I've sat and stared at an empty screen for a long while this evening. The longer I sit here, the longer it takes any words to come, the more sad I get. To procrastinate, I went back and looked at my blog and realized I’ve only written three posts this year. Three. That’s it. Ironically, I was thinking it was only one, I had totally forgotten about the two that I wrote this summer. This may strike you as weird that I totally forgot about two out of three whole posts, but I think it’s a pretty good illustration of the past year. A blur. A passage of time that has felt both excruciatingly long and astonishingly short. Seconds that felt like hours and weeks that felt like seconds. Many days not knowing what the date was or sometimes even what day of the week it was. It was, just, well, blurry.
This past year has been unlike any other. It’s been, by far, the hardest of my life. I’ve had this nagging thought recently that I need to talk about it, reflect on it, write about it. At least record it in some way when it’s as fresh in my head as it’s going to get. This nagging feeling, that has been coming to me for the past month or so, is probably a result of the end of the year approaching. In the past, the month of December has been my favorite time to blog. I would blog about my favorite books, movies, and music of the year. I would reflect on my One Word that I had presented to you all back in January. I would look back on the year, the ups and downs, and look forward to the next. In my last blog of the year, I would often, in one way or another, give hints about my One Word for the coming year. I always loved blogging in December because I always felt like I had meaningful, reflective things to say and share.
I wouldn’t say that this year is different in that regard. I most definitely have things to reflect on and say and memorialize. It’s just that, I don’t know how to share it. I’ve been contemplating this post for a while, and still don’t feel like I’ve gathered adequate enough words to accurately illustrate this past year that was a living hell in my world. This is a common theme for me and something that often holds me back: trying to make things perfect. The perfect words, the perfect theme, the perfect timing, the perfect way to share the past twelve months of my life. The impossible pursuit of perfection. Therefore, in this moment, I’m going to commit to trying less to make this post perfect and instead, to just letting the words come in as honest and authentic a way as possible.
Where to even start? I guess we can go back to December of 2020, on one of the last days of school before winter break. If not for my friend, Heather, I’m not sure I would have ever checked my school mail. Like, ever. I would never, ever remember to check it. So when she would walk down to get her mail, she would often pop in and ask if I wanted to come with. On that day, we walked down to the Ram Retreat and checked our mailboxes. Inside mine, was a little gift from someone who has become one of my most favorite people. I had no idea that that little gift would set the tone for the whole next year of my life.
As I pulled out the little cross that said, HOPE, it randomly hit me that I hadn’t even contemplated my One Word for the coming year. Usually I’m stressing about it starting in November, spending the last two months of the year freaking out about choosing the “right” one for the upcoming year. However last December, I was not my best self. I was drowning at work and in my life in general, and had not even considered my One Word. It dawned on me at that moment that HOPE would probably be a good word considering how I was feeling. But being my stubborn self, I fought it. I didn’t feel very hopeful and I didn’t really feel like forcing myself to feel hopeful just because it was my One Word. So I fought it for several weeks, before admitting to myself that my One Word had already been chosen for me.
True to my stubborn ways, I didn’t tell anyone that I had chosen HOPE as my word for quite awhile. I didn’t do my annual One Word reveal post in January, I didn’t share it at all. My excuse? I didn’t want it to be “used against me” because by that time, my outlook on life was very, very dark and HOPE was literally the last thing I was feeling. I wrote about those dark months HERE back in March, forcing myself to publish that post only because I felt like I owed the world an excuse for my sudden absence. An absence that at that time, had stretched several months long already.
