Tag: faith

Keep rolling under the stars

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Hi buds! This sure has become a pattern for me, huh? Dripping life updates at a glacial pace. I always apologise or throw up an excuse for why it’s taken me so long to post something new, but really I’m not all that sorry and I don’t have an ‘excuse’. I post when I feel ready to a) share and b) delve into the emotional complexities of the situations I’ve been going through. And at the end of the day, this blog is for me, mostly, and you just get the pleasure of coming along for the ride. So I say: you’re welcome. And also thanks for taking the journey with me. Coming to a cinema near you! Not really, but wouldn’t it sell!?

Truth be told, I’ve been plodding along rather contentedly the last few months. But today is World Mental Health Day, and I’ve been inspired by my colleagues who’ve taken time out of their days to share personal stories of struggle, with tips on how they’ve overcome them. I’ve been exceptionally reserved and introverted at work, keeping all personal details about my life to myself for various reasons. Mainly, I found it incredibly difficult dealing with the day-to-day once my colleagues at my previous job knew about the struggles I was facing. Though they all meant well and logically I was fully aware of this (even in the moment), it became far too painful enduring very personal questions, often uninvited. Once I opened up, it’s like I couldn’t keep anything to myself anymore. My story and my struggle were no longer mine alone, and everyone always wanted to know what was happening. When I left and began my new job, I vowed not to let this happen again, and reasoned the best way to avoid personal discomfort was to shut up and keep to myself. I think I’ve done quite well, though I’m not sure it’s really been as beneficial as I thought. I work with amazing people (hi colleagues!), and I do feel guilty quite often for not letting any of them in.

I genuinely believe talking about things out loud helps make even the scariest of scenarios seem a little bit less daunting. But I’ll tell ya from experience – it sure isn’t easy to start. A constant ripping-off-the-bandage feeling, most often accompanied by unwanted tears. We’re always embarrassed by our tears… why is that?

Anyway. Life. What’s happening? How am I? Well, as I said, I’ve been relatively fine considering most things. I want to attribute this to growth: learning how to better cope, how to respond to my own reactions, talking to people when I need guidance. I realise that I’ve not actually been better, but the improvement in my response and recognition hasn’t gone unnoticed. For example, just the other night I had a panic attack. These are not uncommon for me, and they’re really horrific to experience. I liken it to feeling as if you’re drowning, in quicksand, being fully lucid yet paralysed, in -100 degree chill. It’s awful. But this time, I felt the panic attack coming on, was able to tell my husband just before and he helped me get through it; talking to me, insisting I try drinking water, rubbing my back. Within minutes, I had regained control and was out of the panic attack. It’s the quickest I’ve ever done it, and to me that feels like progress. I’m still the same person, but maybe a better version of myself. It’s taken awhile to get here, though, and a whole lotta courage.

And it’s never really done.

Things have been especially tough for, gosh, an entire year now. My husband’s seemingly ever-evolving medical issues have more or less called the shots on the daily. However he feels is how the day goes. On bad pain days, which are most days now, all responsibilities fall on me. I know he absolutely does not mean for it to burden me and I know it kills him to ask me to do something like get him a glass of water because he simply can’t bear to stand up, and I hate he subsequently experiences two kinds of pain from these situations, but it has been hard for me. I’ve had to literally learn how to cook edible meals or force us both to starve on days he can’t cook. I’ve had to run across the city at the last minute because he needed me for emotional support during a flare up. I had to paint almost the entire flat by myself because he couldn’t muster more than near 10 minutes on his feet. I’ve had to abandon family events to get him home and back in a comfortable space. I’ve become a human WebMD. I’ve been forced to become physically stronger so I’m able to push a man twice my size in a wheelchair. If I’m ill, but he needs me, he comes first without hesitation. I’ve had to watch the love of my life continually suffer, unable to take away his pain. Still. I’m honestly still so exhausted every minute of my life, but I do all of this and more because I want to. Because that’s what love is about: being partners, and helping each other when needed. I do not resent him or blame him for any of this, and he knows that, but he also knows it weighs on me. We do what we can for each other, when we can.

