Posts tagged self care
Inchstones

What do Hamilton, developmental disabilities and my motto, “taking life one inchstone at a time” all have in common? They were in full effect last Saturday when, after several months, I once again took our kids to the theater to visit Miguel/Daddy at work. I’m slightly ashamed to admit that I’ve written over 30 blogs posts (yes, I counted them) and I have yet to do a deep dive explanation of my own motto. I can tell you are clearly as shocked and appalled by this as I am. So let’s get to it!

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Hunting hope

Life with a chronic incurable illness is hard AF. Societal standards tell us to downplay our struggles for a variety of reasons, to focus on the good. Somedays that's just not possible. Recently we've found ourselves in a rut with Adelaide's care and honestly, I'm just really tired. When there is no light at the end of the tunnel how do you hunt down hope? 

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Are you mom?

I never wanted to be a stay-at-home mom. Not as a little girl playing with dolls and certainly not as a 20-something finding my way. Up until Adelaide was diagnosed with epilepsy and Miguel booked Hamilton, I was our family’s primary bread winner and I loved it. In fact, I was out with co-workers, celebrating my last day at one job and about to take a new step in my career, when Miguel called to tell me that he had booked Hamilton and we were moving to Chicago. Exciting? Yes! Moment of panic as I realize my entire life is changing? Hell yes!

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Cone of Possibility

This week marks our two year anniversary in Chicago. I wrote a whole post about the three months leading up to that move and couldn’t come up with a point, other than I believe it would make an excellent Oscar-nominated vehicle for the likes of the next Julia Roberts/Sandra Bullock. Screenwriters, feel free to hit me up once I’ve written the book.

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Permission to be happy

Last Friday, I was driving around by myself, attending meetings for CURE, running errands, enjoying seeing the messages of encouragement come through from the latest blog post, and I felt content. No, more than content, I was happy, genuinely happy. My children were stable and I felt productive and fulfilled. Three things I have not experienced at the same time in, well, years. However, almost as soon as I acknowledged my happiness I was racked with guilt and anxiety.

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