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I was having major writers block yesterday. I have two entries started, sitting in my drafts. I know exactly where I want to go, but I don’t know how to get there. Ironic that a lot of life is like that too; a lot of trial an error, and a lot of mistakes, and a lot of failure. But eventually, we get to where we’re going – even if where we end up isn’t where we thought we were going.

So, I just stopped writing. I didn’t want to force it. I want to be raw and authentic, and I thought if I forced the writing, nothing would flow. This morning, after killing myself in a home workout, I was going to do yoga to stretch and practice mindfulness, but decided to listen to a quick Ted Talk instead since I have been nerding out on them.

Leland Melvin is a retired NASA Astronaut and shared his story about his time in space, and how that time led him to a life of curiosity, perspective taking, and accepting change. Not only did the title of his story intrigue me to watch, but what really caught me was that he was an astronaut. I 100% believe that I missed my calling; I am supposed to be an astronaut.

(Oddly enough, a coworker gave me a Dove Chocolate today, and inside the wrapper was a question: “If you could have any job, what would it be?” I definitely think that this is a sign that I am supposed to be an astronaut).

I can’t pin point specifically was it was that drew me to the stars, our solar system, outer space, NASA, being an astronaut. But I do know that a lot drew me to it and a lot keeps me attracted to space. Before I got my license, my dad would drive me or pick me up from my high school boyfriends house, and he lived along this long stretch of road in Holderness, NH. It was THE BEST spot to stop our travel to look at the sky. He would talk to me about the constellations that we would see and tell me the historical stories behind them. Eventually, once I started to recognize them myself, we would race to see who could spot the constellations first.

I, also, remember visiting the McAuliffe-Shepard Discovery Center, in memory of Christa McAuliffe, as a child. I don’t remember much about the museum itself, but I do remember how it made me feel. I was in awe of the stars and the stories of how they were formed. Looking at images of the Hubble Space Telescope of things that were so beyond my reach just left me speechless. “We live IN THERE!?”

One of my favorite chick flicks is “A Walk To Remember.” Jamie, the lead female character, also enjoyed the sky and constellations, and had her own telescope. Landon, the lead male character, accidentally fell in love with her. He bought a star and named it after her, and he built Jamie her own telescope when she was dying at home. (Like seriously? How romantic.) (You can also create a personalized star map of a specific location and date of an important moment in your life. Future husband, take notes.)

I also geek out over any space movie or tv show; my list of shows and movies about space on Netflix are miles high. If you haven’t seen “AWAY” or “Lost in Space,” I don’t know what you’re doing, but you’re not doing Netflix right.

We are also told as children that when people or animals we love pass on, we can find them in the stars, and they are always with us wherever we go. I still catch myself looking up at the sky, talking to my grandparents. It is calming to think that they are right there with us as we travel through life.

Now, I know I said I missed my calling and should have been an astronaut, and while I stand behind that belief, I have no idea how to actually become an astronaut. My best guess about how to become an astronaut comes from the movies and tv shows that I binge. I have the utmost respect for astronauts and all the training they have to go through – physical, mental, and emotional training. I also believe you have to be incredibly fearless (or have very strong control over your brain and your thoughts) to be an astronaut, living on the International Space Station. Have you seen the size of the gloves that astronauts wear? And then go out on space-walks to do repairs? Fucking fearless man.

I could go on and on about how amazing astronauts are and how beautiful space is, simply because they are and it is. It is also so much bigger than any of us can ever imagine. I know that is a cliche, but it is so true. It takes 3 days to fly to the moon, and 7 months to fly to Mars. The circumference of Earth is 24,901 miles long. It would take 17 days at 60mph to drive the circumference of Earth. And Earth is smack dab in the middle in size comparison to the other six planets.