Recently, we’ve learned he’s vitamin deficient, which has caused severe bouts of dizziness and too-many-to-count near-collapses. This deficiency has appeared to cause even more problems with his nerve condition, though doctors haven’t medically linked the two yet. We’ve become so astute to his symptoms, we can’t help but notice the parallels of pain flares and dizzy spells. We wonder how long he’s been so deficient? Was he always? Is this something we missed that could’ve prevented further damage had we realised sooner? Is this why the spinal cord stimulator hasn’t been helping? It’s impossible not to wonder these things, but completely fruitless at the same time. We know this. Yet we still wonder. It keeps me up at night now, despite already having issues with insomnia.

Dealing with this has never gotten any easier. I’ve just gotten better at it. I’ve stopped allowing myself to feel like I’m missing out on something by staying home with him because I want to stay home with him. I don’t get upset when he has to tap out of an activity quickly and asks me to step in because I expect this now. Well, I’ll be honest, some days I do still get upset because it gets hard ya know? But I’m so much better now.  We didn’t choose this life. We didn’t ask for it. We don’t want it. But it’s the life we have. We’re doing our best to make it work for us.

I can say today, with the utmost pride, that my husband has actually been an inspiration to me, despite what he may think sometimes. One day not too long ago, he announced to me that he was done feeling sorry for himself and letting his nerve condition determine his life. And that was it. Though it very obviously still does make most of our decisions for us, he no longer gives CRPS power over him. It’s amazing. He’s gotten so much better at acknowledging the pain, adjusting his actions, and getting on with things. He still wants to go for walks with me even though I know it causes him a great deal of pain. He doesn’t want to miss out on things he genuinely wants to do, and though it took us more than 5 years to get to where we are now mentally and emotionally, I am constantly in awe we’re managing it. He’s excelling at work and still makes it into the office every single day, even though he has to get a cab to and from. He’ll text me in the middle of the work day saying he’s in so much pain he wants to throw up, then after a quick pep talk gets right back to work and never gives up. If you want to know strength, you should meet my husband. He doesn’t make it look easy, but he makes it look achievable in impossible situations. I admire him more than he realises. I aspire to be this strong.

My biggest struggle of late is not being as honest as I can be about my issues with people who care about me. I don’t let anyone in because I find it hard to make them understand what I’m going through. They don’t understand how severe it is. They don’t see it. And as a result, I get angry and incredulous and stubbornly decide I’m done sharing with everybody because they just don’t get it so what’s the point? And when anyone seriously asks me about my husband and how he’s doing, I get emotional every single time. I can’t help it, and I hate it so much that that also prevents me from sharing. But the catharsis can help. I endeavour to try to be more open for my own sake. It won’t happen over night, but if I can claw my way out of a panic attack, then there’s hope for me yet.

There’s hope for all of us, really. We’ve just gotta believe it ourselves.

When you recognise that you will thrive not in spite of your losses and sorrows, but because of them, that you would not have chosen the things that happened in your life, but you are grateful for them, that you will hold the empty bowls eternally in your hands, but you also have the capacity to fill them? The word for that is healing.

Thicker than water

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Some people survive and talk about it. Some people survive and go silent. Some people survive and create. Everyone deals with unimaginable pain in their own way, and everyone is entitled to that – without judgement. So the next time you look at someone’s life covetously, remember: you may not want to endure what they are enduring right now, at this moment, whilst they sit so quietly before you looking like a calm ocean on a sunny day. Remember how vast the ocean’s boundaries are. Whilst somewhere the water is calm, in another place in the very same ocean, there is a colossal storm.

This year has been simultaneously remarkable and harrowing. I always refer to my life as a rollercoaster because that’s how it’s often felt with the ups and downs and the loopty-loops. It still really does. And now as I sit here halfway through 2017, I’m quite thunderstruck just absorbing the fact that half of this year has already passed. Time is slipping through my fingertips at a rather alarming rate. Some days, it’s unsettling. Others, I’m grateful for it. Life is a balance, isn’t it?

