Calling it what it is…

I haven’t felt like myself lately. Like…at all.

Who is ‘myself‘ anyway? I’m the one who’s always happy, always making jokes, always making people laugh. I’m the one that sees an obstacle and always finds a way through it. I use them as stepping stones to reach the next level. I’m the one who makes weekly menus of dinners and posts it to my fridge, so my family knows what to expect for the next week. I’m the girl who lights up when my kids come down the stairs, as if a gift was just presented to me on Christmas morning. I’m the one who sings, who celebrates the smallest milestone. I’m the one who never worries, never lets anything overwhelm me for longer than a minute because I know that I’m strong. I know that I’ve overcome so many hardships and heartaches, worrying over the small stuff seems counterproductive.

And then my dad died. And my cancer came back. And my business dried up. And the medical and business bills started to pile up. And I started to really struggle. The smallest joy in my life didn’t spark the same excitement. I had zero energy to do anything but sit on the couch, look through the window at my bird feeder and hope for a cardinal sighting.

Yes, I was grieving, but it was more than that. Deeper than that. I stopped the weekly dinners and chalked it up to being tired from chemo. I called in sick to my own business. I began to dread being around people. I cancelled plans. I went to bed early. I cried a lot. I had no appetite. I lost weight, and figured it was a result of the chemo.

And then, one Saturday afternoon, my friend, Linda stopped by the boutique to check on me.

“I don’t understand what’s happening to me.”

And she said something that had never occurred to me. “You’re depressed.”

Was I? Was I depressed? Me? I mean, c’mon. Not me. I didn’t get depressed.

I looked at her, as if she had just found the last piece of a thousand-piece puzzle.

“I’m depressed! That makes sense!” It was like a light went off and it all made perfect sense. I was depressed.

“Your dad died suddenly. And weeks later, you find out that your cancer was back, and not only back, but back to the point they need to treat it more aggressively.” She continued, “You’re sad. You’re angry. You have every right to feel those feelings. You’ve taken on a lot over the past few months, and while I know you pride yourself on being strong, it’s okay to not be.”

And just like that, she gave me permission to feel my feelings.

Calling it what it is actually made me feel better. Because I was starting to think something was wrong with me. I was starting to question myself as a mom, as a wife, as a business owner. Why couldn’t I just shake this off? Why couldn’t I just get over it?

Because my dad died. Because my cancer came back. Because my business dried up.

“You should start writing again.” She said, as she hugged me goodbye.

So here I am. Writing again. And acknowledging that sometimes life hits us hard. Knocks us to our knees and brings unbearable grief, worry, and pain into our lives.

This too shall pass.

And while I may not feel like my old self, this new self might end up being the best version yet.