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I love a good puzzle! I don't want 1000 pieces, 500 is plenty for me. I don't want it all to be the same color either. I want lots of colors and a scene or image that brings me joy or peace. Give me a cheesy movie, some warm pajamas, a cup of coffee or hot tea, and a day off work, and I can sit at a puzzle table for hours. I love it even more when I'm sitting next to friends or family or if we each peck at the puzzle over a few days. Collaboration at its best! I love the fact that we can all be looking at the exact same pieces and patterns, but one person can "figure it out" when it has been right there in front of us the entire time. I also love that there are no electronics involved! Much like life, a puzzle teaches us that there are many ways to look at things. Patience is key. And teamwork makes the dream work. All the cliches really "fit" into working a jigsaw puzzle. ☀️
This particular puzzle was SO hard to finish! All those Star Wars uniforms tended to blend together. The kids started it with us but towards the end, my dad and I were the only ones pushing through to the finish line. Working puzzles with my dad hasbecome a favorite pastime for both of us. We can chat, or work in silence. That time with him has been a gift. Do you enjoy working puzzles? What does it do for you? I can't wait to hear all about your puzzle motivations in the comments below. I love interacting with my readers. For more of an inside look into my days, you can follow me on TikTok, Instagram, or Facebook.
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Photo Credit: Annie Spratt I was eager and he was young I was ready but he was numb I was happy and he was still I was hopeful but he was nil We had some laughs We had some smiles I read to him at night Does he remember those times? Then I had his brothers and he backed away or did I hedge him out? who could truly say? Come to me sweet boy not you, I mean him I mean all 3 of you silly I mean all of 3 of them It's different they all say he's not your blood Is it different? Aren't they all different? It's clouded. It's mud. I'm stuck and he's stuck. He looks and I look. We smile and they smile. I ache and he aches. We give and we take and sometimes it all breaks. His daddy can't get it. How could he? It's pointless. But I have to get it. And do it. And "go on, sis" Keep going. Keep numbing. I didn't know it. He didn't know it. We didn't know it but we did it and here we are and we are in it. So I look at him, a product as much of me as his dad. And I don't know what to do with it. I have these other 2 on my tab. The deductions, subtractions, additions?, conditions? It's all hard and whoever says that it isn't just ISN'T telling the truth dear. See I try to be real. He's "not mine" but I'm his and we're each other's and how does that feel? Would I change it? Some days I would. In a heartbeat. Not a second thought. But does he need me and do I need him and are we better because we came together when we were both broken and wounded and bleeding and cold Now we're mending and warmer and dare I say, a little old. Was it easy? It's been the hardest thing I've ever done. It can push 2 lovers apart quicker than any weapon, any gun, any bullet to the heart that's how some moments felt I have wept, I have wailed, I have screamed, I have knelt But one day his daddy may find out what it took to hold it ALL together and to remain unshook in the quake of dysfunction and abandonment and grief of a sweet little boy looking helplessly at me. She didn't stay, sweet baby, and I'm so sorry. I can't explain it. But I'm here and I'm not leaving, and I promise - I wouldn't change it. To every little boy or every little girl who had a mama or a daddy step up outside of the DNA lines. This is to you dear ones and to the strong adults who have rearranged their hearts and lives for you. We wouldn't change it. When was the last time I felt challenged? I wake up, sip my coffee, trudge through my morning routine. Mouthful of medicine for my chronic illness. I write, I pray, I listen (to a book, podcast, or music). I chew my breakfast while I drive to my same place of employment for 14 years. I continue to listen (to the book, podcast, or music) OR I stare off into space while I drive. I get out of my car, unlock my office door, log into my work computers, and it begins. I get back in my car, return a million missed texts, phone calls, and emails as safely as I can using Apple Car Play / Siri Safe Drive. I pull into the garage and count down the hours until bedtime. I chew my supper while I try to remember my name. I chat with my family and aging parents about mostly-trivial but sometimes-important details. Another mouthful of medicine for my chronic illness. I look at my beautiful children in awe, and I wonder what kind of men they will be. I sit with my husband for an hour (if we are lucky) before he leaves for his night shift job. Bedtime routine for kiddos, occasionally a TV show that makes me think, and then I'm staring at my palm-sized demon looking for answers it does not contain. Is this it? Is this the peak or the valley? The joy or the pain? The calm or the storm? I don't know anymore. It all feels the same. Yes, yes a global pandemic has stripped me of some of my best days. It has calcified my heart and further thickened my skin. My eyes grow both weak and clouded. My soul is but an echo of its youthful GLOW. My mind, once invigorated and eager... my mind sits solemnly in the corner silently daring someone or something to call upon it. Goodnight, my once-lively darling. I have tucked you in every night for almost 2 years now. Your light is weak now, sweet darling. I see a glimmer. A flicker of promise. Can life wake you and shake you before your final flame burns? That is the challenge. No one else will save us or light our fire. We must find the spark, the ignition, the catalyst. Find a mirror, sweet darling - and DIG. DIG DEEP my darling. She is in there. Let us LIGHT HER ON FIRE again. That is the challenge. I wrote this for any person anywhere who feels like they are sleep-walking through life. You are not alone. We are all struggling. I stand with you. Let us find our fire again. Please help support my fellow hope*writers by visiting their work: Writing Consistently is a Challenge by Regina Marcazzo-Skarka https://reginamarcazzoskarka.wordpress.com/2022/02/15/writing-consistently-is-a-challenge/ The Motherhood Penalty Challenge by Ashley Olivine https://www.ashleyolivine.com/the-motherhood-penalty-challenge/ Insomnia With Anxiety and How to Overcome the Challenge by Epigen Wellness Group https://www.epigenwellness.com/insomnia-with-anxiety-how-to-overcome-challenge/ Challenging Times and 3 Ways to Endure the Struggle by Lindsey Gibson https://lindseygibson.com/2021/02/21/challenging-times-3-ways-to-endure-the-struggle/ Jar Full of Manna 31 Day Discipleship Challenge by Kelly Heath https://jarfullofmanna.blog/2021/03/01/31-day-discipleship-challenge-how-to-follow-jesus/ It can start any day, any time, anywhere. It can begin without warning. The overwhelm. It's like a net that covers me and I struggle to break free. Whenever I feel my heart start to race and my mind going in a million different directions, I know it’s time to do a brain dump. This often happens when I’m driving or in the shower or - even less convenient- when I put my head on the pillow at night. It is very tempting to let those thoughts go, but I have learned to capture them when I can. If I am in bed and the lights are off, I will grab my phone and voice text whatever is in my mind into the notes section of my phone. If there is a reminder I need to set, then I do that in the reminder app that comes standard on an iPhone. For those of you who are not tech savvy but you have an iPhone, you can use Siri to set a reminder or to create an event in your calendar. If lights are still on, I often jot it down on the notepad I keep next to my bed. I have the kind of brain that remembers better if my hand physically writes it down. This is why I still use a paper planner in 2022. If I am driving, I use Apple CarPlay and Siri to do what I mentioned above. I talk into the notes section of my phone or set reminders or create events... all hands-free with my steering wheel and my iPhone. I do not hate technology at all in this capacity. If I am in the shower, I could still use Siri, but she usually doesn’t understand me over the shower. In that situation, I just write down as much as I can remember as soon as I step out of the shower. Yes, I keep a notepad and pens in my top bathroom drawer. I am THAT person. Speaking of the shower, I try not to think of things. I try to use the shower for mindfulness. Mindfulness sounds fancy and woo-woo, but it’s really just being aware of your body in the moment. One example is thinking “I feel the hot water touch the back of my head. It is running down my back and onto the shower floor. I see the water pooling at my feet. I hear the water as it hits the tile. I taste the toothpaste minty and clean in my mouth. I smell the shampoo I am rubbing into my hair. I am thankful to be alive. Today is a blessing.” If I am practicing mindfulness, it is hard for my thoughts to race elsewhere. photo credit: www.atrapamente.com Another way I center myself is the butterfly tapping technique (linked below), deep breathing exercises (inhale through nose 4 seconds, hold 4 seconds, exhale through mouth 5 seconds). I have used both of these with my entire family when my kids have been off the rails and I needed to get us back on track mentally and emotionally. It takes practice, but it works! Once the kids realized they HAD to do it, they actually got into it. Now, let’s talk about how to actually do a brain dump effectively. I just did one since I was feeling overwhelmed with a busy week ahead, so feel free to reference the picture below. The most effective way I have brain dumped over the years is to separate my random thoughts into categories. I base the categories on grouping similar tasks:
The below picture is just a quick 2-3 minute brain dump. When I use the aforementioned categories, that type of brain dump is a 20-30 minute all-inclusive, major brain dump. Those are the BEST ways to brain dump and my body leans toward doing them on Sundays as I am planning for the week ahead. If I miss a Sunday, my brain and body know it. David Allen is famous for his Getting Things Done book and method. He touts that our brains are not meant to carry information and task lists, they are meant to THINK. That feels very true for me. If my brain is full of a to-do list, I am usually unable to write or create. Once I unload all those tasks I've been juggling on trays in my brain like an overworked restaurant server, I can actually let my brain "breathe" and creativity ensues. I also included a recent monthly meal plan for December 2021. Planning meals one month at a time has GREATLY reduced my overwhelm. I linked the way I actually meal plan down below. Once we have emptied our minds via the brain dump, now we can face the actual overwhelm. Sometimes the overwhelm was just that, carrying too many tasks and to-dos around in our minds. The mental overload of life in 2022. Sometimes it's emotional overwhelm. Grief. Sadness. Loneliness. Disappointment. Regret. Shame. Longing. Anger (which someone somewhere said that Anger is Fear Dressed Up and that resonates with me). Envy. Comparison. Greed. Sometimes it's physical overwhelm. Exhaustion. Physical pain. Illness. Injury. Anxiety or depression manifesting as physical symptoms (headaches, abdominal pain, joint or muscle aches). No matter what TYPE of overwhelm we are feeling, the spiral is the same. Sometimes sleep or a healthy meal can provide relief. Often silence and solitude are the answer for me. Just know that YOU ARE NOT ALONE. I am fighting the fight with you. Godspeed. I have been waking up before 5 AM consistently for 11 years. It started with necessity, nursing my child before work, but it continued for several reasons. When my firstborn was an infant, my stepson was eight. This meant I had to be stealthfully quiet as I woke the baby, fed him, spent some time with him, and then passed him to his daddy while I showered and dressed for work. It was a time before AirPods, and before I had discovered podcasts or Audible. Facebook was barely a thing. And phones in general were just not attached to everyone’s hands like they are today. It was in these near silent moments without technology, with only a cuddly warm baby in my lap, that I discovered the true meaning of quiet contentment. Just me, rocking my baby boy guided only by the white noise sound machine and gentle soft lighting. I wasn’t scrolling. I wasn’t comparing. I wasn’t wishing, nor was I regretting. There was no self-loathing. My job had not even adopted an electronic medical record yet, so working from home was not possible. I wasn’t paying bills from a little icon on my phone. I didn’t have 400 emails in my inbox, or at least I didn’t know that I had them. Just quiet. Just peaceful. Just two humans bound by DNA and love and touch and time. Fast forward to 2021 and that baby is in sixth grade. My stepson has left the nest and is thriving, and my youngest son is in fourth grade. My alarm still goes off at 4:30 AM, but I am alone. Yes, the house is still quiet like it was back then. The lights are still low. But things have changed. There is a technological miracle that fits in the palm of my hand now. It is full of red dots that quicken my pulse. There is a slick, silver, almost paper-thin computer that is full of lab results and refill requests and exam notes to finish. Now I know that I have 400 emails in my inbox. There