I recently made a surprise trip stateside to see my family. Namely, I went back to see my grandparents who’ve not been in good health lately, as I’ve previously mentioned. When I was initially planning to go, I wanted to write about my week when I returned to London because I thought it’d be cathartic in some way. I’ve been back a week now, and my opinion has changed slightly. Part of me wants to spill every little detail about my week and commit it to ink, but the other part of me wants to keep it close, to myself and those closest to me. As a writer, the latter bit stresses me out a little. I’ve been relatively open about massive issues I’ve faced in my life, especially recently, and I do genuinely find catharsis when I put my feelings into writing. But my week in Cleveland was special, emotional and one I’ll forever hold dear. Because it feels cruel to write a blog and mention something as dramatic as a surprise trip 4,000 miles away and not say a peep about it, I will say this:

My week home was heart-warming, exhausting, happy, sad and very, very fulfilling. My grandparents and aunt were so incredibly surprised and thrilled to see me and spend time with me, and that’s all I ever wanted from the trip: to make them happy and aware that I was willing to drop everything in a heartbeat to be there for them. And I was. I was there. And I will be again if and when they want or need me to be.

It was not a holiday. It was not time off. I woke up every morning at 5am because that was 10am UK time and I worked a full day. Every day that week. Then by 1pm, the UK workday was over so I’d get ready for the afternoon and spend it with family. In the evenings, I’d squeeze in a few hours to see friends. I’d fall into bed every night absolutely shattered, mostly running on adrenaline, which seems to be my only fuel source this year. I rolled back into London on a Sunday morning and rocked right back to work that Monday. It was very hard, but I don’t regret doing it. It was the right time for me to show up, and I’m so, so glad I did. However, I have no idea how I’ll ever top that kind of gift! Think I set the bar too high for myself…

I still don’t know what’s next in this long saga of continuous chaos. Some days I’m optimistic and strong and cheery, other days I’m a moody, grumpy lump on a log for no discernible reason. Some days I’ll talk my friends’ ears off about what’s bugging me or what I’m excited for, and other times I force them into an awkward exchange with lots of one-word answers and uncomfortable silences. I don’t know how people are meant to handle the things I’ve been going through this year, and I don’t know that there’s really a guidebook for any of it either. Day by day I take things as they come, and meet them with whatever mood happens to me. I never have proof of my strength and I often feel like a wimpy, whiny baby, but I’ve been told that I’ve been doing okay so I take that as a success and keep moving forward.

My life isn’t better or worse than anyone else’s. While it’s hard not to feel like the world owes me something, I want to believe that everything happens for a reason. Maybe this year is a year for hard-earned lessons that will prep me for whatever 2018 has coming my way. I don’t know. I can’t know for sure. But what I do have now that I didn’t have before is experience. I’ve learned way more in these last few months – about myself, life, humanity – more than I ever could’ve imagined I would.

This life is precious. Although it’s cliché, you never know what tomorrow may bring. I do what I can in a day, and then I’m done with it. I make time for what I want and need, and do my best now to strike a better balance between work and my personal life. Work still seeps into my personal life, but it is a choice and not a requirement. I am grateful to have friends both here and in my hometown, all of whom show their support for me when I need it. Life isn’t about merely surviving – it’s about living, right? That’s what they say.

So I guess this post is my thank you to everyone who’s been following my life thus far, offering tid bits of ‘you’re doing great!’ and ‘thinking of you’ comments here and there. I imagine from the outside looking in it’s been pretty dramatic and entertaining, so I can’t blame you for wanting to know how I am and how things are going. Thank you for caring. Thank you for striking up conversations even if I look unapproachable. Thank you for spending time with me even on the days I’m not very communicative. Thank you for being constant beacons of light when I’ve not even realised I was in the dark. I am so very grateful that even on days I feel like I’m dealing with this life alone, I’ve never actually been alone. It’s been quite the adventure so far, hasn’t it? Here’s hoping for tomorrow…

The edge

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The day doctors confirmed my grandfather had cancer, I cried in the bathroom at work, finished off the following hour in the office, then left early, unable to truly focus. I went straight home to buy him tea. A few weeks prior, my mom mentioned my grandpa really enjoyed tea I had given he and my grandmother, which I purchased here in London, but I couldn’t remember what type of tea it was to save my life. So I did what any sensible person would do: I spent $100 on different varieties of tea and shipped it to them. That’s right, my first instinct upon hearing my grandfather’s diagnosis was to send him tea.

Even thinking about it now, a few weeks on, I can’t help but think how strange of a reaction that was. But in my head, it was an action. It was something I could do to help from afar, albeit a very small action with seemingly little impact. All I could think was ‘what will make my grandparents smile during such a traumatic time?’. Hundreds of tea bags would do the trick, I thought. I think it did… but it still doesn’t feel like enough. Which begs the question – what would be enough?

