It has been a LONG time.
Really, about six months.
I didn’t even say goodbye and for that I am not even sorry.
I want to talk about why I haven’t written and what happened, but it’s so personal.
Let’s go backwards.
I worked out. Once. This week. It REALLY kicked my butt. I didn’t break a sweat, but I couldn’t walk the next day. I was ecstatic. And then I felt a little guilty. I’d made this commitment to be here and blog and share. Should I feel guilty about this? No!
Before that, I ran a couple times, but it’s really been impossible what with this crazy rehearsal schedule.
I got a new job and I have been in rehearsals CONSTANTLY. I love this new job. I went back to teaching, which is one of the things I am whole-heartedly passionate about and inspired by. Altogether a good move, but it’s been messing up my work out schedule. Or you could say it’s allowed me to further put off getting back into any sort of a fitness routine.
I didn’t work out all summer because I was really miserable. I mean, sit on the couch and eat and watch tv and cry every day miserable. It’s been a long time since anything has gotten me feeling like that. To top off the miserable end of that summer, in the space of about 1 week I found out my boss was fired, learned my department was being restructured, decided to look for another job, received a communication from a loved one that let me know exactly how they felt about me (and let me tell you, it was not so pretty), had surgery to remove a failed pregnancy that wasn’t coming out on its own, lost a job opportunity I thought I was going to get to someone I know in a horrifying twist of fate, and hit absolute emotional rock bottom. Immediately afterwards, I went out of town for work and was hired for a new job that I LOVE on that trip.
Most of that you can’t work backwards from. It just sort of showed up one day. But the surgery, that button was pushed weeks earlier. In some ways it started and in some ways it ended with the words, “I’m sorry,” from the sonogram tech.
To celebrate the recovery of my father (or maybe just thankfully my father recovered so we could take the trip we planned to take) I took my family to Costa Rica where I got horribly ill. This is not a joke. I’m not a fearful person, perhaps sometimes to an idiotic fault, but I had to get an I.V. inserted in an emergency care facility in the middle of nowhere Costa Rica. Don’t tell my family, but I was scared. Just a little. This trip is when I stopped getting morning sickness. But not due to the I.V. That was later and it was one of the best I.V.s I have ever had thanks to my, ironically, Costa Rican OB nurse.
I spent 2 weeks visiting my father in the hospital watching his diagnosis go from bad to better to great, thank goodness. During that time, we found out we were pregnant and did not tell my family. Also thank goodness.
At the beginning of the summer I received an unintelligible, frantic call from my mother. I am proud to say that some instinct kicked in almost instantly and I not only figured out that she was headed to the hospital with my dad in an ambulance, but I grasped that it was my job to get there and put on the next accessory of my adulthood: support of my parents when they were falling apart.
This year did not start off on the right foot, even before the madness.
I am now a woman who has stood in the hallway of my home and shamelessly wept for minutes that seemed endless while my family, including my 2 small children held me and told me it’s going to be okay and that they love me. I am now a woman that knows better what her friends are good for and what loyalty means. I am now a woman who knows about secrets for the sake of privacy, because some things are too delicate to be handled by everyone, at least at first. I am now a woman with a more bittersweet taste of loss.
I wish that this post was going to end with a, “but see, it’s all better now?” kind of message. Frankly, it kind of is all better. Remember? Great new job that makes me feel happy and fulfilled? I’ve also been doing some improv work with my troupe and been called (as in, didn’t have to go to an audition) for a couple of little acting projects. Oh yeah, and I worked out this week. That seems to be a sign of life balance for me for the past couple years. Maybe because healthy is as healthy does and this is how I be who I mean. Buuuuuut, this post is not about how I pulled the band-aid off and the wound was gone. It is about getting back on the horse even though your leg is still broken and you’ve been trying to conceal your limp. It is not about sympathy, but it is about the next step.
It is about not disappearing without a trace.
Right now, I am not sure if I am going to continue writing on this blog. When life slows down a little, I find that I am still sad and even a little lost. I’m busy keeping my family in focus right now and a little less enchanted by the horizon. However, this moment of tell-all confessional is necessary if this is going to be something I pick back up in the future. Because that’s just the kind of gal I am and this is just the kind of blog it is – deeply and irrevocably personal.