are all these little icons in my hand that tell me I’m not good enough when I open them. There are ads everywhere that seem to call my digital wallet’s name. What happened to those early morning quiet moments? My eyes fill with tears as I type this. Yes, most mornings I participate in healthy self care such as prayer, Journaling, or mindfulness... but let’s be honest. If I choose to pick up this Fair-weather friend that follows me everywhere, I disappear. Those quiet peaceful moments disappear. I am not touching anyone. I am not gazing at someone I love and enjoying that feeling of togetherness and connection. This quiet house? Well it’s telling me it needs to be dusted and decorated. Those sleeping children? They need agendas signed and class party treats sent in and uniforms washed and clarinet reeds ordered. My husband may or may not be at work, but if he is did I reach out to him? And if he’s home, did I reach out to him? Oh wait- there goes my timer. Time to hop in the shower, put the bacon in the oven, get those boys up and moving. There goes my heart rate rising with each deadline and inbox item that crosses my mind. Oh, yes, I’m productive. I’m organized. Just ask all my friends and family. But is that the legacy I want to leave? ‘ She is so efficient. She can get it all done. Tears in my eyes again, geez. I would rather be known as Amy that helped me. Amy that loved me. Amy that made me feel important. Amy that I could count on. But most of all, Amy that I knew inside and out- between the lines and in the trenches. You see, getting it all done can be quite lonely. Have I been so busy getting it all done that I forgot to connect? Constantly looking at this lit up master that fits in my hand honestly makes me feel like crap. Yes- there are laughs and good reads hopefully like this one. There’s my longtime friend’s child or grandchild. The books and music and podcasts usually add instead of subtract. But all those red dots? I hate them. They steal little tiny pieces of me and I can’t really explain it. My children won’t know a world without the red dots, and that makes me sad. So here I am, on a rainy Wednesday morning, now voice-texting into this devilish device to create this message. I think it is a message for myself more than anything. Gosh these stupid tears. What is going on? I need to rewind. I need to go back. Back to the quiet simple peaceful mornings. I need to let go. I need to reach out even more than I need to let go. Who is with me? A fantastic human I call my friend gifted me with this poem this week. She didn't write it, but she knew I needed it. And now, I gift it to you. ☀️ safire-rose.com/books-and-media/poetry/she-let-go I see it every year. It starts around the first week of November and it lasts through the middle of January. The holiday blues. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve actually slowed down enough to think about trends in my practice. Sure there is an actual diagnosis of seasonal affective disorder, but this is different. This is deeper. This is hard. And here’s how I see it every day for two months straight in my exam rooms: Me: Hey Mrs. Jones - it is so good to see you. I know we had to zoom for our last visit. What’s new in your life? Are you ready for Christmas? Do you have to cook for Thanksgiving? Are y’all going anywhere? Mrs Jones: oh you know, I will be cooking for the family for Thanksgiving. And the children and the grandchildren may stop by for Christmas. No... I don’t go anywhere. I’m ready as I’ll ever be. Blank stare. Obvious reflection. Anyway how are your boys? Are they ready for Christmas? Do you have to cook for Thanksgiving? Me: oh yes I will be making my Mammaw’s dressing, sweet potato casserole from an old Birmingham recipe from one of my mother’s friend’s mothers, my layered salad that a nurse I used to work with taught me how to make. Gosh that was over 25 years ago now. Blank stare. Obvious reflection. Daddy will fry the turkey and my husband will fix the ham and a peanut butter pie. Mama will make the deviled eggs and the Waldorf salad. I will make my mother-in-law‘s corn bean casserole and some homemade mashed potatoes. Of course we will have rolls and cranberry sauce. Another blank stare. I haven’t seen my mother-in-law in over five years. The boys? Oh yes, they are more than ready for Christmas. We got them a matchbox Advent calendar they can’t wait to get started on. They’re growing up so fast. Blank stare. Obvious reflection. The oldest will be home from the Air Force. He and his girlfriend will be together the whole time I’m sure. I smile. But I’m nearly in tears. What is going on? And we sit for a moment. Two women born of different decades and sometimes different skin colors who have lived two very different lives at the outsider’s glance, but are so alike on the inside that it’s haunting. Her daughter is sitting beside her. They look and act so much alike it makes me smile from the inside out. I’m sure that’s what people say when they see me with my mother. I don’t have a daughter. Will my boys take care of me? Alright, get it together Amy. We finish out our actual medical visit and say our go-to goodbyes: Happy Holidays. Y’all be safe. Call me if you need me. And now, after ALL these years, I often hear “you know I love you.” And I believe it’s true. It’s not forced. It’s been earned. Is it against the rules? No, not my rules it’s not. Truth be told, I love her too. Maybe because I see myself in her and I’m cheering for myself in my old age. I’m giving myself a head start and saving myself a seat. I’ve practiced in Kentucky and in Georgia. I worked in a nursing home for six years and then made rounds as a nurse practitioner in that very same nursing home. I’m an old soul myself so I think I draw my elderly patients in and they stick. I stick to them too, and I think they know it. I’ve had so many Mrs. Jones over my 17 years. I’ve had Mr. Jones and Little Johnny Jones or Little Sally Jones as well, but I am so connected to Mrs. Jones that I can almost finish her sentence. Now I’m driving home and this 2 Lane Highway surrounded by trees and cows and horses makes me feel like I could be in any of the four states I’ve lived. It’s familiar and so are these thoughts. I’m a little girl in my childhood home with my brother and my parents and we just came home from candlelight Christmas Eve service and mama made lasagna. I haven’t really been hurt yet. I don’t know what it feels like to love somebody besides my family. I feel safe and secure and like I can do anything in this world. How did Mrs. Jones feel at this age? How did you feel at 10 years old? Now I’m driving home from Tuscaloosa with Delta Zeta on my back windshield. My finals are over. I get to see my boyfriend. I’m taking pre-med classes as well as a full nursing load, but I’ve been hurt by now. I’ve been disappointed and lied to