You're So Strong

"You're so strong."

In the last 7 years since our daughter's terminal diagnosis, as we slog our way through a disease that is formidable, I have heard that phrase too many times to count. I wonder why people think I'm strong. Does suffering preclude strength? Does "being strong" just come with the territory?

Before you think I'm a superwoman, holding it together all the time with joy and strength and great courage, I'll let you in on a little secret: I'm just like you.

I lock myself in my bathroom because I'm maxed out on noise and fighting and dishes and will someone please take out the trash already? I sometimes say "no" to social stuff, not because I don't love my friends, but because the amount of energy it requires to get myself ready, get things set at home for me to be gone, figure out a time that works for everyone is just exhausting enough to make me want to stay in my comfy clothes and watch episode after episode of Parks and Rec.



I have put earplugs in because I just can't stand the NOISE anymore. No more questions, no more bickering, no more battery-operated music and sounds, no more crying and yelling...just a tiny purple spongy buffer between me and the chaos of my busy household. I have also locked myself in the bathroom with my hands over my ears and tears welling up in my eyes because the sheer volume of how much I'm needed makes me feel like I want to crawl out of my own skin.

So many nights I've cried into my pillow because I don't want to wake Ryan. I don't want to spill my messy grief all over his blissful sleep. There have been times when hot tears have run down my face, mingling with the flood from my nose and I've been astounded by what grief sounds like when it moves over my vocal chords. It reminds me of the sounds of a rectangular wooden train whistle I had as a child.

Sometimes I get angry. Really, really angry. I get angry that this is my life. I get angry that this disease is Anni's. It seems wildly unfair. I get angry when people make comments that I know in my head come from a place of not knowing what to say. Or maybe those comments come from a place of arrogance. Either way, sometimes people say really stupid shit. And in my head, I can intellectually make peace, but in my guts, it feels like hot lava.

I am very good at grieving BY MYSELF. I haven't decided yet if this is a good thing, or a bad thing, or maybe it's not good or bad but it's just how I'm wired. Or maybe it's just how I learned to process hard things. I also am learning that there are TONS of things that I don't know and I'm learning to be okay with that.

I have doubts. Lots of them. I have doubts about my faith. I have doubts about God. I have doubts about how I was raised. I have doubts about old things. I have doubts about new things. I have lots and lots and lots of questions. This grief that is compounded by my complete inability to do ANYTHING to change the course of my child's life has cracked my ego open wildly to accept that there are so many unknowns and that claiming to have definitive answers just might stem from fear. It doesn't feel good to be out of control. It doesn't feel good to not know.

I deal with a lot of poop. Like, a lot. There aren't a lot of things that gross me out anymore and I'm oddly grateful for that.

I have been in therapy. I went to counseling nearly every week for 3 months where I talked and cried and learned some really valuable lessons about myself and how I relate to the world. I learned that I carry a deep sense of responsibility for things that I have little to no control over. I learned that I was very uncomfortable with silence. I learned how to listen to myself better. I am not done going. Probably ever.

Sometimes I eat my feelings. In my car. In the McDonald's parking lot all by myself.

I listen to lots of podcasts. Sometimes I listen to them to escape my own thoughts.  I like ones that challenge my thinking and make me see the world from a different perspective. I've learned so much about suffering and acceptance and thoughts and feelings through a wide variety of podcasts from many different genres.

I'm growing a business and I'm FREQUENTLY anxious about it. There are so many things I don't know, and so many things that I don't know that I don't know. I worry about the future more with this business than I do with most anything else.

Sometimes, I want to run away. I wonder what would happen if I just kept driving. How would it go if I completely ditched my life and started over with a fresh new identity? As if running away would somehow be an escape from my grief and anxiety and frustration.

I don't like exercise. I know it's good for me. I know it helps reduce stress, promotes better sleep, makes me feel better, but I don't like it. Except yoga. I love yoga. I love that it is not chaotic, but is thoughtful and mindful and hard.


I'm strong. I know I am. And not because of the reasons people might think. I'm strong because I'm growing. I'm learning. I'm curious. And sometimes, I'm depressed and anxious and deeply troubled. I'm strong because I'm human.

And YOU. You're not alone. What you're feeling? It's normal. How you're coping is normal. You are strong. Keep moving forward.