For those of you following the snippets of my life that I serve up via blog post, you’ll know I’ve been dealt a number of awful cards in my time on this earth. Just in the last year alone, I’ve faced a slew of horrific ordeals and hovering unknowns. I thought I was closing the book on the majority of these issues when my husband had life-changing surgery about 8 weeks ago. It’s been a slow recovery, but he’s on the mend and his quality of life has sky-rocketed into positivity. I know now, however, that I was not closing the book, but simply a chapter, as I face another seriously stressful and scary situation happening to yet another person I love.

I’ve been in this situation before: far away from someone I care about dealing with a scary health problem. It doesn’t get any easier. But whether I’m there or here, it still impacts me the same. I’m scared and I want to help, but I’m hyper aware that there really isn’t much I can do. So here I am, continuing on with life as if I don’t have something else heavily weighing down my conscience, feeling helpless and isolated.

I’ve kept this subject quiet for quite some time. My grandfather fell ill a few months ago, and that’s when the subject of cancer came up. But cancer is horrifying. I refused to believe it was even a possibility until I received categoric confirmation. I couldn’t let it impact my work life because my situation with my husband had already interfered heavily. I couldn’t bear having to admit to my superiors or colleagues that, yes, here I was again dealing with yet another medical nightmare. But more importantly, I didn’t want anyone to pity me. I know I don’t give myself much credit, but I know I’m strong. I’ve handled terrible situations with a level of grace I’m still not sure is my own, so surely I could put my brave face back on to get through another workday.

My grandfather is the toughest guy I know. I’ve always said he’s too stubborn to die, and I still very much believe it (hope you’re reading this, Papa!). I’m so glad he’s got my grandmother to help him through this journey, despite the scary health issues she’s enduring herself. I fully believe in the power of love, and how this magic ingredient helps so many of us pull through each and every day. I only wish I could be there, in person, to help them both. They’re such an integral part of my life, and I feel like I’m doing them a disservice being thousands of miles away. But here I am.

I don’t want pity and I don’t particularly want to discuss this subject with anyone because it’s still raw… so why the heck am I writing about it, you ask? Well, it’s simple: I want people to understand that we’re all dealing with things behind closed doors. That not everything is as it appears. I beg you to please be kind to people, always, no matter your own circumstance. I can’t count the number of times I’d return home from a rather rough day at work, shouldering the weight of others’ roles plus the mental anguish I was already juggling, collapse into tears and wonder if maybe had I expressed what was happening in my personal life, I’d earn some compassion from others. But I didn’t want to talk about it. I still don’t want to talk about it. I shouldn’t feel like I have to pour my heart out just so people will be nice to me. I was taught to be kind, so why can’t I be granted the same courtesy?

Look, I’m not here to complain. Life has a tendency of kicking you in the teeth, but you still have to get back up to finish the day. I’m the poster child of this! But I’m also not too proud to admit that I’m tired. I’ve not had time to bounce back from my husband’s ordeal, who still has a number of months of recovery ahead of him. Yet here I am, still trucking along, dealing with every little thing the universe throws my way. Not always in the best way perhaps, but I’m getting through the mess the only way I know how.

I don’t know what the future holds. If I’ve learned anything in the last few years, it’s certainly that life has a way of keeping you on your toes. I like to think I’ve navigated the obstacles well, but it’s hard to say. The only thing I seem to have any control over is how I deal with all of this – and how I choose to allow it to affect my life and the people around me. And most importantly, I’ve learned to keep going. I’ve wanted to throw in the towel so, so many times and just crawl into bed and never leave. But I haven’t. And I haven’t stopped laughing or spending time with friends, I haven’t neglected work or failed to help out my husband. I haven’t given up. I won’t give up. My grandparents haven’t, so I think I’ll follow their lead.

Anyone can slay a dragon. Try waking up every morning and loving the whole world again. That’s what takes a real hero.

All forward motion counts

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On my last day of CBT, I spent the full session sitting in my chair sobbing uncontrollably, muttering ‘I’m sorry’ in between gasps for air, ‘I don’t know why this is happening’.