Do you understand how small that makes us? We are fucking tiny! And that makes our problems and our judgments and our biases and our opinions and our discrimination against others and our perspectives even smaller. Understanding how small I am in the much greater scheme of things has been incredibly eye opening and a real slap in the face. It has also forced me to be better at looking at the perspectives of other people and understanding that others have different perspectives than I do. I look at my relationships with my students at work, my relationship with my son, my relationships with friends and family and coworkers and strangers on the street. We are all living the same day, but our perspectives of these days are incredibly different. Like the New Hampshire space museum, people don’t remember what you did or what you said, but they do remember how you made them feel. We are already small; don’t make people feel smaller just because your perspectives are different from theirs. Accept their perspective and embrace their diversity. You don’t have to agree with it, but it’s what makes this Earth and human kind beautiful.

Maybe that’s what subconsciously drew me to space. I missed my calling. I am supposed to be an astronaut.

“Grief /noun/: deep sorrow, especially that caused by someones death.” Google.

“Grief is the response to loss, particularly to the loss of someone or some living thing that has died, to which a bond or affection was formed.” Wikipedia.

I am grieving. I have been grieving. And it is a very unpleasant, confusing, most lingering feeling we as humans will ever experience. I have been grieving since the split with my son’s father happened in late August. Some days are really good days, and some days are really not good days. In the midst of working through that grief, we lost my maternal grandfather. January 23rd. Comforted and safe with my grandmother, my mom, my two aunts, and his two dog babies by his side. It was expected, as the chemo and radiation he used in attempt to combat his lung and pancreatic cancer did not help. He was given a week to a month, and then wasn’t expected to make it through the end of his last week.

We spent the last few weekends at my grandparents house, watching him die. It was the most difficult thing to see, especially because all we wanted to do was help and take away all his pain, and we couldn’t. The only thing that would take his pain away required us to lose him. That’s not fair. And that’s not easy to process. Grieving his loss started long before we actually lost him. No amount of warning or heads up can prepare you to lose someone you love.

While we were going through pictures, making plans for his services, picking out keepsake urns, listening to his favorite music, laughing at good times, leaning onto each other, and holding on to his memory, my sisters and I got a call that our paternal grandfather died. Unexpectedly. Alone. 5 Days later.

Are you fucking kidding me?

We were all still grieving and processing the loss of my maternal grandfather, and are now challenged to grieve and process the loss of my paternal grandfather too? And I am still grieving my own personal loss? I told my mom I didn’t know how much more my heart could take. I still don’t know how much my heart can take. Three of the most important men in my life, gone. Two only 5 days apart. And their deaths were so different.

Maternal grandfather – expected, surrounded by people he loves, got to say goodbye

Paternal grandfather – unexpected, alone, never said goodbye

Having experienced both in 5 days, I can’t tell you which one is harder. They both suck. They both leave you questioning what you are doing with your life and make you fear your own death. They both give you regret not having said the things you wished you said, and regret not visiting or calling more. They both leave you sad and lonely. It is incredibly hard to grieve and process one loss. I would ask you to imagine grieving three losses at the same time, but I wish this upon no one. It is the second hardest thing I’ve ever had to do (birth being the first).

The Wednesday before losing my maternal grandfather, I was able to talk to my therapist, and she told me to grieve. I told her I wasn’t sure I wanted to miss any days of work because I thought being at home would be harder since I would be surrounded by sadness. She didn’t like that idea, and encouraged me to take time off to grieve the losses I was having. I took her advice, and I took days off the following week to be with family. When I got the call about my paternal grandfather Friday morning, I was at work, and immediately left to be back with them, then spent the entire weekend surrounded by family. It was so sad, but it was also so beautiful. We all had different memories that made us happy, and different triggers that made us sad, but we experienced it all together. Being with family and friends helps us temporarily forget the losses we are experiencing, and supports us through our grief of them.

