Life is surprising, strange, uncertain, brilliant, chaotic, and heavy. But not usually all at the same time. I have been struggling to write this post since November, and life just keeps getting in the way. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about: that phase when everything seems to be coming at you from all directions - work, family, life, health. It was happening to me, and I was stretched thin. And then I snapped. Me. Miss “I don’t need help, I’m practically a superhero.” I broke down. Literally in tears. And - nightmare of nightmares - I did it while working on a client. SSSIIIIIIIIIIGGGGGHHHHH Guess I’m not superhuman after all. Here’s the saga, as it unfolded:

Thanksgiving: For us, it simply didn’t happen because of the newly escalated rate of COVID-19 in FL (and everywhere). My hubby wasn’t feeling well, so we made a tough, last-minute decision to not visit my in-laws. We make plans to see them in early Spring to make up for it. A letdown, but not the end of the world. And anyway, we’re seeing my parents for Christmas.

Mid December: I’m back at work for a couple weeks, and I get an email from one of my employees - she’s not feeling well. Uh oh. Oh no. Oh nonononono. The next day she confirmed my fears - it’s COVID. She’s okay, but quarantined. Ugh. I can’t tell you the number of times I have had to do this awful schedule shuffle, due to the unavailability of me or an employee. This is an old dance, and it’s never fun. It’s the worst part of my job, having to tell people that Haven can’t do what we agreed to do - provide a service at the time they want. And this time it’s worse! I have to tell the employee’s customers that she has friggin’ COVID! Naturally I get this info shortly before I begin my day of appointments. I set the ball in motion with my receptionist to handle the notifying and whatnot.

Later That Day: Right before my first appointment I get a text from my dad, who lives out of town: “Call me when you can.” That’s not something he does often, so I call just to make sure everything is okay. It’s not. My half brother (my dad’s son) is in the hospital with terminal cancer. That word, “cancer,” doesn’t put a smile on anyone’s face, but it’s particularly triggering for me. (More details on that…eventually.) Dad gives me a brief rundown, but I don’t really absorb much. My receptionist comes in to tell me my client is here, so I tell my dad I have to go. I put on a fake smile and do the appointment. And then the next two. And then I go home and break down.

Christmas Week: More calls and updates from my dad reveal that we have absolutely no idea what to plan for. I begrudgingly cancel my appointments for a week or so and try to focus on the family. And the whole time, all I could do was feel useless because I couldn’t cure cancer, and guilty about canceling work.

Christmas: We visit the hospital in GA. It is just like any hospital visit to a terminally ill person is - sad, scary, confusing, slightly traumatizing. I want to help, to fix it. And I can’t. Useless. We go home to a lovely dinner prepared for us by my husband. I’m so thankful he could do that for us. The normalcy was nice.

New Year: Champagne in bed is about all I can handle. I can feel the anxiety and depression sinking in. Time for some self care goals. But after I catch up on work. Yep, my workaholism is THAT bad. But in stressful times, the things that you 1) can control, 2) are good at, and 3) can enjoy are great at changing the scenery in your head.

Early January: Dad calls to tell me he’s making arrangements to stay for an extended period of time so he can visit Joey regularly. “Stay with us, obviously!”

Mid-January: Dad calls again, looks like he’s coming a few days earlier. Joey’s mother was in the hospital. Her being available was integral to his ability to go home from the hospital. Dad now has to be available. Like tomorrow. He and my stepmom arrive the next day. Visits go as they tend to do - concerning, then hopeful, then worrying again. After a few days of this, we get the call - Joey has passed.

Last Week: Funeral plans, contacting people, telling the same story a hundred times. Sadness for the loss, but gladness that a return to normalcy is coming soon. Then a funeral. And the night of, my throat feels funny. And then…

This Week: I get a frakkin cold. Not COVID, thank the gods (we were tested twice). But a cold. And not just a runny nose and some throat clearing. Like a punched-in-the-lungs kind of cold. Jeezy creezy who has time for this!?!?

And Now: I’m on the mend, but exhausted. I feel like I have been put through the ringer. I’ve taken an entire year’s worth of pain in just a few weeks. I am quite literally sick and tired. And I’ve rescheduled appointments again. BUT I am healing. And I am appreciating that time off. I’m resting, not just sleeping. I am really digging into healing. Even though I was forced to do it, I see the clear benefit to carving out some dedicated self care time. And I’m finally not beating myself up about it.

Now, none of this is meant to be a pity party. It’s really just my way of conveying my recent experiences. And what am I doing to cope? So glad you asked! Read on…