A few weeks before Christmas, I self-referred to a local mental health clinic in an attempt to gain control over my thoughts and to learn coping strategies when things felt like they were spiralling out of control. It was something I’d always thought I should do, but never felt I was ‘bad enough’ to require outside guidance. I’m fiercely independent, and I always want to be able to take care of myself without anyone’s help or input. But as my husband’s condition was worsening and the future was quickly filling up with more and more unknowns, I realised now was the time to admit that I needed help. I genuinely felt like I couldn’t face whatever came next for his treatment unless I was properly prepared. So I signed up for a 6-week CBT one-to-one course (cognitive behavioural therapy), intended to analyse the way I reacted to situations, then work to implement changes to disrupt the negative pattern I had fallen into. It sounded like the perfect thing for me to do: it would be work, but it would come with noticeable results.

I kept it quiet from most everyone. I didn’t want anyone to know that I was working on myself because I didn’t want to admit that 1) there was anything that needed fixing and 2) that it was affecting anything more than myself. To be completely honest, I was so stressed and so panicked and so overwhelmed that it was affecting a lot in my life. My anxiety had gotten so extreme that I wasn’t leaving the house except to go to work, and even there I wasn’t myself. I needed help, but I didn’t need to broadcast it to everyone. I wasn’t ready for that.

So I went home to America for the holidays and tried my best to relax during my time off knowing that when I returned, it was time to get to work. And I did. Every week, I went in for my appointment and talked about how I react to situations and how they’re affecting me and how I thought I could change that. I’m not a therapist, but CBT itself is pretty straight forward. It’s goal-oriented and something you can track progress on paper. Each session I’d walk in with my homework in hand ready to discuss it, and each week I was transparently told how well I was doing. I felt pretty proud of myself, and received the positive affirmations I needed each week to keep me working toward a better me. I was slowly breaking the pattern that I knew played a major role in my recent demise. I was clawing my way back up to the surface each week, and for the most part, it felt pretty damn productive.

On my last day of therapy, I had recently gotten incredibly stressful news about my husband. He was due to get DRG surgery in the coming months, but we hadn’t yet been given a date for the surgery (a type of spinal cord stimulation targeting your dorsal root ganglion nerve bodies at the base of the spinal cord). We were just anxiously awaiting a phone call from the hospital that could’ve literally come any day, which meant most of our life plans were on hold or tentative until we knew what was going on with his surgery. A very tense way to live your life, let me tell you. Anyway, we got that call, suddenly, when we weren’t expecting it in the slightest. But it wasn’t the call that threw me – it was that the hospital called to ask if he could come in for surgery three days later. It’s one thing to know you’re waiting for life-changing surgery, but it’s something completely different when you’re asked to get it done in mere days! However, I thought I handled that experience with ease: I was calm, strategic and gave my husband logical advice. When we finally determined it wasn’t the right time to drop everything for the surgery and we’d rather wait for a later date in which we could plan properly, I hung up the phone feeling proud of myself for handling it like a mature adult. Pre-therapy Tanya would’ve completely crumbled from the stress of the situation, over the need to give the hospital an answer within the hour. Panic would’ve taken over and I would’ve been crying in the bathroom desperately trying to compose myself before getting back to work. But not this time! This time I handled it like a pro, and although I still felt a little jittery from the whole ordeal, I survived and I was able to get back to work comfortably. Or so I thought.

When I eventually had my final therapy appointment, I walked in prepped and ready to tell my therapist how I dealt with a scary, overwhelming scenario like a boss. A ‘look how much I’ve learned already’ show of achievement. I walked in smiling, sat down and started explaining how the situation came up and how I responded to it, and the minute my therapist asked what I would’ve done if my husband had taken the early surgery date… I burst into tears. And they didn’t stop. The entire session. I kept apologising and muttering that I didn’t know why this was happening and I was fine the whole time until I walked in that door and how it didn’t make sense and that I was sorry, sorry, sorry. She told me it was a completely normal, emotional reaction and it just showed how much I cared about my husband, and how that type of worry is and will still be normal. She explained the stress of his medical situation is unique and how I need to stop viewing my tears as weakness. I don’t remember every detail of that appointment mostly because I was utterly embarrassed and surprised at my own reaction. I mostly remember her telling me I was strong and proactive, but that maybe I needed something a little more than CBT and gently suggested I pursue treatment elsewhere. I know she meant well, and I know she’s probably right – I need treatment catered specifically to me and my situation because it’s too, uh, complex, for generic therapy plans. But I couldn’t help feeling like I had failed therapy. I was doing so, so well only to completely lose it on my last day with an emotional reaction I didn’t even know was in me. I thanked her for everything she had taught me along the way, asked her to send me info for further treatment and took my sobbing self to the bathroom to cry in peace. My husband eventually had to meet me on the walk home since it became evident I wasn’t going to compose myself any time soon.

