I got a little teary.

Boston is home. It has always felt like that. When we visited when I was a kid. When I was there to row in the Head of the Charles in 1982. When I went to The Nutcracker with a dear friend a number of years ago. When I picked a friend up at the airport last year.

Never mind that I lived there for eight years over three decades ago.

The thing is, I was supposed to be born in Boston. My parents met there. They married there. They were both there from 1958 to 1962. My dad may have been there in ‘57, but you get the idea.

Then dad got a job in Tulsa, Oklahoma. And they left Boston in December of 1962.

I was born, in Tulsa, in March of 1963.

But for that job, that dad had for all of two years, I would have been born in Boston.

And Boston has always had my heart.

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It was always my intention to return to Boston after law school.

But one thing and another and here I am, 30 years after graduating from law school, in western Massachusetts.

At one point a friend commented, you keep moving FURTHER away! After law school it was a couple of towns in Connecticut then Holyoke, MA then Pittsfield, MA then Canaan, NY.

Now I’m closer to Springfield, but it’s still not Boston.

Unfortunately I am not in a position to move back to Boston. The difference in cost of living between Westfield, MA and Boston, MA is significant. And my income is client dependent so I would have to walk into a fully formed massage practice. Not going to happen.

And still I miss it. It’s completely different than when I lived there. So much development. Familiar landmarks are gone. Shops I adored are closed. It’s not like I’d be moving to a place I know.

But if a workable opportunity arose, say I won the PowerBall, there’s a good chance I would be in Boston as soon as I could be.

I thought I had a point when I started to write this. It may be, I still hold some (ridiculous I acknowledge) resentment toward my parents for moving to Tulsa just before I was born. It may just be that, though I don’t get there frequently, my heart lies in Boston.

Maybe in my next life I’ll spend more than eight years there.

I think that would be pretty great.

What’s something that holds your heart, even though it’s not a real possibility?

At least I do. Your scenario may be different.

I used to hike with my dad. Spring and fall weather in the 70s is a great time to hike. It can still be sweaty work, but it’s lovely. You can open the car windows on the drive home to cool off quickly.

It’s very different from cooling off with the AC in the car. It takes a bit for the car to cool down when using AC, in part because it is pretty hot out when the AC is being used.

The windows down in humid 70s weather is quick to cool the body.

It’s also quick to trigger the memory of driving to the grocery store or back to the cabin after a hike with my dad.

I miss him.

So much.

It’s a good reminder. I’ll head to work today and my clients won’t know that I had a bit of a cry in my car, missing my dad.

Because we never know what those around us are going through. Even when they tell us.

I need the reminder occasionally. It helps me stay grounded in my practice of kindness. I’m not always successful, hence a practice. But I work hard at it.

And you know what?

When I’m successful, I feel better. Being kind to others is being kind to yourself.

That’s what anyone would call a win-win.

What is your practice? Who do you miss?

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Capital One Venture was the first card I got a notice about. Then Quicksilver, also Capital One. Then REI, also Capital One.

I got pretty hysterical. One rep told me a few times, calm down, we have you, you won’t be responsible for any of it. I explained, more than once, that it wasn’t just that company, I was watching, in real time, transactions on every other account that I had. He got it and was super helpful.

At any rate, 5am. Usually I wake up at 3 or 4 and stay awake for an hour or two then fall back asleep. At 5am I don’t fall back asleep.

So I ran through the accounts, the budget, email, my schedule.

Then I got up and dressed for hiking. I was out on the trail before 7 on Tuesday, around 7 on Wednesday (I had to pick up bug spray before I hit the trail, the bugs are very distracting, and causing itch).

I was able to shower before my client on Tuesday, I was super sweaty when I got to my annual checkup on Wednesday.

Today?

Nope.

The past three days have been 100*. Had to get out before the heat. Also, WANTED to get out for a hike. Had the same plan for today.

But it’s 9:50 and I’m sitting at my dining table, getting ready to put on a sweater as the temp has dropped 30* since yesterday, writing this.

WHY?!? The weather is perfect for a hike. Grey, but cool. A wonderful day to go visit a waterfall and sit by a reservoir for a few minutes. Blow a few soap bubbles and take a zen moment video to share.

This was yesterday, the sun wasn’t high enough to get down to the reservoir.

So, WHY?!?

The motivation just doesn’t exist, the vagaries of post menopausal life. Hiking would make me feel better, virtually guaranteed. Yet here I sit.

Which is why I’m sitting at my dining table writing about the ick. Does this happen to you? One day you will get all the things done, stuff you didn’t even know needed doing. The next day you can barely drag yourself out of bed - even if there is something lovely that you know you actually want to do.

