by Annie | Apr 15, 2021 | Blog
Mike is a teacher, but because Wednesdays are asynchronous days for his students he was able to go into work a little late and accompany us on our walk to Fletcher’s first day of in-person school. He is never able to join us for big days like this because of his school schedule. I didn’t realize how much I needed him to be there and you know what? He needed that, too.
Fletcher was all business before school. I was reminded that the time we spent preparing him for this transition was well worth it. Scaffolding for our kiddos with sensory challenges isn’t easy. It means extra planning, extra time, and often creativity. But it’s worth it. Every single time, it’s worth it.
I’m pretty sure Fletcher memorized the visual schedule we updated the day before and was so proud to announce each item that he checked off. Having that control was crucial for a successful morning. His biggest thrill was the discovery that his dry-fit shirt had thumb holes. “I’ve always wanted thumb holes!” Who knew?!
He ate a good breakfast and was excited to get packed up and on our way. A block from school he met up with one of his best buddies and as they walked in front of me I felt a lump in my throat. I wasn’t looking at the tiny little wonder-filled and boundlessly energetic guys I remembered from K-4. A few inches taller, this duo walked with purpose and a subdued gratitude for being reunited. I wasn’t prepared for that.
We arrived on the playground as the bell rang and students lined up, arms full of nap mats, disinfectant wipes and snacks to share – eagerly awaiting their teachers. Fletcher disappeared into his line, barely allowing me to steal a quick side hug. At that moment, I knew we had made the right choice for him. He was so ready. Mike watched him walk down the hallway and into his classroom noting how confidently he marched past the coat hooks and into his new room for the first time this year. We made it.
As we walked away, I couldn’t keep the tears in any longer. I cried most of the way home. And then randomly throughout the day, most often without warning. Sitting in our quiet house, driving to the store, and reading an email from Fletcher’s teacher after school that praised his amazing day and referred to him as a leader in her class (I’d like to take a minute to acknowledge that his teacher managed to simultaneously teach children both virtually and in person today for the first time ever and found time to email me sentiments that she’ll probably never know I needed to hear. Teachers are incredible.) My tears were of sadness and grief, elation and pride…uncertainty, hope, and a year’s worth of plowing through emotions because there simply wasn’t time or space to process them. My tears were a release.
Max took a rare three hour nap after his morning therapy appointments and I sat in our quiet house soaking up the silence for a while. I took in the kind of breaths that completely fill your belly and found myself slowly and intentionally letting them out, savoring the solitude. I was subconsciously inhaling the hope of a fresh start, gratitude for trusting adults watching over my baby boy, and the promise of more balance while exhaling the stress, pain, fear, worry, and constant feeling of being overwhelmed from our most difficult year.
When I returned for pick-up, Fletcher looked three years older. He was organized, regulated, in complete control of his body and following his teacher’s directions intently with his thumbs proudly displayed through his shirt’s thumb holes. I fully expected him to bolt over to me like he had the minute I came into his view last year. Instead I was greeted with a cool, subtle wave and he continued walking in his line to the designated pick-up area. I panicked a little thinking maybe something had happened. His teacher noticed me a few minutes later, complimented his great day and sent him on his way. When I asked Fletcher why he waited in line he replied matter of factly “Because Mrs. H. said we had to stay in line until SHE sees our parents.”
Whoa. I was taken aback by his display of such amazing impulse control. A win in and of itself.
Fletcher ran most of the way home – his little body needing a release after sitting so much. But in between sprints we’d chat. “I missed you, Mom,” he said at one point.
“I missed you, too, but I’m so glad you had such a great day!”
“Did you cry happy tears when you left this morning, Mom?”
“I cried complicated tears, Bud.”
And to be honest, I think I’ll be crying complicated tears for the foreseeable future. There’s so much to unpack from our pandemic year, so much to look forward to, and so much in between. Just. So. Much.
As life begins to open up a little bit, here’s to allowing ourselves to feel and process and unpack. And even cry the occasional complicated tears.
by Annie | Apr 14, 2021 | Blog
The decision to send Fletcher back to school in-person was one filled with agony, uncertainty and hypotheticals. Some weeks, it changed by the minute. We were anything but certain. Is it worth the risk? Do we really even know how high the risk is? Is it worth it for 33 instructional days? Can we hang on and finish out the year virtually? He needs to be with his friends. Wait. What will that even look like? Will he even be able to play with his friends? Ugh, what will this look like? Can he tolerate a mask all day?
