It’s been about a year and a half since the beginning of the roughest patch of my life.
Both physically and mentally, I lost it all in October of 2020. I’ve come to grips with this. I wish it never had happened, but WISHING that did NOTHING in the way of healing from it.
The mental strength came back quicker, thanks to the prayers and support from family and friends, and multiple phone calls a day to my parents.
Putting in the hard work through counseling so I could to face the scary thoughts that filled my head in the middle of the night and every morning when my eyes opened and my heart began to race was hands down worth the time and effort.
The physical strength is still a work in progress. I don’t want to just be restored to where I was, I want to be stronger than before.
This will take time.
Getting food from the basement freezer and bringing it up to cook requires a break to catch my breath, and I hate that.
I still struggle to open jars (nothing new), cook a meal, eat the meal, and have energy to clean up. Most days I just can’t.
Yesterday I could though, and I will celebrate that.
I was able to make homemade gluten-free + dairy-free pizza for my tribe AND clean it up. I moved furniture with help from my teen son, read books, did a ton of other things, and snuggled with my youngest son at bedtime, something I haven’t done in 1.5 years.
Praise God for the simple and the victorious moments of life.
If you can’t run forward, crawl. If you can’t celebrate a huge win, celebrate the small ones.
In the end, it’s going to be okay.
My endgame is in the arms of Jesus.
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