by some people I trusted. But it’s the holidays you see, and I still feel like I’ve got a handle on things. I wonder what Mrs. Jones was doing at 20 years old? Had you been hurt by then? Oh wow. I didn’t really see this coming. Or did I? I’m sitting alone in my first marital home. Half my furniture is gone. Someone I love deeply told me I don't really need a Christmas tree this year because "it's just you." Am I not enough for a tree? Who am I by myself anyway? I’m driving to Georgia for Christmas. I don’t think I’ve ever been this sad in my life. I wonder what Mrs. Jones was doing when she was 30 years old? Was her heart broken like mine? Was yours? Gather around now. It’s time to eat. My baby boy is four years old and can’t seem to stop smiling. God gave him to me for sure. The first one I carried is six and almost as smart as I am. The one I didn’t carry but I’ve fed and loved now for seven years is sitting right next to me. Is he thinking about his mama? Will he ever see her again? Tiny pieces of my heart crumble for him. I just started taking prednisone for an incurable autoimmune disease I had to look up on the Internet. Lord have mercy and I really do mean "please Lord have some mercy." I’m only about 3 1/2 weeks into a lifelong diagnosis and I don’t know what the future holds. I’m scared. I’m sad. Merry Christmas y’all. It’s the holidays, right? I wonder how old Mrs. Jones was when she first questioned her mortality? How old were you? Were you 40 years old like me with a child in pre-K, one in first grade, and one silently falling apart right in front of you? You see that’s what the holiday blues are. They are every heartbreak and broken promise. They are all the fears and all the lost relationships. They are that empty seat at the table. The phone that barely rings. They are the one that got away and the one that stayed too long. They are your mother, your father, and your children. They are every husband you’ve ever had. How can they not be? We can’t erase our memories. I don’t have a cure for the holiday blues. I think they’re part of life. Mrs. Jones might tell me they get better with each decade or she might tell me they grow and take up more space than we should allow. I’m scared to ask her. None of us even talk about it really. We just say Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, y’all be safe. So this is my letter to you at age 45. Some heartaches of mine have healed and some are still there. I don’t think we should only remember the good times because that’s not what made us. It’s certainly not what made me today sitting right here baring my soul and giving you the permission to bare yours. Acknowledge the things that built you. Godspeed. This goes out to every Mrs. Jones that has ever allowed me to know her. She is me and I am her. And I thank God for that. I was listening to Emily P Freeman's episode with Shauna Niequist and one of Shauna's quotes struck me right in the sternum. Ouch! Immediate shame washed over me and so I had to check myself. Shame and I have been working ourselves out this past year or so, and so when She (shame) comes around, all my bells and whistles go off. Hold up, wait a minute - why did those words sting me like a fresh slap on the cheek? I think it is because they are TRUE. As women, we can connect or we can compare, but we cannot do both. A little louder for the people in the back. WE CAN CONNECT OR WE CAN COMPARE BUT WE CANNOT DO BOTH. These are Shauna's words reiterated and repeated by Emily. I am going to break this down on a practical level, because this is one lesson I hope I never forget. How do we connect and/or compare ourselves as women? Let me count the ways! Think of all the women you may encounter on a daily basis and check yourself on whether you have sized them up or stood with them in their journey.
Now consider if you've ever had these thoughts or even verbalized them with another woman ABOUT another woman... (gut punch)
I recently finished the book "What Happened to You?" by Dr. Bruce D. Perry and Oprah Winfrey. The concept inside the book includes a HUGE mindset shift from thinking "what's wrong with you?" to "what happened to you?". If someone you know or love is acting in ways that are not the norm- displaying anger, depression, anxiety, mood swings, childishness, avoidance, bitterness, negativity, or any emotion we don't "like" - take a deep breath. That person is CLEARLY struggling. Instead of taking another person's toxic behavior personally, acknowledge that something is going on within that person. They are acting out because something at some time happened to them or is happening now to them. Now, apply this concept of what happened to you AND the concept of connection instead of comparison and apply it to all those women we listed above:
Ladies, can we see the difference here?
Connection versus comparison??? Shauna is right! We can connect or we can compare but we CANNOT do both. Giving TOO MUCH grace, not holding boundaries, and "letting people off the hook" are worthy of their own post, but the simple art of connection is still a fantastic place to START. Let us begin with common ground and try to excise the comparison. Comparison really is the thief of joy my friends (thanks Teddy Roosevelt). Let us come together as ONE body of women and humans and recognize what joins us. We all face similar adversities as women, and tearing each other down is killing us as a sisterhood and internally at a soul level. To all the women in my life, I see you. I know you. I could be you. Let me recognize YOU and acknowledge YOU before my mind plays games. Ask any healer anywhere (nurse, therapist, doctor, anyone in the healing arts) and they will agree that at the most basic level, on our most vulnerable days, in our weakest moments, we are ALL the same. At our first breath and our last, we are completely and entirely the same. Comparison be gone. Godspeed. A recent blog reader commented on my pandemic lessons post with the comment "we are not all scared and trying to stay alive." I have had to sit with that for a few days. I am not scared of death... for many reasons... but a lot of it does have to do with my blood, sweat, and tears I have poured into countless patients for decades now... as well as my faith, but the two seem very intertwined when I think of my own mortality. I think another reason is that I have a chronic illness and I know end-stage pulmonary fibrosis (how my disease usually pans out) is not a cake walk, so if God calls me home at another time for another reason, I am okay with that. But, I think it's her last little bit of commentary that hasn't settled well in my soul. "We are not all trying to stay alive." We are not all trying to stay alive. 🤔 🤷♀️ 🧐 But aren't we, though? Isn't that why all of these scenarios insight fear, panic, palpitations, stomach-drops, sweaty palms, and often tears?