I have reached the point where I can’t hike until I make breakfast. I would get wobbly and lightheaded, not good when you are in the woods by yourself, a mile from your car.

So I will get dressed as if for hiking. I’ll make my scramble, two eggs, spicy jalapeño chicken sausage, I’m out of broccoli so red pepper, cheddar cheese. Super delish and will get me through all the activities today. Then I will clean. Housekeeping is not a strength of mine - I’m a fucking terrible housekeeper if I’m being honest. It has to do with how my ADHD brain works. I can’t explain it, regular maintenance of a clean home is one of the most challenging things in my life. If I, or someone else, gets it to a reasonable place I can, sometimes, maintain it. If my internal life is out of whack, say, for example, my therapist takes a health sabbatical and then leaves the work for the indefinite future, my external world reflects that beautifully.

And by beautifully I mean holy hell it’s a miracle I haven’t broken my neck.

My internal life is improving. I had a closure meeting with my therapist that was super helpful and turned around my thinking. I found out I have a hiatal hernia that may be the cause of the [I think] extreme symptoms I have been experiencing which is also impacting the health of my teeth (one of my front teeth, root canaled years ago broke almost at the gum when I was eating pizza a couple of weeks ago), is large enough that surgery to repair it is likely. I had to put some mostly unbudgeted money into my car, but I’m handling it.

But the disaster that is my home is not.

Until yesterday.

You see, I invited one of my best friends down for Memorial Day weekend. Her life has been a lot lately and a couple of days here with no responsibility is helpful. Plus, I love hanging out with her and we live too far apart to have it happen more than a few times a year. This was our communication when I was hiking yesterday.

There was more, but my work schedule is light the next couple of days and we left it at, we’ll see.

I got home from the hike and dealt with my kitchen floor. Okay, now we’re cooking with gas. I have the rest of today and most of tomorrow to deal with a few other significant issues.

And I will spend a couple of days with my friend.

If I get “enough” done, with enough time left before I have to be in my office, I will go for that hike.

If not, maybe I’ll be up at 5am tomorrow with the motivation to throw on the clothes and get my butt out the door.

Fortunately it looks like the weather will cooperate with that plan.

Tell me, how has your motivation changed with peri/menopause?

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Nope, the knees are 63 and in the course of my life I have face planted more than any human should. Plus getting t-boned by a car from the left when I was 14 and riding my bike. Oh, a guy I was dating accidentally pinned me between my car and a rental truck when I was 35. I’m sure there’s a ton of other stuff I’ve done over the years.

The doc said it’s not arthritis cartilage issues. Yay.

I have really good space in my knees, definitely not bone on bone. That is a super happy thing.

It seems I have a minor tear in the medial meniscus.

Physical therapy to strengthen the structures and support the knee is the plan. If that doesn’t work we’ll talk about MRIs and whatever.

When I got home I pulled over when I saw my neighbor, I had to say hi to Pepper - her dog.

I told her I was heading home to change for a hike. My sweet neighbor told me that I bring the outdoors to her. I make 30 second videos when I’m out on my hikes, moments of zen that I share on FB. Most often the focus is running water. I function best when I am near water often.

Those videos pull my neighbor out of her darkness.

It had me thinking of my dad. After they moved to assisted living I tried to bring in things that he loved. I didn’t forget about mom, she had dementia and was happy with anything we put in front of her. One day I said, dad, how about I go to Lebnani Grill and pick up some shawarma?

If you happen to be in Watertown, CT, check out Lebnani Grill. It’s a store front in a small strip mall. With AMAZING food. We had shawarma, gyro, kibbe - all worth the trip.

Dad looked at me and said, you know what I haven’t had since we moved in here? No dad, what?

A peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Alrighty then.

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I picked up some Smuckers Natural Peanut Butter - creamy, Dad Bread aka Alvarado Street Bakery California Complete Protein bread, and Bonne Maman Strawberry Preserves and made him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

He was so happy.

I froze the bread. And whenever he wanted a peanut butter and jelly sandwich I pulled out two slices, let them defrost, and made him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

I won’t say it’s one of my favorite memories of my dad, but it is one of my favorite stories from the last 18 months of his life.

My neighbor told me I’m her peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

I gave her a hug.

If you ever want a peanut butter and jelly sandwich - whatever that might be for you - let me know, I’m pretty good at peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

It seems I have been telling myself a story since my therapy sessions paused. I have been telling myself that I have been hanging on, barely, until therapy started up again.

But after that zoom I realized I’m okay.

Not more than okay, but as I often told my dad, sometimes okay is good.