At the end of all this, we did get an appointment date through for his surgery. It’s in a few weeks time, actually. We were able to go away on holiday beforehand to get some sun and proper relaxation before life as we knew it will change. I haven’t yet signed up for new therapy. I still don’t know if I will, and I imagine it hinges on whether or not this surgery goes well. But for now, I’m applying what I have learned so far: I don’t know what will happen after this surgery. I don’t know if it will be the saving grace we’re after or if it’ll send us back to square one. But I do know that these ‘what ifs’ are not helpful, and we’ll tackle the outcome when that day arrives. And I’m still trying to remind myself that I am strong and despite feeling weak more often than not, I have every right to be proud of how far I’ve come so far. This stuff is absolutely terrifying. I wouldn’t wish any of this on my worst enemy. I know I’m going to be emotional when his surgery date arrives, but I know I’ve got some tools to help myself this time around. And if I find myself falling short – I have options. That, in itself, is empowering. There’s no reason I should ever feel I’m going this alone. And it’s about damn time I realised that.

You’re looking for the explanation, the loophole, the bright twist in the dark tale that reverses your story’s course. But it won’t reverse – for me or for you or for anyone who has ever been wronged, which is everyone. Allow your acceptance of the universality of suffering to be a transformative experience. You do that by simply looking at what pains you squarely in the face and then moving on. You don’t have to move fast or far. You can go just an inch. You can mark your progress breath by breath.

Cheers, 2016!

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So 2016, now’s the time to say our farewells. I like to try and take the time to reflect on the whole year that’s passed before I allow myself to start planning for the arrival of the new year, so here I am – at it again!

This past year has been a rather difficult one, to say the least. I’ve moaned and griped for quite some time now, but I’ll be happy to put that to bed and start fresh… after this last post!

2016 began slow for me. I had just moved to London and was still struggling to find a new job in line with the new career path I was pursuing. I was noticeably despondent – feeling sorry for myself and feeling like I was never going to find my place in my new city. But by March, I had happily accepted a new gig in the travel-writing sphere and threw myself into work full-force. Although I was happy to work, I still found it tough to transition into an atmosphere that was totally new (and vastly unconventional) to jobs I’ve held previously. The environment was bubbly and relaxed, and everyone seemed to be best friends with each other. A huge contrast to the news industry, from my experience. I felt awkward for many, many months, fearful that all the times I turned down tea from my coworkers would make it seem like I was rejecting British culture! But it didn’t take long for me to chill out and find my place in the office, although I’m still partial to coffee over tea. I got a promotion within 6 months on the job, which certainly helped me feel valued. But most importantly, I made friends I hope will last forever. My colleagues may not know this, but they’ve helped London feel like home – something I had been missing the first 6 months post-moving abroad. I can’t imagine working anywhere else. I truly struck it rich.

My new job has also helped me survive my personal life this year. As many know, it’s been a tough year in my marriage. My husband’s nerve condition spread to his hand, and it had been so painful for him that it had an immediate effect on both of our lives. He was hurting, angry and scared, and in turn, I was the same – just in my own way. With the sudden changes in his health, we found we were asking questions we never thought we’d have to ask before: are we running out of time to have kids before his condition is too bad that he can’t help me in raising them? Will he be able to continue working? Can I be the help he needs? Who can help me deal with this? I was working to escape the stress of my personal life. The office became my sanctuary and my breathing space. I found focusing on my work a happy distraction from all the fear and worry swirling around in my head on any given day. My colleagues were supportive and nice and understanding, but also gave me the space I craved and needed at times. They helped give advice and suggestions when I needed them, or offered ideas I wouldn’t have thought of on my own. I don’t think I would’ve dealt with this year’s drama as well as I had if it weren’t for my incredibly supportive colleagues.