This post is not meant to be a Debbie Downer. It's meant to be a reality check for myself, and perhaps for you too. Every SINGLE day in my work, I encounter people I hold dear now after all these years that are FIGHTING to stay alive. Whether it is cancer, chronic disease, renal failure requiring dialysis, congenital or acquired physical disability (think MS, cerebral palsy, and paraplegia to name a few), OR they are in an unsafe home environment OR they are mentally on the brink of self-harm. they are each FIGHTING to stay alive. The following examples have all taken place in the past 2 years along with countless other patient deaths (some covid, some not), but these have rocked me. I lost my first patient to suicide this year and I am not the same. I always worried about him. I would leave our visits thinking about him. Did I do enough? I lost a close friend my age, someone I admired- so many admired- this past year to a 6-year battle with colon cancer, and I have tried to help my friend of 27 years keep herself and her children together during and after that loss. I am still learning - we all are. This is new territory for us. I lost a patient my age that was so much like me health-wise and personality-wise that it was like looking in the mirror every time we had our visits. We just happened to have different colored skin, but our hearts, fears, loves, and passions were so aligned. I was the one her son called while the nurses were "pounding on mama's chest" and I was the one weeping in my parents' backyard looking to the heavens begging God "please don't take her, she's not ready. Please don't take her, she's not ready. Please, please, please Lord don't take her yet." As I attended her funeral, it was like I was attending my own. I still think of her so very often. So yes, dear reader, I can agree that most of the time I choose not to live in fear. I have a "crappy" (it's my blog and I will almost-cuss if I want to) autoimmune disease that makes me feel lousy some days and fine other days. I take mouthfuls of medicine twice a day and my Humira costs could house a small family (thank you Aetna for your coverage). Occasionally, I "fear" not ever seeing my 2 youngest sons graduate high school or college. I "fear" never meeting my grandchildren, and sometimes I "fear" my precious boys having to take care of dear old Mom. I'm afraid I won't get to tell them everything I want them to know about me, about love, about God, about marriage, about friendship, about what truly matters, and about how to navigate the good days and the bad days. How to forgive, how to keep moving forward, and how to love themselves. Honestly, I think it is part of why I felt this huge push to write. They don't read my words now, but they might one day. But as for not trying to stay alive? I will disagree with every hair on my head, bone in my body, and adjective in my razor-sharp vocabulary on that friend. I AM TRYING EVERY SECOND OF EVERY DAY TO STAY ALIVE. And I stand witness and hold space for every other person I have cared for during my career in nursing and medicine who were all and are all still trying to do the same. I learned a new term today during a visit to Little Havana in Miami. It was made for the patriots who were anti-Castro who often became political prisoners. They were named "Plantados" - they stood planted, strong, unmoving, unwilling to step down. I am a Plantado for life, sister who made that comment. I shall never budge on that. I am here, showing up, every single day- trying to stay alive. I welcome my fellow Lifers. Let us make this world a little better each day. 🌎 Please help support my fellow Hope*Writers
by reading their work 🥰 Does Fear Have a Place in the Life of a Christian? By Regina Marcazzo-Skarka https://reginamarcazzoskarka.wordpress.com/?p=90 Living Fearless By Sharla Hallett www.sharlahallett.com/living-fearless/ I ain't afraid: Reflections on turning 50 By Jessica Weaver www.rootedunrooted.com/blog/i-aint-afraid When Hidden Fear Creeps Out By Dianne Vielhuber https://simplewordsoffaith.com/2021/10/31/when-hidden-fear-creeps-out/ How to Help Kids with Anxiety and Fear By Ashley Olivine https://louvaria.com/how-to-help-kids-with-anxiety-and-fear/ Hey, I know you. I share a bed, a remote, and a living room with you. I ride in the front seat with you. I talk to you numerous times a day about kids and groceries and logistics. I know how you take your coffee and what you like on your pizza. But, do I know you right now, at this very moment, 12 years in, more or less than I did say 10 years ago? BEFORE our conversations revolved around schedules and pickups and homework. I know I have changed in the last 12 years. Surely you have as well? Have I asked? Have I noticed? Have you seen the changes in me? Have you noticed? Are we giving each other what we need? (my therapist is ALWAYS in my ear- "tell them what you NEED Amy! tell that person what you NEED.") Every year we try to take a trip sans kiddos to regroup, reconnect, unplug, and just have fun together. It is a WORTHY investment (time and money) in a marriage or relationship. Parenting is hard! Adulting is hard! Marriage is hard! Sure, some people make it look easy, but let's leave them out of it and talk about the real work that staying married involves. We usually try some "games" or conversation starters to break our habit of only talking about our kids, our jobs, or our day-to-day frustrations. Sometimes we play "would you rather?". Here are some of the ones we asked this last date night:
Wait, what just happened? We soon realized that the frivolous conversations led to deeper ones and that was the eventual goal anyway, BUT had we ever really talked about any of these things? We have not crossed into some of those territories personally, but we have witnessed other loved ones facing different challenges. Those various challenges have seemed more frequent as we age, or perhaps our reservoirs of empathy grow deeper with maturity and life experience. To be quite frank, husband and I had not attended many funerals together prior to the last 2-3 years. We were busy attending weddings or baby showers. That dress with heels and coat and tie now have a different destination it seems. And so it goes. This weekend we've discussed our future grandparent names, how we picture retirement for each of us individually as well as together, and trips we plan to take. We have discussed aging parents and various family caregiving scenarios. Our first few "just us" getaways involved naps and recovery from pure exhaustion and planning out toddler birthday parties, Halloween costume ideas, or Santa ideas. Now we are brainstorming passive income ideas, retirement goals, and our own personal dreams and desires. We are transforming, both together and separately, from Mom & Dad, to 2 people with our own passions, fears, and personal insecurities. I am by no means a marriage expert.