I have been doing the things that help me manage depression and sadness. I’ve hiked, kayaked, read, knitted, spent some time with friends, purchased yarn I didn’t need.

I’m psyched about the yarn! It’s for a small scarf that will do an excellent job of keeping my neck warm next winter, without all the bulk I’ve been wearing for decades. If my neck is cold, I’m freezing, it’s unpleasant. It’ll be a quick project. And when it’s done I’ll know if that kind of project should show up more often.

At any rate. I have learned to count on my therapy sessions. My parents were my best friends, with the added benefit of being my parents. They were [essentially] always there when I called. I’ve been dealing with the loss of that these last almost five years. I have wonderful, supportive friends who I adore. And who adore me.

I spent a lot of time with two friends, my soft landing place since my parents died. Too much, actually. That has been dialed back and I enjoy a long weekend at their place quarterly-ish.

Nothing fills the vacancy left by my folks. But my friends are always there and I am learning to find other ways of taking care of myself.

Back to the story I’ve been telling myself.

The story that my sanity was dependent on sessions with my therapist, the one I’ve been working with since a few weeks after my dad died. The safety of those sessions was my story. I was really locked into that story. The return of my therapist was the life saving ring I held onto for three months.

Then that ring was taken away and I prepared to drown.

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I was so locked into that story that I [briefly] lost all rational thought. And, as I wrote about here, I visited Happy Delusion Land. That visit allowed me to function daily and make it to the zoom meeting.

The zoom meeting that helped me realize that I wasn’t hanging on. I was functioning just fine. I was doing the things that needed to be done and the things that make me happy.

Did I need that story to get through those three months without therapy? Am I just in the habit of believing I need external sources of strength to get through challenges? Do I tell myself such stories all the time?

Those may be questions I talk to my next therapist about. When I have the courage to try to find one.

In the meantime, the story I’m telling myself is that I have all the tools I need to move forward with my sanity reasonably intact. Hopefully I will live that story as well as I lived the last one.

What stories do you tell yourself? Do they serve you?

She had a significant medical crisis in January and we haven’t had a session since then. I’ve been hanging on, just waiting for her to heal and return to practice.

When I saw her name in my email on the 12th, I was excited. I would finally get back into our regular sessions, every other week or so.

Nope.

Due to my ongoing recover & health, I have decided to step back and pause my clinical psychotherapy practice for an indefinite period of time.

That was when I became what some might describe as hysterical.

When I say some I mean pretty much anyone.

I texted two of my friends. One responded. The other gets a pass she was taking her kid to Boston for major surgery.

I literally laughed out loud when she sent that, it was lovely.

I wanted to take the week off, curl up into a ball, and ignore all the things.

But the things would not be ignored. That evening I found a fraudulent transaction in my checking account. Someone charged a VOIP on my debit card - the one that was in my wallet. I reached out to the VOIP to get things started. Monday I went to the bank for a new debit card then to the office to give some massages. The rest of the week was busy with a couple of chair massage gigs and more clients in my office.

So there was no curling up in a ball.

At 1:50 Monday afternoon I got a text from my therapist, do you want to make a zoom date for this week?

That was when I entered Happy Delusion Land.

Perhaps you have visited this place where things that are true and real don’t exist. It can be useful as a place to visit, living there is not good. Though some people make the attempt, we all know them, and we all question their approach to the world.

This particular visit to Happy Delusion Land was: Everyone But You.

That zoom meeting was to tell me that she was stepping back from her practice with everyone but me.

I know what you’re thinking. I was thinking the same thing, that is very unrealistic, you can’t possibly believe that!

And I didn’t.

Except I was so thrown by this news. I believed that I was hanging onto my sanity because I would soon be back in therapy, with . . . and I just couldn’t process the possibility that I would not be. And that she would not be in my life. And that I would have to try out therapists. And how would I explain all that the last six years have been and what I’ve been through and who I am. And it wouldn’t be the same. And I am broken.

I could not process all of that information. Especially when I still had to function in the world.

So I consciously entered Happy Delusion Land. I decided that for the next 11 days I would believe that she was going to say Everyone But You at 10am on 23 April.

I did all the things. I gave all the massages. I showed up cheerful for the chair massage gigs, library and school employees who so deserve that little bit of attention. I hiked. I said yes when a friend said, I’m thinking of kayaking tomorrow, what to join? It was 16 April, it was going to be 90* perfect for the first kayak trip of the season. And it was, it was an epic start to the season. Note to self, sunscreen dumbass.

I even told people I was in Happy Delusion Land. I even told them what I was allowing myself to believe.