I had done a good job (a fantastic job) of temporarily allowing myself to avoid grieving the split of my ex and I. I moved back home, and was spoiled with not having to pay bills or grocery shop. I’d occasionally make my parents dinner, but my mom handled most of the cooking. I always had a babysitter if I wanted to go out for a late dinner or drink with a friend, got my hair done and had manicures. Dove into powerful song lyrics and quotes on Instagram. My role at the school became a bit more demanding. And I had my son to take care of and focus on. Don’t get me wrong; like I said, some days from late August through January were incredibly hard, but I was surviving. I wasn’t really grieving. I was doing everything in my power to NOT grieve. I was a strong and independent woman you know? It wasn’t until my maternal grandfather was given such a short amount of time left of his life that it really started to hit me that I hadn’t fully grieved my first and most difficult loss months ago.

So, to combat the grieving, I decided to invest alone time in listening to TED Talks. The videos I’ve been listening to have all been about grief and loss and heartbreak and how to pick yourself back up when something traumatic happens to you. My heart has been breaking and re-breaking for almost 6 months now, so I was hoping to find some validation without having to share my story because sometimes, words are hard. One woman spoke on “What makes life worth living in the face of death.” She started her closing remarks with how she would teach her daughter about grief and pain, and it resonated with me – not only because of her words and her message, but because her daughter’s name is Katie. She said my name as if she was speaking to me.

“Katie, engaging in the full range of experience, living and dying, love and loss, is what we get to do. Being human doesn’t happen despite suffering; it happens within it. When we approach suffering together, when we choose not to hide from it, our lives don’t diminish. They expand. I’ve learned that cancer isn’t always a battle. Or if it is, maybe it’s a fight for something different than we thought. Our job isn’t to fight fate, but to help each other through – not as soldiers, but as shepherds. That’s how we make it ‘ok’ even when it’s not.”

Wow. Yes! When we don’t allow ourselves to grieve our losses, wounds, and disappointments, we are doomed to keep reliving them. And that’s exactly how I’ve felt every time a song comes on and triggers a sadness. Or a picture pops up on TimeHop of a fun memory we shared together. Temporarily masking our grief helps us feel better in the moment, but if we don’t face the grief, it will never truly go away. It will never feel easier.

So. I am going to grieve. I am going to grieve all of my losses and wounds and disappointments I’ve experienced in the last six months. It is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all, and I am pretty lucky to have loved, and still get to love, three incredible men in my short life. And it’s pretty special to grieve over three very important people.

Don’t be afraid to grieve. Be vulnerable to it. Allow yourself to go through the process. You might feel broken in the process, but the fact of the matter is, none of us actually really break.

I learned one of my biggest lessons about patience this past fall.

It was October, and my second weekend away from my son. I knew if I sat at home, I would drive myself crazy. I needed to do something, and I needed to do something for me, and I needed to do something alone.

Don’t get me wrong – my friends and my family carried me through this challenging season, and usually with a smile on my face. But, I needed some me time. I decided to travel up to one of my favorite places in the world – Maine. I am so fond of Maine because I have so many amazing memories there. I decided to book a room at York Beach. It was an ocean front room, for pretty cheap, just for the night. After making the reservation, paying for it, and agreeing that there was no refund on the room should something happen, I immediately wanted to cancel it.

How could I go alone? What if something bad happened to me? What if something bad happened to my son while I was away? I started playing the “WHAT IF” game all night, hardly got any sleep, and began playing the same game that next morning.

(Please do yourself a favor; always, always, ALWAYS QUIT that game once you get going. It’s deadly for your brain and your sense of self and your reasoning and your mental health. Just stop.)

As time in the afternoon inched closer to 3:00pm, I said “Fuck it. Just go.” So I did. I drove up to Maine. The pictures online of the little motel I stayed at looked beautiful. Once I pulled onto York Street, I finally felt excited to go. I parked in parking lot of my escape for the night at York Harbor Motel, and instantly felt myself judging the appearance of where I was staying. “YEAUP. This is a joke. This is not what I saw online. Is this place even open? It looks so run down! What am I doing here? Definitely NOT beautiful.”

