass” is sitting bruised on the ground and I want to curl myself into a ball and just stay there.
And the infuriating part is that it took so little to knock me down. My therapist moved away and now I’m doubting…again…every single thing that I thought I was learning about myself. And I feel weak…and vulnerable…and fragile…and scared…all over again. Like I’m slipping backward. And those few relationships that I trust…they are there encouraging me…but in the end, I have to be the one to plant my feet and stand up.
And I will. I’ll get there. I have faith in that…even as I feel the weight of this season pressing down on me. Calendar dates full of memories that are happy…painful…confusing…devastating. I’m trying to fill the fall with events to look forward to…a week at a cabin with our kids…a trip to Portland to visit my brother and his family. Water….woods…books…love…
Love, Tennis, and Cancer 