Death and Separation.

Last year I endured so many changes, I lost count.

It saw the death of my mother due to covid.

The division of my marriage.

The loss of nearly an entire support system.

Yet, I was forced to see what I am capable of.

I was sent to revisit a person I had long forgotten.

Me.

I was given two choices.

Give up, or go on.

I chose to go on.

I also chose to share my journey with the world.

Publicly.

In hopes that perhaps it would help one, just one person.

That my struggles and stories, would let someone know that they aren't alone.

Even though the idea was awesomely terrifying for me to choose to do.

That my lighter stories might elicit laughter from someone, on perhaps a day, when they weren't feeling like having a laugh.

I can honestly say I am nothing short of shocked with those who have chosen to reach out to me.

Supporting me.

Just like The Never Ending Story, my silent cheerleaders.

I have no idea where I will end up.

But I can say my confidence has returned.

When I envisioned a life of endless tears and sorrow, I can now smile.

When I thought I would never laugh again, I have.

When I thought love had died, I have come to see that it had just changed forms.

Understanding that I am not a burden, a convenience, or a chore.

An annoyance.

But that I am a blessing, charming, and worth the work.

I have been reminded of all that I had lost without even having realized it.

I am still recovering pieces of me along the way.

A work in progress.

A never ending evolution.

But I am seeing we all are.

Some faster than others.

Each of us on our own journeys, being tested along the way.

And I am here to tell you all, that we deserve happiness.

And just because we may be told, or feel that we aren't enough, the right people will assure us that we are.

And that just maybe, it takes some of us longer than others, to find our supporters.

Last year found me ready to crumble.

A shell. Empty. Spent.

Robbed of what I thought was my life.

What was really happening, was that it was just being rearranged.

And at the time, it made no sense, because quite frankly it just didn't.

I couldn't comprehend why I was being punished so harshly.

What cosmic forces did I piss off?

Yet, as they say, sometimes everything needs to fall apart, to come back together.

You see, scar tissue is stronger than regular tissue.

So, with every cut, every burn, every trial, we break.

Making way for scar tissue to form.

Allowing for a rebirth of sorts.

One that renders us more sturdy.

More powerful.

So I hope that you will continue to read, and to watch the process unfold.

Thank you to those who have.

I mean it, from the bottom of a once terribly broken and shattered, heart.

Xoxo,

C.