All of these negative thoughts replayed in my mind until the receptionist approached my car and asked me my name. “Katie Kelly.” She checked her list, and my name wasn’t on it. Of course it wasn’t. Because I’m not supposed to be here. This was a bad idea, remember? I pulled up the receipt in my emails, and gave her my confirmation number. She went back into the office, then came out about 10 minutes later. She reassured me she found my reservation, but before I could release my breath, she told me that there was a mix up with my room, and it wouldn’t be done for an hour. “Ok…no problem.” I could have gone for a drive or gotten something to eat, but decided I’d just sit in the parking lot in case I needed to be available for something else to go wrong.

Her idea of an hour was only another 10 more minutes. “Ok, ok,” I thought. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all. She brings me down to my room, which was definitely not ocean front. She hands me my keys and walks away. I sit on the bed, pull up my emails, and sure enough, I paid for an ocean front room. The same moment I decide to go down to the office, I get a knock on my door. “This is it. I’m about to die. I’ve been here a half hour, and this is it.” I cautiously open the door, and it’s just the receptionist. “I’m so sorry. I mixed you up with another Katie in our system. I put you in the wrong room. Follow me to your actual room.” Annoyed, but relieved at the same time, knowing that I paid for an ocean front room and hoping that is what I would get this time. She brought me to my next room, but once again, not ocean front. At this point, I had been so exhausted from playing the WHAT IF game, driving, and chasing rooms and reservations, that I just wanted to relax. I said “Ok thanks,” and began to unpack.

Knock. Knock. Knock. “Katie. It’s me again.” What the flip now!? The receptionist walked in my room, grabbed a bag of mine and said, “I’m so sorry. I’m new, and they have me training during peak week. I put you in the wrong room again. I promise you, I am putting you in your last and final room.” I laughed it off and told her it was no big deal, even though I was fuuuuuuuuming inside. “Who gets a room wrong THREE times?! This is ridiculous. I knew I shouldn’t have come.” But, I went on my way to my third room.

To an ocean front view. Well, my balcony was on the side of the building, so I had to poke my head over the balcony to see the ocean. But, nonetheless, an ocean view. “Ok, Katie. You’re here. Again, I am so, so sorry for all the confusion and runarounds. I hope your stay is better than how the last 45 minutes have gone. I really, really appreciate your patience with me. Please let me know if you need ANYTHING.”

Damn. That hit me. Something so small, and something so simple, and she expressed such gratitude for me. Simply for treating her like a human. Luckily for me, all the nasty things I was thinking to myself about her and York Harbor Motel and this trip were just that – thoughts. I was not patient in my mind. I was frustrated and annoyed, which turned me mean and ungrateful, and forgetting that she was human. And in the greater scheme of things, her “mistake” was a gutter-ball (maybe one pin) sized problem if I’m being honest.

I went on to enjoy my time at York Harbor Motel at York Beach in Maine. I found out that the Nubble Light House was less than two miles from my stay, so I immediately drove to catch the sunset. I brought my book, with all intentions of reading until the sun went down. Instead, I smelt the waves and the fresh air, felt the temperature change, heard the waves crashing, and just soaked in the opportunity of being alone in one of my favorite places in the world. After the sun went down, I got myself some dinner, and crashed in my room for the night. I intended on drinking a bottle of wine, but didn’t even open it. I read, I watched a movie, and I went to sleep with a grateful heart. I got up before the sun, and decided I would drive back to Nubble Light House to watch the sunrise. I spent an hour and a half there, trying to find the perfect spot to watch it rise over the light house. I ended up missing it because I was so invested on capturing the perfect time-lapse video. I drove back to my motel, and decided I’d go for a quick run. I ran just over a mile before my headphones died. Before I could get annoyed, I decided that instead of running back, I’d slowly walk back to my room. I took beautiful pictures of the sun reflecting off the water, took some rocks and seashells and keepsakes, and took a few selfies. I walked back and showered, then checked myself out of my room. I took myself out for breakfast – my most favorite meal of the day – and drove home.