I relied heavily on family this year too. Though I’m sure they already know it, I think it’s worth mentioning my gratitude: Thank you to all my family members – kin and non – who’ve been there for us when we’ve needed it most. We’ve got a global support system, and we can’t thank you enough!

The stress of the medical issues in our lives was enough to crumble our marriage. But it didn’t. We got through some incredibly horrendous moments and became even closer and more enamoured with each other at the end of it all. We left London toward the end of December feeling hopeless about finding relief for my husband. Our doctors in the UK led us to believe that my husband didn’t have any other options available to him. That pain relief was impossible, and the best they could do was continue to prescribe drug after drug in an attempt to manage the pain. But we didn’t take this as a final answer – we couldn’t. We made an appointment at the Cleveland Clinic for a second opinion, feeling like there must be some other medical professional in the world who could offer us new information. It would be expensive, but how could we ever put a price tag on quality of life?

Turns out, that one appointment was all it took to regain the hope we had lost throughout 2016. We met doctors who very clearly understood his nerve condition on a level our previous specialists did not. They gave us new ideas to pursue in finding ways to relieve the constant pain he’s in, and even trialled a new medication we had never heard of before. We feel like we can now return to London armed with new knowledge – plus a team of US experts ready and prepared to help us should Europe be unable.

And me? Well, 2016 tried to suck all the hope and happiness from me… and nearly succeeded. It hasn’t been easy to keep my head above water, but despite everything, I’m proud to say it taught me a lot. I’ve gained tools and a support system that I didn’t have before that are helping me be strong and positive and goal-oriented. I feel more prepared than ever as 2017 rounds the bend, and that is a pretty great feeling!

So good-bye, 2016! It’s been a weird and arduous year, but I’m leaving with a new outlook and newfound hope for a successful and positive 2017. The best gift the year could’ve given me.

When you start to feel like things should have been better this year, remember the mountains and valleys that got you here. They are not accidents, and those moments weren’t in vain. You are not the same. You have grown and you are growing. You are breathing, you are living. You are wrapped in endless, boundless grace. And things will get better. There’s more to you than yesterday.

Tougher than life

Dream team

Months ago, I wrote a post about my complicated love life. Since the beginning of my relationship, there have been more naysayers and self-proclaimed “realists” than cheerleaders or supporters. Although it’s been hard hearing people doubt the longevity of my relationship with my husband-to-be, I’ve never had any doubts myself. (As they say, when you know, you know!) The biggest hurdle we’ve had to deal with as a couple is remaining a team while separated by 4,000+ miles and that pesky ocean. Long distance relationships are not for the faint of heart. Nevertheless, we’ve made it this far and plan to close the gap as soon as the visa paperwork clears. Whenever that may be…

I have faced many obstacles in my short life. I’ve made plans and sat back and watched them crumble before my eyes. But I believe my perseverance (and possibly stubbornness) keeps me moving forward toward my goals. With that said, these last few months have been some of the hardest I’ve ever faced, and they have certainly tested my strength.

My fiancé, James, recently lost his job that he loved so much, which had been the main reason for our decision for me to move to London to join him. It happened unexpectedly and suddenly, and not only put him face-to-face with unemployment for the first time in his adult life, but it also single-handedly halted the entire visa application process. You see, he sort of needs an income to prove he can sponsor me for the visa. Saying, “hey, we’re married!” isn’t actually enough, apparently. Part of me feels like I shouldn’t blame the company he worked for because outsourcing James’ job seemed to be the best option in their eyes. But at the same time, I feel like the timing and completely out-of-left-field nature of the situation makes me also feel like we were personally, maliciously attacked. Logically, I know it’s “just business,” but this seemingly small incident threw all of our plans back up in the air. Back to square one, we say. There was an end in sight to the long distance as soon as we said our I dos, and then the rug got ripped out from under us. Can you imagine how it feels knowing that after we have our wedding, we still won’t know when we can live with each other or where that will be? That’s not a typical stress in a normal relationship! Most couples can just pick up and move without thinking twice. But we can’t… until we have the paperwork that says we can – legally.