I have seen a beautiful example of marriage in my parents and some of my other family members. Husband and I have each had a failed marriage prior to this one, so we know how painful divorce is and we are each way too stubborn to go down without a fight. I'm not writing this as a beacon of marital bliss, but rather as a tired working mom in the thick of motherhood, menopause, and midlife (try having kids in your mid-30's) 😜. I am writing this as an imperfect, hard-to-please, bleeding-heart woman married to an imperfect, hard-headed, scared-of-abandonment man that didn't see the example of marriage that I saw growing up. We are actually two scared-of-being-vulnerable humans bound together by beautiful boys and God, fate, the universe - but we, too, are still trying to figure it all out. If you find yourself still figuring it all out, it's OKAY. Stay the course. My Uncle Don told me one time many years ago, "Amy, you know how to stay married, right? long pause. You just never leave. Neither of you. You stay and you don't leave." Time and space apart can sometimes be good for a marriage. They can allow room to think and heal. But time TOGETHER has been our best strategy. Make your marriage a priority. Make your spouse a priority. He or she is a worthy investment. You can read all the books and try all the counseling, but sometimes you just need TIME together and conversations that bring you closer than you thought you might ever be. Godspeed.
Before deciding if you love me or hate me, let's look at each of these in a little more detail. If you are reading this and you don't work in healthcare, I encourage you to close your eyes. Imagine driving to work where patients are very sick and you are responsible for their health. Imagine being extremely exhausted - mentally, physically, and emotionally. Imagine having the same conversations day in and day out. Imagine wearing a mask and face shield all day every day AND if you work in certain healthcare settings, full plastic gowns (sweaty and HOT) with even more restrictive masks (n95). Think about having heart-wrenching conversations about death and dying with families and patients that you have come to love over many years. Consider praying on your drive in and your drive home because you've worked in healthcare since you were 19 years old, but you've never seen anything as dark and dangerous, cold and pointless, savage and destructive as THIS. Imagine that you, like everyone else, have also been unable to see loved ones, travel, send your kids to school without a mask, and that you- like everyone else- have your own political and religious beliefs but you cannot mention those since ALL eyes and ears are on you. Now imagine doing that every single day for 20 months in a row.
I usually wrap up my posts with some heart-swelling, tear-jerking, or funny concluding thoughts. I try to connect us as humans, mothers, fathers, daughters, sons, sisters, brothers, neighbors, and friends. I find a way to touch you, soften you, move you even if it’s only for a moment. I don’t know how to do that with this post. I’m tired. I’m sad. I’m frustrated. I’m still hopeful. I still believe. I guess I will end by asking all of us to consider the division we have all felt over the past 2 years. Consider the lost lives and energy we have all spent to prove we are right. And hug your family. Hug your loved ones. And look your “enemy” in the eye before you judge their choices. We really are all the same. Imperfect. Scared. And trying to stay alive. 🌎 I do want you to listen to the podcast, because I think there are some big pearls in this interview, but here are a few highlights:
Find out who is in your circle:
Plan as much as you can ahead of time:
Final pro tips: -Keep a medical binder of all your paperwork -Have a designated inbox for all incoming papers (follow The Planning Woman for more on this) -Apply for intermittent FMLA with your employer -My personal pro tip: PET THERAPY! 🐶🐱 Charlie the Dachshund makes everything better!
What's in a name? I have been married twice. I dated my first husband six years before we got married, and we were married 7 years. We didn't have any children. I've been married to my current husband for 12 years now and we have raised 3 children together. My step-son was 7 when we got married (19 now and out of the house), and our boys are 9 and 11. What is bizarre is that neither of my husbands have a very close relationship with their fathers. In fact, I have never met either of their fathers. To take that even further, I have never met a SINGLE person on either of their father's side of the family. So... to put that into practical terms, I have had a last name for 19 of my 45 years that really had no "meaning" to me. My first husband was the only "Smith" (not his name, but just using as an example) I knew but then I carried that name. My second husband is the only Cobb I know other than our 3 children. Let that sink in for a moment. This has made for some very awkward life moments:
Since I'm really into family in general, and I love old family names and family history, I bought my parents an Ancestry.com kit for Mother's or Father's Day one year. I also bought one for myself and my husband. I love looking back at all of our relatives and heritage, but building my husband's family tree has been difficult. This has led me into some deep thought (doesn't take much for me to go deep 😜).
In my opinion, a name carries weight. Identity matters. Having always worked in the medical field, my name is something I sign every single day. I prescribe medicine so it appears on prescription bottles and insurance claims and lab and imaging orders. Nurses answer the phone "Amy Cobb's office, how may I help you?" I am listed as a primary care provider for about 2000 people. I don't mention this as if I am anything special. I most certainly am not. But do I feel odd having a last name plastered all over HealthGrades and pill bottles when I have no physical, emotional, or spiritual connection to the name? Yes, I am married to a Cobb. But what makes him a "Cobb?" I can't grin at my husband and say "you laugh just like your daddy." I can't look at my boys and tell them they have the Cobb nose or the Cobb stubborn streak. I can't say "boys, your grandfather would have loved to see you hit that ball, march that field, fix that jet." I don't know any Cobb recipes or Cobb traditions. I don't know if or where they went to church, what music they loved, or how they earned a living. And so again, is this how fatherless children feel? What about the motherless child? Is it the name that carries the weight or the connection itself with a parent, a heritage, a history? For my adopted friends and patients, what does their adopted name mean to them? Is it a name filled with love, hope, and acceptance or is it a daily reminder of what could have been and what may never be? Not knowing anyone else with my name is a first-world problem. I realize that. But it is a thing. I'm learning to acknowledge my "things." I'm learning to feel those feelings, name what's missing or hurting, and process what thoughts can do to my body. Is this shame I am feeling? Regret? Did I even do anything wrong? Who is to blame - or is blame even required? Another ebb and flow in the circle of life, the jagged bonds of connectedness that barely keep us together - sometimes by one single strand of a lineage. I reached out to my writing group to see if any adopted writers had a perspective about the meaning of a name. Ann C. Averill wrote a beautiful piece about her experience with her name, and I am happy to feature it as a guest post on 10/12/21. Thank you, Ann, for your bravery and vulnerability to share with my readers. ❤️
I was pretty sure an acorn grew into a tree. I haven't been in first grade for a while, but I thought I remembered an acorn grew into an oak tree. I decided I better look it up before I wrote an entire post about it, and alas... an acorn does grow into an oak tree. Wikipedia expounded upon acorns being used in art, cuisine, customs, and as food for various birds and mammals. When I took the picture of the acorn in my husband's hand this morning, I wasn't thinking about anything but stored potential. Stored potential. I remembered squirrels collect and store acorns for the winter. And they eat the acorns. And those eaten acorns never reach their calling of becoming a beautiful oak tree.