While I was checking out – no contact of course because ya know, COVID – the receptionist ran out to meet me, breaking the no contact check-out policy. “KATIE! Hello. How was your stay? Thank you again for all of your patience yesterday. I was incredibly stressed out and overwhelmed, and I am so appreciative of you. Not everyone is that kind. I really am so thankful that you were so understanding and patient with me as I learn what I am doing.” I didn’t know what to say. All I could think of was “Oh it’s no big deal!” But to her, it really was.

Patience has not always been a strength of mine. To this day, I don’t necessarily consider myself a patient person. It is still something that I am working on daily. I need it as a school counselor. I need it as a mom. I need(ed) it as a partner. I need it as a companion. Yet it challenges me day in and day out. I must say, I have grown quite a bit in the area. The fact that I was able to bite my tongue and keep my negative thoughts to myself instead of cursing out the HUMAN receptionist was huge for me. It demonstrated how much I have grown.

However.

The fact that I had those negative thoughts towards the HUMAN receptionist shows that I still have some work to do. I know not having patience is a huge reason why my relationship failed. I know that not having patience is a huge reason for my burn out at work. I know that not having patience is a huge reason for why I snap at my son over the simplest things. I know that not having patience is a huge reason of why I am not happy with myself.

I’m really over this season of challenges and change. I can’t wish it away. I can’t hope it away. I can’t push it away. The only way out of it, is to go through it. I just need the patience to get me through it.

Patience really is a virtue. It is something I admire in other people, and something that I crave so much from others. One of my goals this year is to keep practicing patience, mostly with myself. I hope that if I am patient with myself, patience with others will just come naturally.

Thank you, York Harbor Motel. I’ll be back soon for more.

To start, I need to thank every single one of you for all the love and encouragement I received after uploading my first post. I heard from old and new friends, coworkers, and family, and connected with others on so many different levels. I know this blog is simply for me, but I am in awe and love how much it spoke to other people. I definitely have a helper personality and mentality, so to know that this helped other people makes writing my blog so much more special and important to me. Thank you all for your comments, your text messages, your kind and encouraging words, and your love over the last week.

So. What am I taking away from 2020? What is the biggest lesson I learned in the last year? Easy. “Put your mask on first.”

What the flip does that mean? For those of you who have been on a plane, you’ve heard the flight attendants say this before. During their talk before take off, the flight attendants go through all the safety features the plane has, where to find them, and model how to use them. They make sure to quickly say to put your mask on first before helping your child or anyone else for that matter. If you had asked me before becoming a mom (and before this season) whose mask a parent should put on first, I would say the child’s, every time, even when the flight attendant is telling me to put mine on first. That’s the ultimate selfless move you could make right? The plane is in a dangerous position, so much so that you need an oxygen mask, and you help someone else before putting your own mask on. Selfless right?

NO.

No. No. No. Put your fucking mask on first. What use and help are you if you are dead? I’m sorry. I know that’s morbid, but seriously? If you don’t put your mask on first, who are you helping? If you don’t put your mask on first, maybe you’ll put your kids mask on wrong and you’ll both be struggling to survive. If you don’t put your mask on first, maybe you won’t be strong enough to even put someone else’s mask on. If you don’t put your mask on on first, maybe you won’t be given another opportunity to do so. Put your damn mask on first! It’s not selfish. Its necessary.

I don’t know if it was a generational thing or what to be taught to not be selfish. According to Google, selfish (adj) means: (of a person, action, or motive) lacking consideration for others; concerned chiefly with one’s own personal profit or pleasure. Growing up, I was taught that putting yourself before other people was selfish. But, now, I don’t think that’s true. Becoming a mom has made me realize how important it is to put myself first.. to put my mask on first.

Any one who knows me knows that my son is my fucking world. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to see that kid smile and laugh. I often refer to him as my person, and he is an exact replica of my heart. He will always, always be my priority and he will always, always be the most important thing in my life. To any future kids I may have, I’m sorry, but he’s my favorite.