Like so many other families, we have been together for over a year with few moments of separation. It was the hardest year for all of us. But the time together oddly felt like a gift. And while most things felt out of our control, we felt a little security with having the great fortune of being able to keep our boys at home. There’s comfort in knowing your babies are safe.
In my gut, I know that Fletcher needs this, and quite frankly so does Max. He has taken a backseat to Fletcher’s needs on many occasions this year and will greatly benefit from more one-on-one time. We ultimately decided that while Fletcher has come a long way this year, virtual learning just isn’t ideal for him. It’s okay in a pinch, but it’s more about surviving than thriving. And after thirteen months, we want him….need him… to thrive.
So here we are. One more sleep until Fletcher returns to in-person school. That means our house was LOADED with BIG feelings today (myself included). We were a tornado of anticipation, nervousness, trepidation, anxiety, excitement, fear, and perhaps even a little hope.
Early in the day, we gathered his school supplies, dug out his backpack, updated his morning visual schedule, got his rollerball of calming essential oils ready (this has been one of his favorite strategies since he was little), and navigated a rollercoaster of emotions.
During the height of one of our least graceful moments I finally said “If we’re having a hard day because you’re nervous about going back to in-person school tomorrow, I need you to know that I’m nervous, too.”
The flood gates flew open and Fletcher began to sob.
I gave him the tightest hug. He melted right into my arms and all I could see was my sweet little boy who was struggling. In that moment the frustration from an intense morning completely disappeared. It was then that I was able to calmly say, “Buddy, this is something we can work through together. You don’t have to do that on your own.”
He articulated that his tummy felt just like it had the day he started K-4 which told me that he was simultaneously excited and nervous and didn’t know where to go with all of that.
Together, we created a plan for the rest of the day. We’d do a practice run of walking our normal route to school, remind ourselves of which door he’ll enter in the mornings and play on the familiar school playground. It’s not lost on me how fortunate we are to live within walking distance of Fletcher’s school.
After lunch we put on our shoes, strapped Max into the stroller, packed a few snacks and I reminded Fletcher to bring his coat. “I’m fine, Mom,” he reassured me. “I’m wearing 3 pairs of pants.” (This is noteworthy because Fletcher dressed himself today and on a normal day it might be odd to wear 3 pairs of pants. Today, however, it made complete sense. I really believe he was trying to find ways to get himself the extra input he craved as he navigated the anticipation and anxiety of heading back to in-person school tomorrow. He chose tighter fitting jogger-type pajama pants for his bottom two layers. That offered him some extra pressure on his legs. Brilliant. We certainly have challenging moments, but this kid is one of my greatest teachers.)
I put two full packages of baby wipes in the bottom of his backpack for our practice walk which provided some extra resistance – or heavy work in OT terms. One mile round trip with that kind of resistance was really helpful in regulating him.
Serendipitously, our usual crossing guard happened to be at his typical post. The familiarity of our pre-Covid interactions with him helped both of us settle into our trek. Fletcher even capitalized on an opportunity to remind Mr. Wayne that he should really use his whistle while crossing people (us). Thank goodness for levity.
While at school, we took a photo of Fletcher standing in front of the entrance he will use and later added that to his visual schedule. He walked around the playground a bit, giving me a tour of all of the designated areas. And then we found our way to the playground. We were the only ones there and that felt like the greatest gift. I didn’t have to worry about masks being up or the kids taking turns with others, Max getting plowed over by bigger kids, or keeping a schedule. I could just be in the moment and for for the first time in a long time, I genuinely played. We did monkey bars (let me tell you, I am not made for monkey bars!), slides, hide-and-seek, tag, climbing and we breathed in cool, fresh air. When we were ready to venture home, magically, we were all relaxed, calm and regulated and suddenly, the big transition back to in-person school didn’t feel quite so daunting.
We finished out our day with OT and on our drive home just before dinner the heavy clouds were painted with giant brushstrokes across the sky – indicative of the dreary weather forecasted for the remainder of the week. In one distinctive spot, however, brightly defined beams of light had permeated the clouds and were illuminating the earth below. At a stoplight I found myself inhaling the deepest breath and slowly, steadily exhaling. In darkness there is always light and in light there are signs of hope. This was my sign. Everything is going to be alright.
by Annie | Apr 12, 2021 | Blog
We began our journey with genetics about eight months ago. In addition to sensory challenges, Max has a large birthmark on his back, a significant speech delay, a minor heart murmur and asymmetry in his chest. While none of these things would be particular concerning individually, the combination could be a sign of something greater. In an effort to determine if he is dealing with something beyond sensory processing disorder, we were encouraged to pursue genetic testing. Anxious to ensure we’re doing everything possible to get Max what he needs, we did just that. (It’s important to note that having a child with sensory processing disorder does NOT mean there is a genetic connection.)
