Disclaimer: the following was written on March 23rd in a coffee shop near my new home. 

I’m sitting in a coffee shop and I didn’t bring anything to write with. Of course that would be when I would want to write.

I am going to be just fine. I know I will. However, I miss my family, I miss the simple comfort of sitting in the kitchen with my nephew. Emily is about to pop any day now and I am not there to see her. She’s in pain and I can only pray.

Last week I interviewed this remarkable woman who cares for and adopts these precious babies and kids who are terminally ill. She told me that she got there because God took everything from her. She was healthy and then she wasn’t. She had a full nest and suddenly she didn’t. She had a great job as a bereavement nurse. Because of her poor health, she had to stop doing that. She realized that once everything was taken from her all she had was her caring nature and a desire to adopt kids.

If I didn’t have my career what would I have?

I finally have my own space. I have a job I love. My sister is gone though. She is physically so far away. And so is my bubba. I feel helpless. I can’t be there to take care of her if she’s sick at night or simply make her laugh when she is in pain. My relationship with my parents and brother is what it is. I miss my friends.

I am also upset because stupid things are stressing me out. The everyday stressors that aren’t a big deal. And they usually aren’t. What stresses me out about those things is that I want to chat about them with friends or family but can’t. This is not because I don’t have those amazing people I can speak to. I do.

I have a beautiful army of arms I know I can turn to. I believe that with every fiber of my being. I love my army. They are supportive and sweet and they are mine. 

However, I feel bad burdening them with these mini bouts of depression. I have a coin system with my friendships. Don’t overuse the friend coins. They don’t (or they shouldn’t) expire. But they are not endless. People are busy and they’re dealing with their own shit. People are dying. Children are crying.

But you want to know something, dear Stranger, there is another emotion present here too. I am angry. Angry that I feel I can’t lean on my army for everything and anything. I am angry that I’ve been hurt so much and my scars are so deep that I can’t ever fully heal (or so it appears). Will I ever be able to fully let people see me?



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