But, how can I really care for him, how can I really give him what he needs, how can I maintain energy to keep up with him, if I do not put myself first? If I do not put my mask on first?

Taking care of yourself, and putting yourself first, is not selfish. By putting myself first, I am not disregarding other people. I am not lacking consideration for them, and I for sure am not “chiefly concerned” with my own profit or pleasure. I have to take care of myself first, so that I can be the best mom for my son. The best partner for someone else. The best daughter to my parents. The best friend to my friends. The best employee to a company. The best school counselor for my students. The best me I can be for anyone I have any sort of relationship with. Most importantly, the best me FOR ME. To me, that sounds pretty selfless. If I am not investing enough love and care into myself, eventually my tank is going to run out, and I won’t be able to invest enough love and care into other people. I am not going to have the energy, or patience, or ability to give myself to others the way they need, and they way they deserve.

I am living proof of what happens when you don’t put yourself first, and I am living proof of what happens when you do put yourself first.

When I wasn’t putting myself first, I wasn’t eating the best and I wasn’t exercising. I was overweight. My son got way too much screen time, and it took 45 minutes to brush his mane versus 20. I dreaded coming to work. My relationship failed. I stopped talking to and spending time with my friends. I stopped smiling. I stopped reading. I stopped writing. I didn’t like who I was. I was just going through the motions. Living a groundhogs day, day after day.

When I do put myself first, my health and wellness is important (while still enjoying that slice of pizza without feeling guilty about it!). My son is exhausted by the end of the night because we played Candy Land, read 5 books, did lots of puzzles and coloring and hide and seek, had a dance party, and I kicked his ass in basketball. I wake up energized and ready to start my day. I am a better partner and a better friend. I do the things I love to do. I smile. I laugh. I like who I am.

I think as parents, and moms specifically, we are taught to put our children before ourselves. I know when I was growing up, it was “family first, then church, school, your friends, your sports and your teams, then your boyfriend.” That lesson is great and all, but it’s missing a key person. Where was I in that priority list? I should have been first. We should be taught at young ages to take care of ourselves first – breathing, stretching, writing, crying, eating right, exercising, processing. We have to be taught that our feelings are valid, and we should never change or deny the way we feel to make someone else more comfortable. We have to be taught that it is OK to say “no” if its not something you want to do or don’t agree with. If we were taught that, we’d know it is ok to put our masks on first. We have to do that so that we can be our best selves for other people. We have to change our definition and our view of putting ourselves first. Putting yourself first is not the same as being selfish.

Put your damn mask on first, and everything else will fall into place.

Wow. I did it. I am writing a blog. It might be just for myself, or it might be for someone who can relate, or it might be for someone who is bored. Either way, I’m here. I’ve been told I’ve got a way with my words, especially through my writing. Things just flow; most of the time I don’t even know I’m thinking while I’m writing – it just pours out. “Kate! You should write a book!” That would be super cool, and I have quite a few ideas of books mixed in with the other million things swirling on in my head on a daily basis. But, we’ll start here.

2020 man. What the actual flip. (PSA. I swear. Like, a lot. Fuck is my favorite and most used swear. But, I have a three and a half year old who parrots everything, so I’ve “replaced” it with flip. I try to anyways).

So yeah. 2020 man. What the actual fuck was that? You know how at the start of the new year, people pick a “word” to “live by” or focus their lives on? Looking back on the year, my word would be “challenge.” 2020 challenged me mentally, emotionally, physically, professionally, romantically, mom-ally, personally. It was a year of all the challenges. Challenges I didn’t see coming. It was a year of questioning everything I knew about myself, my family, my friends, my career, my beliefs, my dreams. The world. Life. Being stuck in that rut of questioning everything is exhausting. Especially when you don’t even notice that you are stuck and then BAM – you’re smacked by a mac truck going 357 mph and runs you over flat, backs up, and does it again. I remember that day like it was yesterday.