After the initial testing came back inconclusive, they drilled down a little further to find that Max is missing a part of the AUTS2 gene. Mike and I got tested soon after to determine if this deletion is hereditary and decided that if one of us had part of the same gene missing we’d have Fletcher tested, too.
Low and behold, I am the carrier. I am missing a part of the AUTS2 gene, too. When the genetic counselor called to let me know the results were in, she assured me that this wasn’t my fault. That there would have been no way of knowing that I was missing part of this gene and could potentially pass it down to my children unless we had done extensive genetic testing prior to conception. I appreciated her sentiments, but in the midst of trying to wrap my mind around an unfamiliar topic, it honestly hadn’t occurred to me to feel guilty about this. Now, though, I do have moments. Not guilt as though this was something in my control, just fleeting moments of feeling unsettled. Fear of the unknown and a little grief, maybe?
Shortly after my test results came back we got Fletcher tested as well. As with many children with sensory challenges, Fletcher is extremely literal. He struggles with the element of surprise AND anticipation (that’s a separate post all together) so it’s always a balancing act to determine how and when to tell him about something forthcoming. Because there was a needle involved, I decided to wait to tell him until about 2 hours before we had to leave. I thought that would give his brain enough time to organize around what was happening next and what it would involve without hours upon hours of questioning and perseveration.
He does best in situations like this when he has a full understanding of the “why.” So I talked to him about how Max and I were both missing a part of one of our genes and tried explaining genes and DNA to his six-year-old self by showing him photos of gene strands from the internet. He was enthralled and asked questions that hadn’t even occurred to me. I found myself saying “that’s a great question!” And then a lot of “we’ll have to look that up, buddy” followed by “maybe that’s something we can ask the doctor.”
He was nervous, took lots of deep breaths while the phlebotomist prepared his arm for drawing blood. He paused her at one point and used a calm down strategy he learned from Daniel Tiger, told her he needed an extra minute and then finally put on his brave face and powered through. While situations like this are always a bit of a gamble, he did great. The phlebotomist giving him a little control over when she began drawing blood was key.
Afterwards, I suggested we stop at the pharmacy on our way out of the clinic. They have some great little sensory toys and I thought maybe he’d like to pick one out for being such a champ. He found something he liked and we took it to the pharmacy counter to pay for it. Phil the pharmacist politely greeted us in his starchy white coat and before I could respond Fletcher pointed to the rows of pill boxes behind Phil and blurted out “excuse me, is this where all the DNA is housed?”
Phil smiled politely, but looked confused. I explained to him that we were going through genetic testing and he gave Fletcher a sweet glance and a chuckle. Meanwhile, I was given another glimpse into how Fletcher’s brain processes information – it’s fascinating. At six he had internalized our conversation about DNA and genes and made the connection to the pharmacy. It made total sense to me as we were in a hospital setting and the pharmacy is filled with brightly colored boxes, many with logos that from a distance could be mistaken for the drawing of a gene. I could absolutely appreciate how he arrived at wondering if DNA was housed there and loved that he wasn’t shy about asking who he perceived to be an expert.
Fast forward a few weeks. We learned that Fletcher has the same deletion as Max and me. What does that mean? Well… we’re still trying to figure that out. I wasn’t sure if I should feel relieved or confused, or indifferent, but I had a lot of questions and could hardly wait to consult our genetic counselor. I heard a lot of “well there just isn’t enough known about this deletion to be able to say for sure.”
Genetic testing is a tricky process. While genes are fascinating, I would be lying if I said this process doesn’t feel daunting and all consuming at times. Mike and I find ourselves wanting immediate feedback, but the truth is, this requires patience and an understanding that sometimes it’s more about ruling things out than it is about finding a definitive answer. Genetic deletions within the AUTS2 gene haven’t been researched extensively so there’s still a lot we don’t know. In an effort to be somewhat proactive with very little direction, I joined a Facebook group about this deletion and try to find as much information online as I can even though we don’t fit all of the criteria associated with this particular deletion.
It’s hard to feel like you’re learning more from your own research than from anything provided by experts in the field, but in moments where I’m not totally overwhelmed, I can also find some level of appreciation for the empowerment associated with creating our own roadmap. Every once in a while I find something online that really resonates with us and there’s comfort in that. There’s also some level of comfort in knowing that we know our boys best. As my aunt reminded me recently, my gut has never led me astray. This process has taught me to always, always trust my mama instincts.