A couple of days ago it got harder to not think about what might happen when I left Happy Delusion Land, but I stayed there right up until we zoomed this morning.

It served me well. I didn’t fall into a pit of despair. I didn’t spend 11 days contemplating the hell of finding a new therapist or what that would look like or how sad I will be to not have her in my life. I just did the things.

I lived in Happy Delusion Land until I absolutely couldn’t avoid the truth.

And you know what? I’m okay. I can do hard things. I’m a bit numb just at this moment. And I won’t be searching for a new therapist right away. And I’m sad, I’ll miss her, she’s a really good person.

But I’m looking forward and it’s not terrifying like it was 11 days ago.

Happy Delusion Land, a nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there.

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A lot of tests.

We did a Holter monitor and three or four others before he ordered the stress test. I remember the stress test because it seemed so unlikely that it would show anything to do with seizures. That was when I stopped scheduling tests and found a gerontologist.

He diagnosed mom’s dementia and eventually sent us to the neurologist who told us that mom had kind of a big stroke that was causing the seizures. My mom managed to have a stroke that didn’t affect speech or movement, something I didn’t think was even possible.

I was really worried and started baking. And eating.

And, when I had a moment to think, beating myself up a bit about the eating. If I kept going the way I was, I would be busting out of my clothes really, really soon.

At some point I starting thinking about my priorities, where did I want to be spending my energy.

Mom & Dad, top of the list. My favorite people, and our time was limited. Definitely top of the list.

Work, second on the list. I need a roof over my head, food, car insurance, health insurance. Those things weren’t happening without an income.

Finally, sleep. I am unpleasant to be around if I’m not sleeping. I’m also not very functional. So sleep was absolutely necessary.

And that was the list.

I stopped being concerned about anything else.

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I also picked up knitting again, it meant I was baking a little bit less.

Though my dad was eating a lot of cookies so the baking continued. And it made me really happy.

So I did stay on my list, sleep. That was all I could manage for self care. It was suboptimal, but it kept me going.

The safety talk on an airplane tells you to put your mask on before you help others. The same thing applies to life generally, if you don’t take care of yourself you can’t take others.

Keep yourself on your list, close ish to the top. You’ll thank yourself. And the people in your life will thank you as well.

Then he moved to Pennsylvania then Maine.

I went to his wedding in Maine, it was the last time I saw him.

I have googled over the years. Searched Facebook. I’ve never been successful.

Until yesterday when I found his obituary. He died as a result of pancreatic cancer in 2016. He was 54. He had a daughter I didn’t know about. He lived not far from our cabin in Maine.

If only . . .

I cried.

And my instinct was to write something on the page. Or find a way to reach out to his wife.

After a bit it seemed that maybe I should just be with my sadness, hope he had a lovely life in the time since we last saw each other, leave his family to live their lives without a stranger saying, hey I just found out you lost this person you loved, I’m so sorry.

I was doing Christmas cards in 2023. I got to a name of a friend I hadn’t seen in a few years. We used to bike together when I got out of law school and lived in Connecticut in the 90s. We would occasionally get together for a ride or a meal. He even came to dinner at my folks house a few times. He was a lot of fun, we laughed a lot.

I didn’t get together with him the last few years when I was taking care of my parents, I didn’t want to take any time away from them, there was so little left.

He was also enough older than me that I thought to google before I wrote the card.

He had died in April.

If only . . .

I cried.

I have not had a great deal of death in my life. The first really big one came when I was 34 and my grampa died. He was almost 95 and it was not a shock. I was sad and still miss him. He was a rascal and I loved being with him.

My gramma died when I was 40. She was almost 94 and it was not a shock. I have fond memories of floating in inner tubes with gramma as she told me stories about the stump family or watching her feed the chipmunks [all called Oscar in grammas world] peanuts, they took them right out of her hand! She taught me that one. Watching a chipmunk put several peanuts in the shell into their cheeks is amazing. I had this memory of her reading me red fairy tales and blue fairy tales. Years ago I decided I made it up.

Until last week when I was scrolling Marketplace and saw a collection of books for sale; The Orange Fairy Book, The Violet Fairy Book, The Yellow Fairy Book, The Red Fairy Book, The Crimson Fairy Book, The Pink Fairy Book, The Brown Fairy Book, The Blue Fairy Book, The Green Fairy Book. Wow.

My gramma was tough. My gramma gave me the best hugs. I still miss her.

There have been others, people taken much too early, people who lived as long as we think people should, I still think of most of them occasionally.

After I googled Darrell and found I was ten years too late I had the idea for this post, and there was a point to it.