There are all kinds of books and stories and even a finance app regarding the acorn as a tool for storage, delayed potential, growth. And yet... Here we are, scrolling on our phones or our laptops or our tablets (thank you, dear readers, and I do mean that)... Did we write that book we wanted to write? Did we take that ballroom dance class we wanted to take? Did we belt it at karaoke night like we'd been rehearsing with our brush mic in front of our bathroom mirror? (Okay, Susie did but that was the bottomless margaritas singing, not her true heart's desire to sing on a stage in front of strangers and have someone's heart beat a little faster and someone's eyes water at the sheer sound of her voice... wait, maybe that's just me)? Did we finally tell our friend we were sorry when we did that thing that's rolled around in the back of our minds for 20 years? Did we hold our child close to our chest and tell them everything is going to be okay even though we know it might not be okay and we don't want to be the reason they're in therapy later but we don't want to pretend everything is okay, oh my goodness, what is the right answer? Did we apply for the promotion we know we deserve or let another opportunity pass us by? Did we sign up for the race we know we aren't ready for but really, really want to try? Did we tell the person that hurt us repeatedly that they did hurt us and going forward, did we define what we need from them? Did we look in the mirror this morning and like every single inch of our bodies and every single fiber of our heart and soul because God designed us as a masterpiece, beautifully and wonderfully made, despite society's measuring sticks? Or, did we remain on the leaf-covered ground like the acorn... waiting for a squirrel or bird or toddler to scoop us up? Were we stored away for another day? Were we consumed before we ever began our destiny? An oak tree is a beautiful destiny. She is strong, tall, sturdy, and beautiful, with colors that change with the seasons. She provides shelter, shade, and structure. She never leaves us and she stays the same for the most part. You know what else is beautiful? A mother who tells her children she has been hurt too, and that it really is all going to be okay. That she KNOWS it's going to be okay, because she is okay and she will help them be okay as long as she is on this earth. A wife who tells her partner what she needs from them even if she doesn't know if they can give her what she needs. A friend who tells the truth when asked if she's okay. And a friend who recognizes her own flaws and asks for patience and understanding. A daughter who can look at her elderly parents and recognize every line on their face and hands for all its good and bad and steadfastness. She can see herself acquiring those same lines and she knows the toll each one has taken. She knows that her own children will see her lines one day, and she hopes they give her the same recognition. I'm typing this on the porch of a cabin on a lake in north Georgia and the acorns are literally spilling from the treetops hitting the ground HARD and abruptly and with force and determination. Each one comes down on this cabin rooftop or leaf-scattered ground with a POUND or a BOOM or a SNAP. And my heart is full. For I know the destiny of each tiny acorn. She is yearning to become a beautiful oak. She is waiting for her moment to rise. Now it is your turn. What path will you choose? Will you make the hard decisions, let your voice be heard, show up for those who love and need you? Or will you stay on the ground... waiting... watching... allowing life to happen all around you? I dare you to stand. I will stand with you. Happy + Happy = Happy I was listening to a podcast the other day, and the speaker said he thinks we are all happier when we make others happier. Agreed. Then he said we are all happier when we are around other happy people. Also agreed. I went along my merry way and was strolling through the aisles of Home Goods, aimlessly looking at mugs and throw pillows, and those 2 thoughts kept resonating with me. Making others happier and being around other happy people makes US happy. What does it mean to make others happy? I know for a fact I've made some people happy in my lifetime. And yes, that made me happy. But did I even know what I was doing? Was me being happy by making them happy even my agenda? Do people even think about that? Can a person be happy as "an island?" What about people who choose to remain single or just haven't found a life partner? Those who live in solitude? Are they doomed to a life of unhappiness? What about solopreneurs and those whose jobs involve them working alone? Does that mean they are unhappy? I used to have a sign that says "happiness is a decision made ahead of time." I had another one that said "some people pursue happiness while others create it." While I do think that "our input determines our output" and "we are what we eat" (both in terms of food and the digital content we consume), I just don't think it's that simple anymore. You see, I can wake up, set my intention for the day, stay as happy as I "want" to be and in the course of one single day I can have the following conversations:
And those are just work examples. What about life examples?
So, how do I continue to make others happy in the above situations? How do I maintain my positive outlook? Aren't there times when happy ISN'T the right answer or attitude and staying positive just feels WRONG? In some situations, making others happy devalues their pain and suffering which honestly makes them feel even more isolated and unhappy. I realize not everyone has a job in the healing field, the medical field, or with the public. But we are all HUMAN. Almost all of us have friends, coworkers, neighbors, church members, family members, SOMEONE at some point in each day that is going to confide in us and lean on us. Do we lean in and choose to be a present fencepost or lighthouse for those that need us or do we back off all in the name of HAPPINESS and choosing joy? Can we even enjoy the good things without seeing the bad? I don't think we can.
I am REALLY starting to pay attention to my body when I meet new people. I don't always count them out if my first impression is less than stellar, but I do remember it. I take note so that I'm not surprised down the road.