After a really tough week last week filled with a lot of parental emotions around what the genetic component could mean for Max and Fletcher we are grateful to feel grounded again. We are on this perpetual sensory roller coaster with our boys and the added dynamic of genetics felt like a lot, sending us into a bit of a tailspin.
Sometimes while in a tailspin we forget that our relationship needs nurturing, just like we nurture our boys. When it feels like there aren’t enough hours in the day and we’re both juggling far more than we have capacity for, it’s easy to forget that we have to very intentionally create time and space for one another. Things feel easier to navigate when we can do it together. And I’m grateful for the reminder.
If you’re reading this and have a kiddo with a deletion within AUTS2, I’d love to connect with you.
by Annie | Mar 30, 2021 | Blog, Uncategorized
I just realized that Easter is this weekend. I knew it was coming, it just hadn’t registered that it was this week – has anyone else lost all sense of time during this pandemic?!
Anyway – one of my favorite ways to bring more sensory-based toys and tools into our house is through gift giving. It puts a fun spin on things that also serve a purpose. Fidgets make really great additions to baskets and stockings, things left by Lucky the Leprechaun, or gift toppers if you’re fancy. We have some favorites that I thought I’d share in case you’re looking for some last minute items for your baskets…here are our top five:
Pop-it : Both of our boys (ages 3 and 6) love the pop-its that my sister bought them for Christmas. They’re great because they are much quieter than bubble wrap and are super portable. They are also easily washed in the sink!
Wacky Tracks: Super versatile, also really portable (I usually keep some in the car and/or my purse), and fun to see the various ways kids put them to use. These are used almost daily during virtual learning in our house – they fit very discreetly in a little lap.
Fidget Ball: This thing is like Rubiks Cube meets Pop-It and it’s as fabulous as it looks. Fletcher loves that it’s round and that he can feel the ball popping from one spot to another while he tries to solve the puzzle.
Arrgh! Ball: The Arrgh! ball is one of our favorite new things of 2021. We learned about them from our craniosacral therapist. They’re super fun because they’re squishy, but they also have a little weight to them which provides wonderful input. Both of our boys love the Arrgh! Ball. A quick note of caution: One that we purchased has water beads inside. Looks super cool and adds a textural element to the ball. However, if you have a child with endless curiosity like we do, they may find their way to the plug at the bottom and figure out how to get some of those water beads out (this definitely happened to us within 20 minutes of owning it, ha!)
Therapy Putty: This putty was one of the first tools we received from OT and remains one of Fletcher’s favorites. The containers come in different strengths depending on the level of input you’re looking for. Therapy putty is a great sensory tool disguised by fun colors and compact containers. (We sent some to school with Fletcher in his backpack when he was just beginning his sensory journey and really struggling. It was used as a “take a break” activity for him.)
Enjoy! I’d love to hear about your favorite fidgets! We’re always looking to add to our repertoire!
by Annie | Mar 16, 2021 | Blog
One year. We’ve been at this for an entire year. To think that 365 days ago I was naïve enough to find myself worrying about surviving two whole weeks at home. That’s what we initially thought. Two weeks…maybe a month. As the days and weeks increased…so did my anxiety.
But it’s during this pandemic that I/we have learned some invaluable lessons about doing what’s best for our family. While we will most certainly enjoy some of the pleasures of pre-pandemic life (like safely gathering with family and friends), we also know that there will be things we won’t be in any hurry to change as the world begins to reopen.
We were a family on the go. In addition to multiple weekly therapy appointments and school for Fletcher, we had our kids enrolled in activities like swimming lessons, Toddler Time, and ninja class and would use our annual passes to the Zoo and a nearby trampoline park frequently as an outlet for all their energy. We’d spend time with family and friends, go for hikes or visit playgrounds, and occasionally leave town for a weekend adventure. We rarely had any extended periods of downtime at home with just the four of us. And to be honest, I’m not even sure I would have known what to do with that down time if we’d had it. (emphasis on me in this scenario.)
Early in the pandemic, like many, I started to feel like the walls were closing in on me. There were so many unknowns. I was terrified about my family and friends who were considered high risk if they contracted COVID-19. I was nervous about how life coming to a screeching halt would impact our boys. I wondered if we had enough food and supplies – did we stock up on the right things? I ached for those in our community who didn’t have the privilege of “stocking up” and struggled with how to help while keeping my family and immunocompromised loved ones safe. I felt overwhelmed, unsettled, lost.