Right now I’m not sure what that point was. But I think it was celebrate this moment. Or that one. Or whatever one you want to celebrate.

People say live like every day is your last. I don’t know about you, but that sounds exhausting. Yesterday as I hiked a new trail in the conservation area I found last week I thought, how lucky am I that I have had this ten years since Darrell left this plane of existence. My life isn’t a constant party, far from it. The last seven years have been full of frustration, grief, challenge. But also beautiful moments, lovely days with friends, warm moments on a couch knitting and chatting, hiking, kayaking, listening to the peepers.

I have some good longevity in my family. I have also lived longer than two of my grandparents. I could be taken out in a random moment by a random accident. My body might do something I can’t anticipate in this moment.

Not a one of us knows when we will check out.

Don’t live every day like it’s your last, who has that kind of energy? But find the value in each day.

Today I will help four people feel better in their bodies. There will be some laughs. I’ll get paid for it!

It won’t be the greatest day of my life, probably. It will be a day someone else didn’t get to see. I will appreciate it enough for both of us.

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It’s almost five years they have been gone.

As I think I’ve mentioned, my therapist is recovering from a medical crisis and I haven’t had therapy in two and a half months.

Last year we met almost every week. So two and a half months is a long time.

I have replaced therapy with hiking to the waterfall. It happens there are loads of single tracks in the conservation area so I explore those, finishing up with a stop by the reservoir. There is a tree that the beavers took down, it’s the perfect height to sit and write letters to my parents, aka my journal.

The hiking is wonderful. Being in nature is so refreshing and healing. I see very few people, but hear lots of birds. It's love it.

Yesterday I hiked over six miles and finished up the day with over 18000 steps. A lot more than I could do a few weeks ago.

So Tara, you might say, why are you angry?

I watched the finale of Shrinking on Wednesday. If you enjoy Shrinking and haven’t watched that episode yet you might want to stop reading, there is a bit of a spoiler coming up.

At the end Paul shows up to take care of Jimmy. He flies out from Connecticut, he just relocated there, to help Jimmy figure out how to move forward now that everyone is gone from his house and his neighbors have left for extended travel.

Jimmy looks at Paul as a father figure as his own dad is lovely, but not what Jimmy wanted in a dad. Paul doesn’t want the role, he’s told Jimmy he’s not his dad, he’s a gruff old geezer, .

Except he’s not really.

In this very last scene, before he heads back to the airport an hour or so after he arrived in CA, he says this:

You're more of a son to me.
I don't know why
I never said that before.
I think you're strong.
I think you don't need me.
But for as long as I'm around,
if you think you need me,
I will be there for you.
Because I love you.
Okay?

And that is why I’m angry.

Not because Paul loves Jimmy and he’ll be there for him even when he’s all the way across the country dealing with Parkinson’s.

Because the people who were supposed to be there for me when my parents died, aren’t. They let me down. I’m here figuring this out without elders. Older sibling type elders, but still.

Yes, I was the one who went no contact. It was my choice. I was no longer okay with allowing their behavior to negatively impact me. I was no longer okay with a one way friendship.

I was no longer okay.

That doesn’t mean I don’t miss them. That doesn’t mean I don’t miss a dinner in the den watching silly TV and gabbing about important stuff or unimportant stuff. That doesn’t mean I don’t miss their kids and grandkid.

Unfortunately I miss what I believed our friendship was. I miss what I thought they were to me. I miss what felt like a safe space when I needed it.

I ignored the things that hurt me until I couldn’t.

Is it fair that I’m angry they aren’t who I thought they were? I’m guessing no.

Does that make me less angry? Also no.

Will I be this angry when my therapist is back to 100% and I can talk it through with her? Also no.

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Losing my parents left an unfillable hole in my life.

I have wonderful people in my life who love and support me. I have people I can turn to when things are hard. I am very supported as I walk through this post parent part of my life.

But that hole will always be there and I am still unconvinced, all evidence to the contrary, that I am adult enough to handle this on my own.

When I considered stopping by, seriously considered showing up at their door and saying hi, I thought about what that would mean.

Because seriously, it’s going on six years since we’ve spoken, it seemed prudent to consider why I wanted to reach out and what the repercussions, might be.

As I have mentioned, my therapist is recovering from a medical crisis. We haven’t had a session since 24 January and it will be a few weeks until we meet again. That’s a lot to deal with. A lot.

And I’m sad, I really miss my parents, I cry a lot. And I get up and go to work.

Sooooo, is it a surprise that I want to reach out to people I’ve known most of my life who are like family? Of course not.

As I thought about what it would be like if I let them back into my life I realized that I wanted my idealized memory of what our relationship was.