I’m a school counselor. I work at a school with students aged 8 to 21 who live with us. They are placed with us by the state and/or their school districts because they need extra help, extra support, extra treatment, extra love. I love(d) my job. I love(d) helping people, especially kids. Especially kids who don’t know what love is because they don’t have anyone who love them in the way they need or the way they understand love.

I had just returned to school after working from home for four weeks because there’s this virus that took over 2020. COVID-19? You might have heard of it. I had spent my entire first week back at work meeting with my administration and support staff, trying to figure out how we were going to get our students back into the schools while keeping our staff and our students safe. We made about five different rosters, and the final roster was a copy I hadn’t seen. It was a copy that my administration and support staff did not come up with. That entire week, my attitude was.. off? Normally, I’m super positive and super pumped up. I kept reminding myself not to get stuck on or upset about what was happening because things were going to change. And, I was right. They changed.

Every.

Fucking.

Day.

They changed. For awhile, that attitude I had brought laughter to my team as we were all stressed and didn’t know how we were going get things back under our control. “Oh. Things are just going to change. Right, Katie?” I must of heard that 100 times in three days. On day four, the truck hit me.

“Damn. Things are changing, and I don’t like it. I don’t like that they’re changing. I don’t like that I can’t see or hug or touch my students. I don’t like that I can’t be in the classrooms, running groups and doing activities with my students. I don’t like that my job is becoming more crisis response than preventative teaching (the most important reason I wanted to be an elementary school counselor I might add) because they want to keep myself and my students safe.”

I was not a pleasant human to be around that day. I was snippy. I was grumpy. I was unresponsive. I wasn’t me. I was a zombie because, while I knew things were changing, I didn’t accept it. I didn’t sit with that notion and really process what was happening. I broke down. I left my job sobbing that day. And I came to work the next day, sat in my office – where I have all four walls covered with pictures and drawings of and made by my students, and bookshelves full of reading and talking material, and cabinets full of games for those that struggle talking the traditional way, and where I sit to create meaningful, genuine relationships with my students – and I sobbed. I didn’t know when I would have a student in there with me again. My students were right down the hall, and I couldn’t see them unless they were in crisis. My boss came to check on me, and I sobbed. I apologized for being an unpleasant human the previous day, and I apologized for jinxing us by saying things were “just going to change.” He laughed. He challenged me and said, “Hey. You said they were going to keep changing. You were right. And you always want to be right.” In this moment, I didn’t want to be. Sure, I was right, but I wasn’t ok. I didn’t even know I wasn’t ok. It took getting hit by a mac truck and backed over and run over again to realize I wasn’t ok.

Little did I know, I would be faced with more challenging situations through the rest of this season where I thought I was ok, but I wasn’t. It took getting hit to realize that I wasn’t. Things at school continued to change. My grandfather was diagnosed with lung and pancreatic cancer, and went through chemo and radiation. I packed all my shit and put it in storage for three months after leaving a seven year relationship with the father of my son. More family members were diagnosed with various cancers and other family members tested positive for COVID. I felt lonely in a room full of people that I love. I cried in front of a student (and not just a tear, but those ugly boogery tears). I had a couple of my “firsts” without my ex. I was faced with mistakes I had buried away or excused. (More on a lot of these at a later time.)

I was challenged. I was challenged every day. And at the end of those days – at the end of most days – I wasn’t ok. And the day after those days, I really wasn’t ok.

But, eventually I was. And, eventually, I will be. And, it’s ok when I’m not ok. I’ve learned so much about forgiveness, patience, and compassion in this season. I’ve learned so much about self-care and self-love in this season. I’ve learned so much about recovery, resilience, and healing in this season. And, I have so much left to learn in this season. I never would have (or never will) overcome those challenges if I wasn’t ok. I sit with it. I breathe with it. I process it. I live with it.

I made it out of a very challenging year with a lot of growth and a lot of hope. I’m not out of the challenging season yet, but I’m on my way. One ok day at a time.