On top of that unpleasant surprise, there’s a larger, more worrisome issue on our hands. James broke his foot when he was in military college years ago. After a misdiagnosis by the UK’s healthcare system, James’ foot condition worsened. He was constantly breaking the same foot or feeling excruciating pain even if the bone wasn’t broken. I’ve watched him suddenly buckle over in severe pain, tears welling up in his eyes, unable to speak for no understandable reason. He has logged more hours at the hospital in the last year than you probably have in your entire life. And I’ve never been able to be there in person for him. Nearly half of our relationship, James has been on crutches or wearing a cast, unable to move around like an average human being. He used to be a marathon runner, and now he has to stop and take breaks when the pain gets to be too intense. Specialists have examined his foot so many times we’ve lost count, and I’m sure all of the area doctors know his case by heart simply due to the amount of times he’s had to call and leave messages asking for a different kind of pain medicine because whatever they gave him this time wasn’t helping. He’s ingested so many terrifyingly strong pain medications and narcotics that I worry about the state of his organs and the tolerance his body has built up. After countless MRIs and X-rays, doctors believe he has Complex Regional Pain Syndrome (CRPS) and Allodynia. He’s had several surgeries, including one a few months ago to kill a nerve in his foot to stop all feeling whatsoever. We pushed for the surgery because he wasn’t responding to pain management medications, and also because I really wanted to dance with my husband at our wedding in February. The surgery worked and he was walking around normally and we allowed ourselves to celebrate and get excited to dance at our wedding…  And then the chronic, crippling pain was back within a month or two and our hearts were broken. That phone call with James was probably the worst, most painful conversation I’ve ever had in my life. The doctor had told James he could run again in as little as three years, and now the boot is back on and the crutches are always at the ready. We thought we saw the light at the end of the tunnel. We were excited! And yet again, we were let down. Now, doctors see that two bones in James’ foot have fused together and need to be surgically separated. Until then, he will repeatedly break his foot because of the added pressure the fused bones place on his foot. However, his hypersensitivity and CRPS make it too risky to pursue this surgery until doctors can figure out a way to manage the pain. And although most Americans don’t understand this because we don’t have healthcare like the UK does, the wait time for James to see someone at the pain management clinic is, AT THE EARLIEST, 3 months from now (thanks, universal healthcare). So not only do I have to helplessly sit here in America while my other half is in agonizing pain every single day (physically and emotionally), I also have to stomach the notion that James may never find relief – or worse – it may worsen or spread to other parts of his body. I do the best that I can to be supportive and positive because scary health situations like this are best combatted by a strong, optimistic team. But it takes nearly all my strength not to break down myself, and I’m not the one dealing with the physical pain. I selfishly had this image of James and I dancing with big goofy grins on our faces to our song in 10 weeks, and now I’m trying to figure out a way to dress up his crutches to match the venue decor.

While there’s nothing we can do at this moment except stay positive and hopeful, it’s still hard to deal with. Even though James no longer holds the job that kept him in London away from me, he still has to stay in London now in order to remain with the doctors who have been working closely with him. Why doesn’t he come to America, you say? It’s been discussed, but American healthcare is astronomically expensive, which is an obstacle we simply can’t get around financially. And even if we could, it takes a minimum of a year for a non-US citizen to have their visa application accepted in order for James to remain here with me.

It has been an incredibly tough year for James and me. We have faced so much adversity, and sometimes it feels like it’ll never end. But I have to keep the faith because James deserves the best in this world, and if I can’t fix these problems, I can at least give him my best.

I chose to write this post because I think it’s important for everyone to remember that we are all fighting our own battles even if others can’t see them. We should not judge or criticize others for things we do not understand, and we should always hope for the best for people no matter what. I know our situation could be much worse, but for now, this feels earth-shattering. So please be kind to one another and help each other out. Even if it’s just listening when someone needs to vent or offering a hug to help someone de-stress – almost any little thing can help. Trust me, I can attest to that! James will be pain-free some day soon and we’ll get to live in the same place because that’s the only future either of us will accept. We’ll get there because we want to. In the meantime, we’ve got the power of positivity on our side and an absolute unwillingness to give up. And one day, at our vow renewal, James and I will dance without reservation!

When the world starts falling apart around you, all you can do is start picking up the pieces and putting them back in an order you can understand. And that’s what we’re trying to do.

To infinity and beyond!