And that is definitely not what I would get.

I made a boundary. Giving it up would not get me the comfort that I needed. And I can pretty much guarantee it would leave me feeling even worse. Partly because they would let me down. But just as much because I would have let myself down. I would not have maintained my boundary.

Ick.

Now, respecting boundaries is just as important as making and maintaining them. Imagine you are at your friends house for dinner. They tell you they’ve been greatly enjoying julienned beets on their salads and you will LOVE it. Oh, could you put a little salad aside without beets? I really don’t like them. Oh, but they are so good, you’ll love them. No, really I don’t like beets. Oh, but you’ll love them this way.

No. No, I really won’t.

Beets taste like dirt. My dads response to that was, no T, they are earthy.

No dad, they taste like dirt.

So, yeah, no beets on my freaking salad.

I’m a grown ass adult, I don’t have to eat beets if I don’t want to and I really, really, really don’t want to spend my evening convincing other grown ass adults that the food they love is one I won’t eat.

If someone tells you they don’t want to eat the thing you love, or whatever, just say okay and move on. That is how you respect a boundary. It’s a refreshing change.

Boundaries are hard. Super hard. It takes work to make and maintain a boundary.

The work is worth it, it can be life changing.

That said, as I was reading I thought of one, two, three, fourteen things that need doing. Most are things I need to write down so that I will remember to do them at the appropriate time, like what I need at the grocery store, or the bulbs I have to pick up for the hood over my stove.

My intention was to finish the chapter I was reading before I stopped to write things down or take some other action or look something up on the interwebs.

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I cannot begin to tell you what a struggle that was. It was a few pages, a quick gentle read, exactly what I need after finishing The Women by Kristin Hannah. That was a grasping, gripping, intense read that I loved. And I’m happy to have picked up a gentler [at least it seems so thus far] read.

The things that need to be done or written down aren’t of immense significance. Actions that can’t even be taken this moment.

Just remembered I have to post a bureau on Marketplace. The other things I was thinking about writing down a few minutes ago while I was reading are gone.

The things I need to do that are running through my head at the moment: list the bureau; call the HVAC folks about the mini split that doesn’t seem to be working properly; get new bulbs for the stove hood, hopefully they will work as I already picked some up that didn’t, but the second bulb blew on Saturday; get distilled water for my CPAP, this is a long standing need, hopefully I’ll remember when I get to the store today; resubmit the reimbursement request to Tufts, there are sessions from two different authorizations, that, I’m guessing was a costly mistake on my part; vacuum; another article topic that’s been floating around for a day or two; write in my journal, a task [not onerous] that falls by the wayside because it’s an evening activity to me, but I am so tired and useless lately that evening is very unproductive; have a Blue Bunny mini cone well before 6 because my reflux is acting up and late consumption of anything is very bad and I do enjoy those little cones.

So I read a sentence, and lean away because I have to write it down while I remember it, but wait, I just want to finish this chapter, but I have to remember the thing . . .

It is a constant struggle.

To add insult to injury, I usually remember everything that needs to be done or written down when I literally can’t - driving or massaging, stopping to write is really inappropriate.

So when I remember something at a time when I can actually capture it or, better yet, do it, I am very inclined to capture or do.

I also, on occasion, like to finish the task I set for myself without doing a thousand other things as I work my way through. I could have stopped and written things down and gotten back to the chapter. I could even have gotten up to do something I thought of that could happen in that moment. But the thoughts of the things that need doing never stop.

Which means interrupted activities never stop.

Which means that I feel more scattered than I already feel because my therapist is on a medical hiatus and I am . . . well, scattered.

If I had a dollar for every time I have heard “just do the thing,” or something to that effect, in my life, my financial situation would be a lot less precarious than it is at the moment.

If only those people could tell me how to “just do the thing,” because that is not how my brain works.

I hear tell of people who don’t have a constant inner monologue. I would like to experience that just once.

And at 22 I really didn’t want to spend my life listening to people talk about their problems. Which is too bad because I’m really good at it.

A number of years ago I looked into studying social work. I was single, in my 50s, not independently wealthy, and it just wasn’t going to work. So I decided that listening to my massage clients would be enough for this lifetime.

Then my parents died. And I posted a comment in an ADHD group for women on FB and someone said, thank you, that’s exactly what I needed to hear, are you an ADHD Coach?

An ADHD Coach?

What on earth is that?

After looking into it I found a program I could afford, ran the idea past my fiscally frugal sounding board friend (who said, you didn’t sign up already? I figured you would have. And then agreed it was a good plan), and signed up for the program.

