No, I’m not okay.
I’ve lived through this once before. My husband, Jeremy, and I held each other together through some of the darkest years of our lives. He’s been my rock through more than I can put into words, and I genuinely don’t know how I would have made it through some of those years without him.
Now we’re doing it again.
Except this time, my little boy is 16. He’s becoming a young man, with his own voice, independence, and incredible resilience. I’m so proud of who he is, but there’s something absolutely gut-wrenching about watching someone you’ve loved for 16 years suffer, knowing you cannot make it stop. No matter how fiercely you love them, there are things you simply cannot protect them from.
Yesterday, I stood in our home with my terrified daughter beside me, having to make the decision to administer emergency medication we’d never used before, hoping I was doing the right thing.
Jeremy was at work, because life looks a little different these days. But the moment he knew what was happening, he made his way home as quickly as he could. Through everything we’ve faced, I’ve never had to question where his priorities are. His family comes first, and knowing I have him beside me through all of this means more than I can explain. I truly couldn’t do this without him.
No, I’m not okay.
A dear friend I’ve known for over 15 years passed away on Halloween. Someone my age, with the kindest soul and five children. There’s something shocking about that. You start questioning everything. Your own mortality. The fragility of life. Why good people suffer. Why any of this happens.
I’m angry. I’m scared. I’m grieving. I’m exhausted.
It’s not just one thing. It’s the accumulation of everything. The fear, the grief, the uncertainty, and the realization that no matter how much we try to control our lives, so much of it is completely out of our hands.
I’ve spent today in a fog, barely wanting to move. I know I should take a shower. I just need to move.
People tell me I’m strong, and I know I am. I’ve survived so much in my 48 years. But being strong doesn’t mean I don’t fall apart. It doesn’t mean I’m not terrified, or that I don’t sometimes wish someone else could carry the weight for a while.
Sometimes life shatters you into a million pieces, and all you can do is hope tomorrow is better.
Better for Adrayn. Better for Sloane. Better for Jeremy. Better for myself. Better for you.
Because we all deserve a little peace.
I know there will be better days. I know this is just one day.
But today, as the rain keeps falling and doesn’t seem to let up, I’m going to allow myself to grieve. To be angry. To cry until there’s nothing left to cry about.
Hell, I’m probably getting my period, too. 😂
But crying is a release. Sometimes it’s the only thing that makes the weight of everything feel a little lighter.
So I’ll let the rain fall. I’ll let the tears come, and eventually I’ll get off my goddamn ass and take that shower.
But for now, I’m giving myself permission to not be okay.
