31 days

31 days left in an impossible year.

It seems unbearable to keep going for 31 days when I’m in so much pain. Pain that gets easily distracted because I am deeply loved and lucky enough to have more pleasant moments in my day than not.

I understand that people lose jobs. 

People lose loved ones. 

People make big moves (figurative and literal).

People feel big feelings they don’t understand.

I never thought I’d be one of those people.

How lucky am I to have gone 36 years without this kind of pain? I know so many who have felt this debilitating heartache time and time again before they even entered adulthood.

I feel guilty for making my pain such a “thing”. Why should I need anyone to care about what I feel?

I know January 1 doesn’t mean anything. I’m not going to magically feel like 2018 Mary again, or be able to pretend like 2019 didn’t exist. But it’s my goal date. My date of grace. To move to a different stage of my grief and sadness to where I can work harder towards being who I want to be for my kids, my husband, my parents, my friends, and my community.

I’ll be ringing in this new year harder than I ever have.