I spent 2023 learning about ADHD and learning about coaching. The 80/20 rule [client speaks 80% of the session] was a tough one for me and I still deal with that challenge, but I’m a good coach.

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This all happened while I was processing the grief of losing my parents, my two best friends, in five months of each other. And trying to find myself in this post hormones, post parents existence I found myself in.

Going through all of this I realized that the people I truly want to support are women like me. Discovering that the woman we knew our entire life is no longer here. The hormones are gone, the tolerance of bullshit nonexistent, the structures we built to support us in doing all the things expected of us gone - who even are we?

I have had a few moments in the past four plus years where I thought I might have an inkling, but I’m still figuring out how to exist when everything is so utterly and completely unrecognizable.

I want to walk that road with other women. Help them find their own answers. We were taught that our clients are creative, resourceful, and whole - the answers are there, sometimes we all need help finding them.

This all came up because I just finished The Women by Kristin Hannah about the women who served in Vietnam. It is a lush, beautiful, harrowing book. The main character gets to a place where she is helping other women who served, help she couldn’t find herself for a long time. It helped me remember how fired up I am about working with women, acknowledging their experience in ways the world generally doesn’t, helping them face the coming years with joy instead of confusion.

If you are floundering, reach out. Maybe I can help. At a minimum I guarantee you’ll have a good laugh.

Last year we met weekly. My insurance miraculously approved 52 visits with my out of network therapist. When it’s approved they cover 100%. I am incredibly grateful for this as she has helped me save my life since March of 2022, shortly after my dad died.

As I’ve written the last sevenish months have been dealing with one crisis after the next. They haven’t all been serious crises, and one [dropping my phone into a lake in Maine where it remains to this day, though happily I paid it off on March 1st] was entirely my own fault. Minor or major they have taken a lot of my time. If I never hear Verizons hold music again it will be too soon.

And they have eliminated my reserves. Normally a weekend with my friends sends me home refreshed and ready to meet my daily life with a smile. These days weekend with my friends, still super fun with laughs and hugs, almost gets me back to zero. I have no reserves to draw from.

I still put on a smile. My clients still get a great massage and excellent coaching. My neighbors still get a friendly greeting, and Benji gets a longer walk than his human can manage when I have the time.

I still do life.

While I am drowning.

And it’s been seven weeks since my last therapy session and at least another four before the next will be scheduled, never mind held.

So what did I say to my therapist when we zoomed for what I thought would be a session but turned out to be, I thought I could do it, but I can only check in and let you know I don’t know when I will be able to do it? I said, go to bed. Take care of yourself. Do the things. All the things. And don’t think about me until you are 100%.

Selfishly, I said to her, I WANT YOU TO BE BETTER NOW because I need you. But what I really want is for you to stop worrying about me, go to bed, rest, drink fluids, do whatever the doctor and your body tell you to do and do not even think about scheduling an appointment until the meds are done, your head is clear, your body is healed, and you feel like yourself.

Because that is how we should show up for people - able to speak our own needs while acknowledging that their needs may be very different and may take precedence over our own.

A story about my dad just popped into my head, it’s quite apropos in a discussion of how we show up for others.

The last number of years of my dad’s life he was severely bent. He could not stand up straight, he could not lie down straight. And he Parkinson’s. He was stiff and had what he called internal tremors, he felt them, but they weren’t visible. Regardless, he wasn’t super steady on his feet, even with his walker. I took him to a lot of appointments and I was scared that he would fall when we were out and I wouldn’t be able to help him.

So I bought a travel wheel chair. He wouldn’t be comfortable in it, but he would not be in it for any length of time, just for getting from car to appointment and back.

When I left Walgreens and put it in my car I called my dad. Dad, I said, I did something I don’t think you’ll like. Oh? Yes, I bought a travel wheel chair, I’m afraid you will fall when we’re out and I won’t be able to do anything to help you. Oh, okay.

That was it. My dad wanted as much independence as he could have as his body was winding down. When we talked about what they wanted if something should happen my dad said, if I can’t feed life is not worth living. He was just about at that point when he decided to VSED and leave this world.

But when I did something to ease my life while I was running around managing their lives, he said, okay.

And that was it.

He couldn’t do much for himself or us at that point, but he could show up for his daughter by letting go a smidge of the independence that made his life worth living.

Am I struggling without my therapy? Fuck yes.

Does that hold any weight when considering the life of my therapist? Fuck no.

How are you showing up for folks in your life when you are struggling to keep your head above water?

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This morning my mom and dad visited and gave me the best hugs. I know it was this morning because I am post menopausal and was up for an hour or two around the crack of dawn, as happens on the regular.

