For anyone following along, I have uncovered a little more hope this week that I can address some of the physical consequences of going through this loss. I am getting used to the fact that I will never be the same — there are some things that are simply part of being lucky enough to survive this long — but I’m also not content to zen out amidst the rubble and say it’s all okay.
I need to try to rebuild what has been broken, in whatever modest ways I can.
It helps that I’m not tackling things alone. I have a fantastic support system who have helped me creatively and pragmatically take stock of what I can control. This has allowed me the space to create a reasonable, incremental plan that won’t put too much of a dent in my budget but is likely to help me feel a little less like my body is being a complete jerk.
It’s very possible that this next chapter of life might not be as horrible as my anxious brain has been telling me it could be. Worst case, if none of my efforts reap the rewards I’m hoping they will, at least I can say that I gave it my best shot.
More soon.
Muttering Retreats 