, As I think back on January 19th, 2021, the day I seemingly fell off the face of the Earth, I realize that I don’t remember much about that day. I don’t remember what lessons I taught, if I had recess duty, what kids made me laugh, or what kids tested my patience. I don’t remember interacting with my team or what I had for lunch. I don’t remember turning off the lights in my classroom and walking out to my car at the end of the day. And I guess most of that is not that important to remember. But I do wish that I would have known that it would be the last day I would stand in front of that classroom, in front of those kids and teach. I wish I would have known that would be the last day I would eat lunch with my team, the team I found so much joy in, and that I was so proud to be a part of. I wish I would have known it would be the last day I would walk through the hallways with the assurance and confidence that I belonged there. I wish I would have known that it could very well be the last day I could truly call myself a teacher. Instead, I just remember little snapshots. The texts I sent, finally admitting I may need more help than I thought. Cocooning myself in a blanket on the couch in the dark, afraid to move. The drive to the ER that felt so, so long. The churn in my stomach as I put on hospital scrubs in the cold, bare room. The utter despair I felt the moment she hugged me and turned to leave. Being led down a quiet, dark hallway in my grippy socks and into an elevator leading back into a behavioral health unit that I promised myself I would never have to come back to. The hours I spent throughout that night, laying on that hard mattress, staring out the shatterproof window at Duff Avenue watching the traffic lights change from green, to yellow, to red, not sleeping at all. All the time wondering how I had gotten myself back to this godforsaken place.
I fell off the face of the Earth that day, and I can’t help but to feel that I still haven’t quite found my way back.
A lot of things have happened since then, changed since then. Some things good, many things not so good. It would be easy to overlook the good things from this year, as they have seemed to be eclipsed by the bad things. But there were some bright spots and touching on them will be a nice reprieve from an otherwise heavy post.
One big bright spot this year was the trip to Arizona with my mom in February. It was a trip that was so good for my soul, where I was not only able to reconnect with some of my dear friends, but also with my mom. I was able to show her my favorite place, the place where my soul is happy. I hiked and we soaked in the beautiful red rocks of Sedona, we picked out our favorite Saguaros in Saguaro National Park, kept our eyes peeled for our new favorite animal (JAVELINAS), and watched jaw-droppingly gorgeous desert sunsets. I was finally able to return to Wickenburg and hike to the summit of Vulture Peak, the mountain that I have tattooed on my foot, the mountain that I stared at for hours and hours as I sat in treatment for 97 combined days. Standing at the top of that mountain, I felt a sense of accomplishment and pride that I’ve never felt before. Those moments in Arizona are some of my favorites of this whole year.
There are many other small moments that sparked joy in my heart throughout the year. None may be as extraordinary as standing at the summit of a mountain peak that you just terrifyingly scaled on your own (check out the video I linked above for the scary, awesome climbing footage), but they were joyful moments just the same. This past year has reinforced just how important my people are to me, and I’ve been so lucky to be able to spend time with a lot of my favorites. Whether it was walks on the bike trail with friends, playing competitive yard games with my favorite Michiganders, hours of carpool karaoke time with Kate, Chinese and movie nights with Quill, hours of Cyclone football and basketball watching with my dad, acres and acres in the combine looking over at my grandpa in the auger cart and hearing his patient voice in my ear, spending quality time with cousins I haven’t seen in ages, reuniting with my favorite snap buddy in real life and going on all sorts of Wichita adventures, and all the little moments I’ve stolen with my two favorite little boys making “snakes” with play-doh, playing tag in the backyard and cuddling at nap time. There have been many moments this year that have definitely reminded me just how blessed I am to have people that I love and that love me unconditionally.
There have also been a lot of changes for me this past year. Big changes that I won’t go into in this post, but hope to be able to deconstruct in posts in the future. Some of these changes have been pretty painful, even if they are probably for the best. The biggest two changes are that I resigned from my teaching job this past spring and sold my house in Jefferson. These two things were extraordinarily difficult decisions, regardless of how much I was needing a change. The choices I made to say goodbye to Greene County Schools and to my first house were excruciatingly hard and continue to be things that I’m emotionally coming to terms with. In the wake of those decisions, I’m still trying to figure out my next steps and what direction my life needs to go in next for my own physical, mental, and emotional health.