I have been having a rough time in the last few weeks. My therapist is having a health crisis, recovering well but slowly, so we haven’t gotten together since January. It happens that my grief has refreshed itself and the loss of my parents feels like it happened a few weeks ago rather than a few years ago.

Work has been super weird, very busy week followed by almost empty week. This wreaks havoc on my financial health. I am a self employed massage therapist and have not had a regular paycheck in 23 years, but the waves and troughs have been extreme so far this year. Unsurprisingly, I find this stressful.

Add the inflammation psoriasis causes on the palms of my hands and feet and I am done.

So done.

Last year was exhausting. I learned long ago never to say, I just have to get through this one thing . . . because there is always another thing right on its tale. Or, if it’s 2025, overlapping. But usually there is a breather and time to recover. There has been no time to recover.

Even a week on a lake in Maine didn’t help last year.

So all of my circuits are fried. I keep pushing through, I am my mothers daughter and we cope and deal, deal and cope as she used to say.

I cope. I deal. I write down things I need to do. I do them. I check them off. I make the calls. I pay the bills.

Then I sit on my couch watching TV and knitting. And everything I watch makes me cry. I’m not even kidding.

Even Big Bang Theory. I sing the theme song with a resounding BANG at the end. Which my mom found very entertaining. So every time I watch an episode or two, I think of entertaining my mom and I wish she was here to laugh at me.

Even once.

So when Jonathan and Nancy show up I run into their arms.

This morning they were a bit younger and healthier than at the end of their lives. Dad was still standing tall, before Parkinson’s and Camptocormia pulled him down into a question mark. I wrapped my arms around him and it was just as I remember a dad hug. Safety and love. No expectations. It was so lovely.

Yes, I’m crying now.

Then mom. There’s nothing like a mommy hug.

It’s not easy navigating this life post hormones, post parents.

Though I do have to say, not having to deal with the misery that was my period is pretty great, even with the hormonal bullshit that comes with that.

I also had to manage my own life. And I was working full time as a massage therapist, with a second massage job. I don’t work 40 hours a week, but I can’t handle any personal business during a work day.

And my parents were my best friends.

To say I was overwhelmed is an understatement.

I looked at my life and decided that all I could handle was caring for mom & dad, working, and sleeping. For the next three years that was about all I did. If I got to it early enough I would read Letters from an American, a tremendous synopsis of what is happening in the US.

Then my parents were gone and I was devastated. So I dove into therapy because the grief was so huge I couldn’t process it without help. I’m still in therapy and, though it’s been four years, I’m still processing the grief. My parents are with me every step that I take, but that is very different from having an actual conversation or a hug. As an aside, I started writing letters to my parents in a journal on 5 March 2022, 42 days after my dad died. I’m on my fifth book. It’s less like talking to them at the end of the day than it was when I started, but it really helps me feel like they are around.

Throw in a global pandemic and the insanity of the US political landscape and wow, who has any brain cells left?!?

Now it’s 2026. The pandemic is past. I have processed so much about who I am now that my parents are gone. The US political landscape is still an unbelievable shit show. And I feel like I should be doing more about that.

But I can’t.

The last seven months or so have been one thing after another. Covid, fortunately mild, in May. My office closed for two months due to a flood in June. No remote work, massage doesn’t work that way. Dropped my phone and my glasses in a lake in Maine on the last day of vacation. Identity theft and fraud starting at the end of September and continuing until . . . who knows. The first thing I do every day is check all my bank and charge accounts. Another aside, hire one of the identity protection agencies. Everyone’s information is on the dark web, it’s only a matter of time until someone buys a list with your name on it. Emergency root canal that turned to an extraction, not even sure when that happened. Radio stopped working in my car, not a crisis, but lead to more trips to the dealership an hour away than I was prepared for. Basically a lot of time following up on a lot of things that other people were supposed to be doing, but weren’t.

All of this to say, I do what I can. Sometimes life is easy, sometimes it is impossible. Sometimes it’s one impossible thing added before the last impossible thing has been dealt with. When those times come we do what we can. It may not feel like enough, especially when it feels like the world is on fire, but it is. Because it is all we can do. We cannot do more than we can do. Even when the fire hose is pointed right at us and just continues full blast. We can only do what we can do.

My dad used to say, just take the next logical step. That might be crawling into bed with a hot pack and reading. That might be calling the people, whichever people need to be called. That might be cooking dinner. That might be getting out in the kayak, this is my primary choice in the warm weather. That might be calling your friend to vent. Or taking the call from your friend so they can vent.

Are you doing what you can? (even if that is nothing) Great! Because that is all you can ask of yourself.

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