And here's another disclaimer to Mr. Podcast's 2nd claim. Sally may make me feel good but I can't ever see her because our schedules are opposite and she's not good at reaching out. She struggles with depression and anxiety, so I have to let her reach out when she has the emotional space to do so. Bobby may make me feel like crap, but he's my brother and I love him, so then what? Susie might put me on edge every day, but she's my boss and I spend several hours a week with her. So yeah, Mr. Podcast, I like your ideas and they sound great, but then there's life. And after living and working and being in a few families now, I know that we can't always choose who we are around. And maybe that's why I stopped putting my 2 happiness signs out. I realized that I can keep a positive mindset and try to limit the time I spend with people who either make me feel bad or suck the life out of me, BUT... I also realized it takes the bad to see the good. It takes the ugly to see the beautiful. It takes all those things my patients tell me every day- that are really happening to people I care about- to make me slow down, sip my coffee, exhale at that stoplight, glance at my kiddos in the rearview, pump up the volume, and sing at the top of my lungs with my sunroof open. It takes being knocked down, run over, and slowly picking yourself up to smile at the exploring, coy toddler vying for your attention at your son's ball game. It takes losing something you love to look at a tree that's been standing outside your window for years and silently thank it for never leaving you. It takes holding someone you love while they shake in fear or agony to appreciate each and every piece of laundry you fold for the 400th time. The mundane is where the magic is... the daily can be the delight. Today, I choose to live... pretty, ugly, hard, easy, funny, scary, joyful, and unthinkable. Happiness will work itself out. She will make her appearance. And I will nod in recognition each time she does. To read some of my friends' thoughts on happiness, please click below and support their work. We all belong to a writer's group and I have learned and grown from each of these special women's work and words.
Chasing Happiness By Sharla Hallett www.sharlahallett.com/chasing-happiness/ Finding True Happiness and Keeping It By Lisa Granger https://lisamarcelina.net/finding-true-happiness-and-keeping-it/ Mom Burnout and How to Be Happy By Ashley Olivine https://www.ashleyolivine.com/mom-burnout/ 3 Days By MelAnn https://graceandrapture.substack.com/p/3-days Seeing Happiness Right in Your Life By Dianne Vielhuber https://simplewordsoffaith.com/2021/10/01/seeing-happiness-right-in-your-life/ The Summer of Happiness Recap of Summer 2021 By Jessica Haberman https://storytellerfarm.com/the-summer-of-happiness-recap-of-summer-2021/ Reflection is a beautiful thing. It is often overlooked, but when we slow down and DO IT, we can learn and grow. Now that I'm in my forties, I sometimes look back at times in my teens and twenties and try to "hold on" to that feeling. We really can't do that, though, can we? Frequent reflection allows us to "hold on" right now. To really "feel it" right now... before it passes. Reflection gives us room to take note, consider future improvements, and relish in current joy. I'm hoping to start reflecting every quarter here. A public diary entry of sorts. A record of the good and the bad. A glimpse in time.
This is what I'm learning right now, September 2021:
I just had a funny thought as I sipped my coffee. I wish I had read this article 19 years ago in my first few weeks of NP school. I wonder if I would have kept going to class? Probably... knowing me. I'm always trying to prove somebody wrong. Alright, alright, I'm about to let you all in on a BIG secret! Those who love me, and especially those who live with me know all of these truths, but I bet many of you are about to lose all your enamor for your health care provider. I am going to tell you about the daily life of a family nurse practitioner working in primary care. In essence, my day can be broken down into a few "sessions" or time periods.
Let me laugh with another sip of coffee real quick before I proceed.
Going back to my original "dreams" of working as an NP, did any of it come true?
Check out these posts from my fellow Hope*Writers for our monthly writing challenge. This month's theme was "daily": Oh, I Try by Jessica Weaver www.rootedunrooted.com/blog/oh-i-try Kids Sleep Meditation: 6 Daily Practice Dos and Don’ts by Ashley Olivine louvaria.com/kids-sleep-meditation/ Lessons from Daily Bread by Dianne Vielhuber simplewordsoffaith.com/2021/09/01/lessons-from-daily-bread/ Daily Conversations with God by Sharla Hallett www.sharlahallett.com/daily-conversations-with-god/ The boys lined up in their knicker pants smiles and oversized gloves and bats mom and dads in the bleacher seats red Georgia clay in barely-worn cleats I had the honor of sitting inside the dusty dugout, beaming with pride I applied all the bandaids, passed out the ice packs watched the boys triumph, grow, and relax I knew the days being close to him would end I knew my high fives would be replaced with friends' what I didn't expect was how much I would learn about watching my own child wait for his turn I witnessed my boy's first time on that bench I felt his disappointment and saw the heart-wrench I watched my own child have ups and downs in the game I saw innings of glory and moments of shame I knew it would come to an end one day I knew I'd hear "Mom, get out. We're good. Go away." I still feel my heart tug when I wash his gear I know his time is now, this very year So go get 'em, sweet boy- show them all what you've got Let the haters stand back, for a quitter you're not Throw that ball down the strike zone with red Georgia heat Nail that ball to the outfield, pull the crowd to their feet I may not be in that dugout with you right now but this mom is inside you, I'm showing you how to come back from defeat and rise to the top keep your head held high son, all the doubting shall stop When the ump calls "That's Ball Game" and the fans shift away this mom knows your love for the game and each play This life lesson you've learned - while it hurt, it's okay Smack that ball, throw that strike, they'll remember your name This goes out to any little boy who waited his turn and for his mom that watched him wait.
My husband and I have been on opposite shifts for 5 years. Has it been fun or easy? No and no. Has a tiny part of me enjoyed hogging the remote or eating popcorn for dinner on the rare evening when kids are gone? Yes for sure! It does take effort to stay connected when you may go 48 hours without seeing each other, and I have learned a few tricks that have worked for us. 8 tips to stay connected despite working opposite shifts:
How to have an effective office visit with your provider: There are some tried and true ways to have a productive, meaningful visit with your medical provider. As a patient with a chronic illness AND a family nurse practitioner, I have the inside track.
If you need more frequent office visits, ask for them. Your provider is PAID to see you. Your insurance is billed for those visits where as most providers do not bill for phone calls or portal messages. If you end up needing them before your designated 3 or 6 month follow-up and you have more than 1-2 simple questions, PLEASE schedule an office visit. As a provider with complicated patients of my own, I would much rather have that patient in the office with me to have a discussion than to do multiple back-and-forths over the portal. It’s better patient care. AND my time is used wisely in my employer’s mindset. Medicine is a business. Although so many of us really do care!!! |