Mike and I tried to be supportive of one another while navigating our individual fears and being cut-off from the in-the-flesh support that our families and friends provided. Often, that support breathed life into our family – and our marriage. We were adjusting to the four of us being home all day, every day, and how to balance structure and free play. I clung to spreadsheet schedules and carefully planned activities, forcing structure into our days by any means necessary. And I inflicted stress and pressure on myself in order to do so.
When Mike returned to virtual teaching, we again had to adjust. I had to somehow keep our boys engaged (and quiet) while he taught. And we didn’t have any real destinations to safely take us out of the house. I was a mess. By the end of the day I had very little left to give to anyone and Mike felt helpless.
Mike and I held each other up, but life was hard. And sometimes that meant that we also struggled to see things through the eyes of our partner. Some days it felt like we were the greatest team while other days were filled with tense moments. Moments that made us question if our rock-solid foundation was solid…enough.
As our Wisconsin weather got warm enough to tolerate being outside, we committed to taking walks alone as a way to get a little exercise and some space from the demands of home. We aimed to make a daily walk happen for each of us and at first, it felt like an out of body experience. Even though I needed a break from the intensity of life with Fletcher and Max, I also didn’t want to leave them. It was a strange dichotomy really. It wasn’t long before I began to reap the benefits of deep, cleansing breaths full of crisp, fresh air…one of Mother Nature’s greatest gifts. I began to crave this alone time and started listening to podcasts or music as a way to help tone down my anxiety. I stumbled upon Brene Brown’s Unlocking Us podcast. Her episode from March 27th, 2020, titled Comparative Suffering, the 50/50 Myth and Settling the Ball changed our game.
In this podcast, she began by validating the exhaustion and level of weary that all of us were experiencing from the onset of the pandemic – the extreme fatigue after the adrenaline surge resulting from crisis. Her words were comforting in a moment I needed them – my deep breaths were audible and the pressure in my chest started to subside as I seemingly clung to her every word. Midway through her podcast she began discussing her family’s gap plan where she immediately debunked the myth that relationships are always 50/50…because they most definitely are not. I felt so seen. This had been a struggle for us, especially as we not so gracefully transitioned to life in quarantine.
She went on to talk about percentages and the importance of naming at what level you’re functioning for your partner (20%, 40%, 50%, etc.) and having them do the same. If you’re collectively functioning below 100% there’s a gap that somehow needs to be filled. This is where the gap plan comes into play. What happens when both partners are below 50%? How do you make up the gap to get to 100%? She suggested her family’s strategies of sleep, moving your body, eating well, limiting access to news, and being able to talk about when you’re having a hard time.
Lightbulb moment. I was feeling stressed, overwhelmed and frustrated. I was exhausted in every sense of the word and was maybe operating at 30%…tops. I was subconsciously expecting Mike to make up the remaining 70%, not considering that he, too, likely had a tank approaching empty. Of course, this shifted frequently in our house. Sometimes by the minute. High anxiety moments with the boys would quickly zap one or both of us of all we had. It literally felt like we were always operating below 100 and it was our relationship that suffered the most.
I got home from my walk feeling slightly hopeful. I told Mike that I thought we needed to do a better job of checking in with each other – especially amid such a stressful time. I suggested that he listen to the podcast. He did, and it resonated with him, too. Just like Zones of Regulation gave Fletcher the language he needed to describe how his body was feeling, this gave us a vehicle for communicating at what level we were operating in a particular moment. It was a tangible turning point for us – one I revisit frequently in my mind.
Now let me be clear that the remainder of the year hasn’t been all roses and rainbows. Raising children is hard. Raising children with sensory processing challenges adds some really difficult layers. And raising children with sensory processing challenges during a pandemic often feels impossible. How do you help children who already feel so out of control feel settled and content during a time with such tremendous uncertainties? Most days, we’ve struggled to do that as adults.
Virtual learning nearly wrecked us. It doesn’t look or feel like “school” and our very bright, but incredibly literal Fletcher wasn’t initially on board. His beginning of the year excitement was fleeting. By day two, once he realized he could “see” his friends, but not actually be with them in person, we began to see behaviors we hadn’t seen…ever. We anticipated that this would be hard on him, but we didn’t know to what degree. And it was difficult to adequately prepare him for an experience we weren’t familiar with either.