On top of those two life changing events, this year has felt like a never ending barrage of chaos churning toward me from all directions. I underwent 42 transcranial magnetic stimulation (TMS) treatments for my treatment resistant depression, spent seven days in Rochester, MN at Mayo Clinic and received several new medical diagnoses that I’m still trying to figure out how to best manage and live with, and broke my arm in an unfortunate longboarding incident (no regrets on the late night decision that prompted the new longboard passion though). To top off this hard year, we lost my grandpa this fall, something that even though I knew was coming, totally rocked me to my core and made me really examine what I believe about a life well lived, death, and life after death.
Those are some of the specific things that have happened to me this past year, good and bad. Although those things are important and milestones in their own right, the main story of this year for me isn't in the days that I remember, but in the days that I don’t. As I said at the beginning, this year has been a blur. Never in my life have I felt so aimless, so chaotic, so empty, so broken, so…hopeless. Up to this point in my life, I’d never not known where I was heading, never not had a plan. So after January 19th, as my life as I knew it fell apart around me, I withdrew into myself. I isolated myself from the world, only leaving my house for the necessities and to go on the walks and runs that the eating disorder voice within me required. I ignored peoples’ texts for days and weeks on end (so sorry if you were one of them). I avoided all social situations if possible. I spent hours staring at my ceiling, or at the floor, or at the wall, wondering over and over how my life had come to this, how I had gotten here, and how to escape the pain and turmoil within myself. My daily life felt like a bad dream that I couldn’t wake up from. There were nights where I didn’t know if I would see the next morning. And honestly, in those moments, I did not care. I couldn’t make myself care about anything. I was utterly numb. All of those dark days blur together for me now. Days that both flew by and felt so agonizingly long that I didn’t know if I would survive. Those days, that I remember no details about, those are the days that tell the real story about this hellish year.
I wish that I could write all of this in past tense, that I could confidently say that somewhere along this 2021 journey that I found my own hope for my future. I wish that I could say that I’ve pulled myself out of the darkness and am excited about my future. I wish that I could say that I have a direction, that I have a plan. I wish I could say that I’m holding my own HOPE now. I suppose I could say those things, tie this post up in a pretty little bow. That might be something I would have done in the past. Sugarcoat things for others’ comfort. No one wants to read about someone’s depressing life with no hopeful tone, right? That’s the argument I have with my therapist every time we talk about this blog.
“Why can’t you just be honest about where you are? Even if it’s not happy or pretty or hopeful?” she often asks me.
“Because it’s depressing! No one will want to read it!” I always argue with her.
“But what if the truth is something that someone needs to hear?”
That one gets me every time, and she knows it. So here it is. The uncomfortable truth.
A year ago when I found that little HOPE cross in my school mailbox, I couldn’t have fathomed just how important the theme of HOPE would be for me this past year. If I had to reflect on how well I personally did with my One Word like I have in past years' reflections, I would honestly have to give myself a failing grade. Through the darkness of this year, I have been unable to hold HOPE for myself. It stayed what seemed just out of my reach all year long, and continues to be that way to this day. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that all HOPE was missing from my life.
I’ve been so blessed to have a small group of people holding HOPE for me as I’ve been unable to hold it on my own. To be very blunt, I stayed alive this year by sheer will, and that will was most definitely not my own. My people, who know exactly who they are, have willed and supported and prayed and loved and hoped for me every minute, hour, and day of this year because they knew that I wasn’t able to do it for myself. These people have unwaveringly stuck around, no matter how much I yelled and argued and ignored and begged them to just leave me alone. They constantly texted and brought food and visited and walked with me through this bleak season of life, literally and figuratively. They helped keep me safe from myself, they willed me to stay and fight and loved me through all the ugliness, numbness, and despondence and continue to do all these things each day.
This year I may have failed my One Word goal to be HOPEful, but my people, well, my people absolutely did not.
Here’s to HOPING for a better 2022.