It got to the point where Fletcher and I were both crying daily, sometimes multiple times. It didn’t take me long to figure out that none of it was worth the figurative price we were paying. But I didn’t know what to do next. With the encouragement of some of our nearest and dearest, we decided to take a two-week break from virtual school in late September. To be honest, I wasn’t sure we’d return. It wasn’t a popular decision with Fletcher’s teacher who was looking out for his best interest, but Fletcher and I both needed time to regroup. Ultimately, Mike and I knew him best and while stressful, that decision would later reinforce for me the importance of trusting your gut as a parent.
Our two-week hiatus from virtual learning was filled with hours spent outside. We hiked, skipped rocks, rode bikes, played at parks, spent afternoons on swings, splashing in puddles and collecting leaves. We spent time with the few family members in our bubble, did science experiments, baked, snuggled on the couch. We healed and prepared for our next move – whatever that would be.
During this time, we worked on Fletcher’s virtual assignments as it felt manageable, but it was never forced. Partly because I just didn’t have the energy to fight and I was working hard to make sure Max was getting his needs met, too. Fletcher is the type of kid who never forgets a negative experience and will almost always associate that particular event with feelings of stress, sadness or fear. I felt like we were towing an exceptionally fine line. And we couldn’t afford for school to become so negative so early in his educational career – after all, he had just started kindergarten.
Our two-week break turned out to be the reset we needed. While I was ready to pull him out of school completely, I recognized the value in having some structured school time for Fletcher. He thrives on structure, particularly if it isn’t initiated by his mom. Rather than jumping back into virtual learning full steam ahead, we started with one or two classes a day and then gradually added to that until he was fully participating in all core academic classes. We made the decision to focus our energy there and did not include art, music, or physical education. In fact, we are still opting out of his specials. Fletcher needs frequent movement breaks and time away from his computer to recharge. Adding in those additional classes was far too much for him to handle. We’re six months from our transition back to virtual learning and during a recent conference with Fletcher’s teacher, she gushed about his progress and gave him all “excellents.” I could have cried. What a difficult journey it has been.
We have regularly heard the word “pivot” during the last 12 months. Almost at nauseum. Businesses have had to pivot how they serve their customers (I hope curbside doesn’t ever become a thing of the past!), employers have had to pivot to allow staff to work remotely, health care facilities have pivoted to virtual visits, schools have pivoted to virtual learning, families have had to pivot how they care for and educate their children…Life has had to…pivot.
Despite being our most challenging year, our family’s pandemic pivot has strengthened us in ways we never could have anticipated.
It forced us to take a dramatic pause. That pause gave us the time and space to tune in to what all of us need. Now we have a better idea of how to live a purposeful and intentional life moving forward.
It has produced difficult decision-making scenarios which challenged us to lean-in and trust that we know what’s best for our boys and our family. (There were moments we could have been swayed, but we stuck to our convictions and we’re so glad we did.)
It completely altered how Mike and I check-in with each other. We’re not perfect, but we now have more tools in our toolbox paired with a collective desire to band together – even in the hardest moments.
It helped us realize that we love to be at home and our boys don’t actually need a jam-packed schedule with a million transitions to be content (just the thought of that stresses me out!). In fact, they’d prefer more downtime. (This lesson was mainly for always-on-the-go me!)
It helped me see that while I like to have control over situations and tend to approach things from a place of structure and routine, there is value in making space for things to unfold organically. I have come to appreciate less rigidity. (Again, this one was for me!)
It gave our family time together that we never would have had. It certainly wasn’t free of heartache, stress and frustration, but it helped us get to know each other better – as odd as that sounds.
It reinforced for me that my gut never lies. But in order to listen to my instincts I have to find the time and space to do so. This pandemic has reintroduced me to meditation as a way of really tuning into myself, although sometimes easier said than done. I have found a love of guided meditation and appreciate that there are so many options online.
It pushed me back to bi-weekly therapy sessions which is the greatest, most consistent form of self-care I’ve ever had.
It taught us that even when things are hard, there is a certain kind of resilience that comes from love. We certainly rely heavily on each other, but are also strengthened by the love of family and friends. Even when it’s the tough kind.
We’re not out of the woods yet, but there is a light at the end of the tunnel. As hope glimmers on the horizon, I am grieving all that has been lost in the last year (most importantly the loss of life), while simultaneously feeling grateful for all that we’ve gained. How do you even begin to reconcile that?
I haven’t always been a hugger but among so many other things, that has been altered during the last year, too. Forever changed by our pandemic pivot, I can’t wait to tightly, warmly, and lovingly wrap my arms around all of my people in the biggest embrace of hope.
